Wasp

In the early days, I couldn't help but think of him as a clumsy, sneezing geek. To him, the world was full of wonder and knowledge to be shared. Nothing was dangerous. That's probably why he got himself killed so often, throwing himself headlong into situations that he didn't even seem to realize were dangerous.

I've watched him over the years, cracking under the strain but never quite breaking, letting the harsh fires forge him into a soldier until he almost lost himself, like a deadly wasp emerging from the shattered remains of a harmless caterpillar. Sometimes I wonder if he hates who he's become, or if he accepts the metamorphosis.

As I look into the cold, clouded blue eyes of the man in the chair, I wonder if he was ever the caterpillar at all.