Disclaimer: Hagane no RenkinJustuhi/ Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me. I get absolutely nothing from this story except for the reviews you all send my way and the satisfaction in knowing that I can temporarily screw with the character's brains. The childrens' song, thought written by me, was inspired by JK Rowling through the fake spell she was Ronald Weasley recite.
Prompt: The sudden and random realization of how incredibly diverse the website is.
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Bring a Joy
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Wherever someone was, however old or young they were, they could always find another who, like them, found spring to a be beautiful time of year. The snows would melt, revealing bright green grass ready to bring anew; the sun would return after countless weeks of dreary, cloud-filled afternoons; the sky, scrubbed fresh and clean to a rich blue, dotted with candy-floss clouds. Buds would climb onto branches of tress by the hundreds, thousands, millions, then erupt in a brilliant display of cheerful, young greens. The gentle singing of bees would begin to grace lengthening days, only surrendering to the vocal chorus of bats and crickets during the calm and temperate evenings. The nights were clear, lit by a dazzling exhibit of diamond stars and silvers moons - perfect for star-gazing and overnight 'camping trips' on the front lawn, should one wish to.
Springtime around the small village of Rezembool was especially astonishing, for it was during this time that the wild fields surrounding the place - fields that had been abandoned after the Ishvallan attack some ten years ago - burst into a frenzy of colour. Daisies, forget-me-nots, and heather, completely wild, would climb in and out of the lilacs, tulips, lilies, daffodils, asters, poppies that had been thoroughly forgotten when their former caregivers had to run from their homes. Over the years, the flowers took over as home were build elsewhere, anew. The result…
The result was something that animals, insects and inhabitants around the small seemed to anticipate as the weather armed each year. The dizzying cacophony of pinks and whites, reds and blues, yellows and purples brought a smile - or at least an amazed glance - to all those who both passed through and lived along the single dirt road that cut through the acres and miles of wild fields.
And, as the flowers grew and unfurled their leaves, as they opened their buds in an explosion of colour while the days and weeks slowly crawled by, both bees and villagers came by the dozens, simply to enjoy the sun and the day and the pure beauty that was held in the untamed land, so peaceful and quiet, east of the village. Adults would be content to walk through it, careful if the bees and wasps that were attracted to the place, occasionally helping a child that had gotten stung by the insects as they played amongst the plants, happy and carefree. The youngsters themselves, other than crying to the nearest adult after being stung, would play Hide-and-Seek or Tag, Keep Away or Follow the Leader, laughing and signing all the while.
A slue of children cackled and giggled as they raced about the place, stumbling on the occasional gopher hole or rabbit's nest, the grins on their faces flashing white in the afternoon sun, not even disappearing when the inevitably fell to the uneven ground. Exhausted and panting, seven of them finally made the unvoiced decision to flop carelessly down beside a fallen eighth, resting a bit to catch their breath. Within moments, though, they were already standing and holding hands to form a circle, prancing and skipping. Words accompanied their dance, one that all of Rezembool's children - and even some of its' younger adults - would have sung many a time over by the end of the summer.
Apples, roses and fields ahead,
Pretty houses and people, all red,
Turn to black, fall all around.
Boom! Boom! We fall to the ground!
The entire group fell to the ground at that, sending flower petals and pollen flying in a sudden frenzy. Then, slowly rising again, they started their chant once more.
Sunshine daisies, butter mellow,
Bright lit clouds and daffodils, yellow,
Forget-me-nots and foxglove grew,
Under sunny skies and sing-birds, blue.
Grasses bright and leaves 'gain seen,
Little plants that still grown green,
Happy faces laugh 'gain, too,
A gift from them, a gift to you!
As one, they all grabbed fistfuls of the bright flowers and started to throw them at one another, dashing this was and that to avoid their friends, smiling and laughing, as petals and plants of every imaginable colour flew through the air. They were completely oblivious to the trio of young adults who were walking nearby.
The three, each one as blond as the other, watched in a peaceful silence as the children played, words holding no meaning to them. The pants and petals - that cacophony of white and red blue and violet, yellow and gold - drifted happily to the ground, showering the ones who had thrown it in the air like the colourful confetti it seemed to be.
This was Rezembool; this was home. A quiet little country village filled with barking dogs and laughing children, happy farmers and bustling artisans, and two young brother-alchemists and their best friend. No matter how far they would travel, who they would meet, what they would see, the acres and miles and fields of vibrant, diverse wildflowers would forever symbolize 'home'.
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END
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Needless to say, this didn't quite turn out the way I had originally planned, but that's usually the way things happen for me.
Seriously, though, think about it; we've got Blacks and Asians and Caucasians and Aboriginals, children and adults, males and females, shot and tall, punks and Goths, those failing classes and those who have dropped out of school and those who strive to be - or already have become - doctors and astrologers and historians… And we're all connected by our love of reading and writing.
When one truly thinks of it, isn't the concept rather mind-boggling?
It's either that, or I'm just insane.
Cheers!
xCxBxBx
And, on a random note: yes, the childrens' song is based on the Ishvallan Massacre.