|The Pen is Mightier! (penismightier) wrote in chaotic_library,|
@ 2012-03-04 14:47:00
|Current music:||Evanescence - My Last Breath|
|Entry tags:||alfons heiderich, edward elric, fma, fma: alternate post-movie timeline, fma: anime, fma: post-movie, heid x ed, pg-rated, post-series, short shorts, slash, yuuo, yuuo: fma|
[Edward Elric; PG] I Grieve For You
Character/Series: Edward Elric; FMA
Rating: PG for upsetting themes
Notes: Written based on emilie_burns's prompt. Backstory for broken_heaven.
Title: I Grieve For You
Word Count: 695
Summary: I started running on automatic after that moment.
It was only one hour ago.
It was all so different then.
Nothing yet has really sunk in.
Looks like it always did,
This flesh and bone.
It's just the way that we are tied in,
But there's no one home.
I started running on automatic after that moment. I held his still hand for what felt like not long enough, but was probably too long. I just stared in shock. I didn't cry, I just felt numb.
I carefully pulled off the blankets from him, setting them aside to be washed or trashed; probably trashed. I supposed I could always use a little of the red stone Father left me to clean up the blood and other crap that Alfons had been coughing up, but I wasn't sure I wanted to sleep under those covers again, not alone.
The pillow under his head joined the rest of the bedding on the floor, leaving only the bottom sheet under him. I pulled it up over the corners, and folded it over Alfons like a death shroud. Which is exactly what I was making next, as I got a needle and hopefully enough thread and started quietly sewing up the sheet.
My fingers worked for the better part of a half an hour before I got the shroud closed up to his face. I hesitated, looking at him. That's when I lost it. I dropped the needle, letting it dangle next to me as I held Alfons's body tightly, sobbing hysterically. I'd lost only person I'd ever loved like that, and my last friend in this foreign world. I didn't handle death well, never had, and every ounce of me wanted to try to bring him back, if only to see him smile at me one more time. But even if there was enough alchemical energy in that world to do it, I couldn't do that to Alfons, and I couldn't risk the cost.
After I'd settled down, I kissed his forehead one last time and finished sewing up the shroud. I bit off the needle and put it away, then carefully picked up his body, having to half drag it out the door, which hurt. I thought he deserved better, but he was big, too unwieldily for me to carry the way I wanted to. Mostly because of his height, and I laughed a little crazily as that thought occurred to me.
"Bastard," I muttered. "Even in death you're mocking me with your height." It was stupid to say, even though Alfons had always teased me for being short compared to him. Or compared to the average man, even.
I laid him down under the tree we used to sit under to look at the stars. Then I fetched a shovel and got to digging.
I'll admit this right now- that was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Digging up Mom's grave was harder, but digging my spouse's grave ranked pretty far up there. I had to stop several times to cry. But I eventually got it done, and I buried him under that tree, just where he wanted to be.
I went back into the house, and that was pretty much the last I thought of it. I went into a state of numbness where nothing mattered. I went about daily chores, tending to the garden, occasionally hunting when I wanted meat. I cleaned house, I read. I would spent the next few years in that state of perpetual mourning, purposely not thinking about it, even though I'd died with him.
Truth be told, I became exactly like my father: muted. I'd always been ... well, I think the nicest word I'd heard for it was lively. Not anymore. I was now about as lively as a piece of paper.
My father had never really stopped grieving; his son and William's family, and then who knew how many friends over the centuries, then Mom and even, technically, his second sons, since we'd lost him when he left. And now I was just like him. My brother was dead, my father was dead, and now Alfons was dead, and I desperately wished I were too. But a lack of actual suicidal tendencies kept me going on in that dull, lifeless way.
Life went on in the world around me. But hiding in that little house in the middle of nowhere, life had stopped.