This story's going to be a slow burn, so bear with me. My take on the character is intended to be fairly different then the traditional model so feedback will be appreciated, thanks. :)
DC Genesis, Captain Marvel: Pigeons, Part One
I wonder where I’m lying. My eyes are shut tight. I feel earth below my back and a breeze above my face. It doesn’t linger but it feels nice. Okay, so I’m outside. My thoughts bounce of the walls of my skull and echo like a voice in a cavernous space. Thinking is always a chore right after I come to. It’s always painful. I raise my hand to my forehead and feel dirt drop on my face. I flinch, but dare not open my eyes. I’m too frightened.
As the headache fades, I focus. What was the last thing that happened? I was in my apartment, spread out on my bed; pigeons were seated on my windowsill. My window was open. The news was emanating low from the radio on my nightstand. The pigeons were cooing at first, but it turned into squawking. Were they fighting? I don’t remember. I felt it then, like a fractured dam, it was small at first but I knew what was coming. It filled my body quickly. I tried to get up, but tumbled and fell. I tried to steady myself by grabbing my nightstand but ended up knocking it to the floor. The radio was still droning on. I could barely hear it. I felt like I was going to burst. Something was pushing me out of my own body. The pressure was immense. My mouth opened; maybe I was trying to let out whatever presence was swelling up within me. I knew what was going to happen. I yelled a word. I always yell a word. Yet, I never remember what that word is. I saw white and that was it.
I wonder how much I lost this time. I feel the sun on my face and see spots of light through closed eyelids. Well, it’s day, but is it the same day? How far did I wander this time? I knew there was only one way I could answer these questions. I’m afraid, but I can’t stay like this forever. Nothing can stay forever. My eyelids crack slightly and my world is filled with light. I rub my eyes with vigour and sit up, surveying my involuntary bed chamber. I’m in a forest. Which forest? I don’t know. I stand up and begin to move. It doesn’t really matter what direction I walk in, I figure I’ll reach something eventually.
This has been happening for years now, since I was a boy. Not waking up in forests, that’s an occasional thing. I mean the holes in my memory. It must have started in February of my tenth year. A little before my parents died. That whole month is a blank. After that I started to go missing for days at a time. It usually happened at night. I would get the sensation that something’s filling me up, that something wants me out. I would scream and wake up sometime later. Now and again I’m lucky enough to wake up in my bed, usually I don’t. I’m always alone when it happens. It’s like I’m subconsciously trying to isolate myself, making it so that I won’t be found. My parents thought I was nuts. Everyone thinks I am. I must be. I went to a shrink for a while, got diagnosed with an extreme case of parasomnia. My therapist threw all kinds of drugs and advice at me. Nothing worked. I grew up spending half my life in some sort of trance. I can’t hold down jobs or friendships or relationships. I survive on what little is left in my trust fund. I live in constant fear that my world will go white and I’ll wake up miles away. I don’t need to isolate myself self consciously anymore. I’m alone all of the time.
I reach the edge of the woods just as the sun sets. I recognize where I am: Jayson County, just North of Fawcett city. I rejoice in the fact that I can make it home by my own devices. The dirt under my feet soon turns to gravel, then asphalt, then cement. By the time I reach my front door, it’s pitch black out. The moon is dull and shrouded by clouds, as if it were being looked at through a dirty lens. I sigh vehemently and slouch up my building’s stairs. These journeys home always take a lot out of me. Inside my apartment, I secure my door with several different locks: a futile attempt to prevent escape. This place is becoming something of a tomb. Lying down on my bed, I gaze out my window. The pigeons are gone. I turn my head to look at my ceiling as I feel sleep grip me. My eyelids close and I think about my bedroom ceiling. Whenever I open my eyes next, I hope it’s still there above me.
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