Title: Locking Up The Sun
Author: Mon Petit Pierrot
Fandom: Full Metal Alchemist
Rating: T
Summary: The last thing he heard were the rising cheers of the people and last echoes of the bell.
Notes: Hm...well, this is a shocker. I've never really written something like this before. But I enjoyed writing it, so I hope that you like it too. It's loosely based off the first anime.
Disclaimer: Don't own. That's why I write and imagine that I do own it.
Locking Up The Sun
They're locking up the sun, the light of reason gone,
And hope has been successfully undone
The question's burning on, where is it coming from,
No one seems to know the monster born
The streets held the dead silence of the stunned people as he was marched past the still rows, head stubbornly held high. Chains were wrapped around his wrists, clanking loudly, but he pretended to take no notice.
But he could not escape the hopeless stares of the citizens of Central, as though all of their dreams had been crushed. There were a few that hesitantly extended their hands, and brushed their fingers across his skin, and whisper their pleads for his freedom.
He had been called a champion for the people, but he had not known that they had associated him with the most famous of alchemists, his father, and called him "the Sun" because of his golden hair and bright eyes.
It was surprising, to say the least.
As he walked closer to the steps of Central Headquarters, the peoples' murmurs steadily grew, and they swarmed around him. A droning voice carelessly flung the extent of his crimes to them as he was shoved towards the platform, and the citizens drew back. Wood creaked beneath his feet as he climbed the rickety stairs to the platform to meet his prosecutor.
He was turned outwards as he faced the judgment of the people, barely listening, for he already knew his fate. He could see that unrest was spreading through the crowd, and they shuffled their feet, guilt and shame and horror shadowing their faces as his past was heard, deconstructed, analyzed, and pieced back haphazardly together again.
They spat at him and turned away.
He knew that he shouldn't care, but the rejection still stung. There is nothing left for you, he told himself. He had sent his brother away to Xing, and Winry was hidden away somewhere in the southern mountains. He did not know their exact locations. He couldn't know.
Lifting his head to the clear blue sky, he caught himself daydreaming. He wanted to see his brother one last time, but he could never do that again. Never see him smile, laugh freely, go on with his life. He missed his only living family he had left in a way he had never imagined before.
Even foolish dreams failed.
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on his face as his sentence were words that were dropped one at a time, each heavier than the last and dragging him down further.
He hated this helplessness, hated that he could not change the abrupt way his life would end. He wanted to live, but he had been declared dangerous to the State and his crimes treason against that bastard tyrant.
He wouldn't be able to cheat out of an early death. He was out of ideas. He wouldn't be able to live.
A sharp retort from a firearm, loud in his ear, brought him back to his senses as the ceremony of death began. The prosecutor slipped a loop of rope around his neck and tightened it, nearly cutting off his flow of air into his lungs. He could only hear the taunts of the people below him, disgruntled and suspicious.
For the first time in years, he prayed.
He whispered desperate pleas as he was brought forward, one last act to find some way to protect his vulnerable brother. He had no idea if he was doing it correctly or not, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop, even as the prosecutor barked out orders.
Please. Please keep him safe. Whoever is out there, please. Don't let him fall to the same fate as me. Protect him from the world. If you can.
A gunshot echoed above his head and he flinched, knowing that it was beginning of the end. Something prodded sharply into his back and he was forced to stand at the center of the platform, feeling the wood complain under his feet.
In a deep intone, the prosecutor began. "On this day, of June 14th, 1918, Edward Elric will be hanged for revolution from the government and sedition against the Fuhrer at twelve noon."
He took his last breath, reveling in the wonderful sensation that he knew would not last.
As the giant clock across the square chimed its song, he felt the wood give way and his body falling through the opening, dragged by gravity. The rope around his neck crushed his throat and broke off his air quickly, mercifully. A quick death.
The last thing he heard were the rising cheers of the people and last echoes of the bell.