Hey, everyone. This was inspired, morbidly enough, when my friend stepped on a firefly. It was actually a really sad thing to see, and for some reason, while I thought of the Ishbal war, this came out. Hope you like. Please review, it's important to me to know what you think! And, no I do not own FMA.
He is eight years old.
He lives in a small country village, living his days as the ringleader of a group of boys around his own age. In the winter, they pack snowballs together as tight as they can and throw them with all their might. They laugh and jeer and occasionally slip a rock in and occasionally sending one of the others crying home with a broken, bleeding nose. In the fall they jump in carefully raked piles of leaves and try their best to get out of helping with the harvest, and springtime is for romping through red, pink, and yellow fields without a care in the world.
In the summer, they discover a new pastime: killing fireflies.
It's an accident the first time. One boy doesn't watch as he steps and smashes the tiny insect, and they all watch in wonder as it feebly flickers its light, half of it crushed to the ground. Curious, another boy steps forward and squashes it completely. The back of it is spread upon the ground now, a little puddle of greenish light. They laugh and reach out to poke it, ignoring the squashed little black mound that was once a living thing.
It becomes a game.
They compete with one another, count the numbers that they can catch and kill. Sometimes they take them out on by one, others they kill all together and dip sticks into the glowing substance to write out names and dirty words on the ground. They get brave and steal fireflies that the girls catch, and the meaner ones kill them in front of their eyes and laugh at the horror on their faces. But the girls tell their mothers, and the fun comes to an end.
He is fourteen years old.
There comes news of an uprising in Ishbal, and everyone is worried. He isn't, not really, he has no reason to be involved. His mother is friends with one of the doctors who live in their town, and she is worried she'll be drafted for her medical skills. She has a two-year-old daughter.
He is fifteen years old.
The Ishbal war rages on as everyone gossips about the family on the hill, whose husband has left, leaving behind a three-year-old, four-year-old, and wife. He goes with his mother to comfort the disappearing man's wife, and all the time they are talking, the elder son glares with golden eyes of his father.
He doesn't know, not now, of what those eyes will see.
He is eighteen years old.
The doctor who was so worried years ago has left with her husband for Ishbal, and did not return. Their daughter is distraught, and neither of her friends will leave her side. Ironically enough, her friends are the boys whose father left so long ago. The brothers have gained quite a reputation around town for their skills in the science of alchemy, and this is the year he leaves home to learn the craft for himself.
He is twenty-one years old.
He's been drafted into the Ishbal war because of his alchemical skills, and every day he wakes up and forgets that he's in Hell.
It doesn't take long to remember.
Soon enough, they'll be fighting again. That's what the State calls it, that's what the public calls it. In reality, they'll be killing anyone they find, men and women and children alike. So few of them have weapons or means to defend themselves that it's more of a massacre than anything else.
He remembers being eight, and the fireflies they killed, and he can't help but let out a laugh, bitterness as clear as the bright lights in the sky on a summer's night. How ironic.
He wonders how his family is.
He wonders if they've gotten his letters yet, if they know where he is.
He wonders what happened to the Elric brothers and the Rockbell girl.
He wonders why Mustang is looking up at the Fuhrer with such determination and anger in his eyes.
He wonders a lot of things these days.
That evening, they are out in the Ishbalan city, killing. He watches Kimblee's gleeful smirk as he watches the lights go out and the substance coats the city. He raises his shaky arms to try and kill one, but his weakened body fails him and he drops his arms. Lights flare up around him, as does screaming. He feels a hand on his trembling shoulder, and a whispered "I know," from the Flame Alchemist is what finally makes him collapse.
He glances once more at the fireflies as a life ends.