Building A Mystery
A Full Metal Alchemist Fanfiction by hplvr
The last remnants of my name are written with blood on my godforsaken tombstone, and anyone who wishes to seek my name, by all means find it, and spit on it. Spit because of the foul and uncivilized relastionship we had. Spit because of the love we both shared. Or, read his story I record so desperately, and I promise you I will reveal myself in due time. But all I ask of you is to be patient, shed a tear, and continue to read, for his story will be told shortly, the tall tale of love and hate, good and evil, life and death. My death.
For he and I built a mystery...
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This is a story of a young man who they call Edward Elric, or whom they used to call Edward Elric. Now he is nothing but a psychotic freak, driven mad by a past occurrence that ended his life.
I now write his story to you as a ghost, a mere ghost that visits him when he comes out at night, eyes like the crimson blood sucked dry by vampires. He Claims to have seen ghosts of his loved one. He is motivated by an obscure magical force, which is me, the ghost whom he seeks. In his brown sandals, and his shadow turning dark sides light, he wanders the deserted halls of what he calls home. To a normal boy of seventeen is a simple place of prayer, or worship. To Edward however, it is his confinement, his razor wire shrine, his death sentence. Never is he allowed to walk free from the cruelties of his hell on earth. His sin. His mistake.
Soon you will learn why he is reduced to such a petty state of mind.
Due to his tragic play, he wakes up from nightmares screaming aloud, alerting the entire church staff. I find him uttering secrets prayers, clutching a voodoo doll characterizing myself. His agonization only feeds off other people's fears, nearly destroying himself while writing his piteous suicide poems. His faith of becoming a poet died when something terrible happened to him, something terrible indeed.
Yes, I know your assuming that it was my death that drove him into his new life. Indeed, you are correct.
He was loved. He was beautiful, with edge and a flirtatious charm. He was always joyous, wearing a smile that would never wash away. Careful he so was, when I was in his arms.
I love him, and still do to this very day. Whoever is reading this, I cannot stress to you how much I love him. You must understand this in order to understand the rest of his story. Even when I see him throwing tantrums in the corridors, I adore him. Even when I see all the pain and suffering that he tries to cry out, I love him. Even when I see the tears that turn to ashes when they reach the floor, I love him.
As children, well... let's just say we were childhood sweethearts. The coming of the bright morning would find us in a new area of interest. Each passing day we would reveal something secret that no one else has discovered, as ambiguous as Edward is. Every day I would be more and more sentiment toward him...
Until that very day I had to do it! You must understand that I had no other alternative! He was just leaning over me, eyeing me with his amber orbs...
"I love you, Edward."
Though the hellfire I seat myself on has exceedingly corrupted my infirm mind, I still remember our first kiss as if I were alive and whole again. My wet lips pressing against his in the smooth, fluent motion and our tongues interlocking at a constant beat. My arm resting on his hip. His breath sending my throat to direct fire, but turning my lungs to thick ice. His body relinquishing sources of warmth that developed from my lips to my toes without delay.
Yet on that memorable moment, our mystery began to unfold.
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I see him wake. I see him stand. I see him run to the end of the hall to the stairs. I see him clutching his voodoo doll against his chest...
To the rooftops he runs, to end his life once and for all.
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"I love you too."
Though our proximate relationship was kept in secret, we still shuddered at the mere thought of the blackest of hearts that nestled in our remote town, so cold not even the flames of hell could melt. The most penetrating of these hearts rest in a young man named Ross O'Conley, for he was the one responsible for my death and Edward's confinement.
He always had a contiguous watch on the both of our tails, as he noticed the daily trends of our absence. Escaping his stare was crucial for our kinship, but sooner than we thought, civilians branded in the name of hate were searching for us in every nook and cranny of the town and it's outskirts. Determination blinded his eyes and turned them to eyes of hatred, persistent on solving the mystery Edward and I built the day we learned of love.
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I see him trip. I see him fall. I see him scream in pain. I see him stagger up the remaining steps to his most certain death.
To the rooftops he went, to end his life once and for all.
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A fortnight passed, and still the mystery is kept indecipherable. Through these times of pure distress, we eventually identified a quiet and peaceful stream running to the south, away from our town. Our love life was saved that day, as the river could not be pinpointed by the world and it's cruelties, as it was erased from the maps. There we discussed our future as a couple, and of the slippery movement of our lips.
We assumed our case to be closed, as out scent was followed no longer by O'Conley's men. Stubbornness at the thought of losing furthered his motivation to catch us with our hearts thumping in bloodied hands, but worry and anxiety did not disrupt us. No one man's army will find us! we thought.
But oh, were we so wrong...
Our love became known on that fateful night a week or so after we found the stream. A soft but earsplitting crinkling in the bushes caught us at a critical moment, unfastening our lips the following instant.
And who or what was it that emerged from that bush? Was it a fox, a raccoon, or an innocent baby rabbit?
Or was it O'Conley himself?
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I see him reach his destination. I see him throw his voodoo doll of the side of the church. I watch the doll fall to the ground, then hide behind the trees.
I see Edward wander to the edge of the church. I see him lean over...
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I was face to face with O'Conley, his lugger pointing to my temple.
I screamed, then burst into pleading tears, falling to my knees and scrapping them against the jagged rocks of the stream. He yelled some far off words, but my sobs muffled them and morphed into a foreign language. Edwards hand was grasping my shoulder as he tried (oh so fearfully) to negotiate with O'Conley, but due to the harsh tonality of the phrase O'Conley spoke I knew his closemindedness would possess him to the grave. Edwards feeble attempt to save us only strengthened O'Conley's grip on the lugger.
"I love you, Edward. I always will."
A soft click followed by an deafening bang ended my life, along with our mystery forever, and everything went black.
When I awoke, I woke to a blinding white light. Life flooded through my defenseless body once again, and I had the power to move. Though I could not comprehend what I meant, it was at that moment I knew I was dead, and that I was parted from Edward forever in the afterlife... and now here I am, telling you the tale of how I died, and how the society of the world and their judgements separated Edward and I forever.
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I watch him fall off the church's wall. I watch him plummet to the ground, uttering not a single scream.
I watch him die...
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Building a Mystery
By: Sarah Mclachlan
You come out at night You live in a church You're so beautiful Cause
you're working You woke up screaming aloud You're a beautiful Cause you're working Ooh you're working Yeah
you're working You're building a mystery
That's
when the energy comes
And the dark side's light
And the
vampires roam
You strut your rasta wear
And your suicide
poem
And a cross from a faith that died
Before Jesus
came
You're building a mystery
Where
you sleep with voodoo dolls
And you won't give up the search
For
the ghosts in the halls
You wear sandals in the snow
And a
smile that won't wash away
Can you look out the window
Without
your shadow getting in the way?
With an
edge and charm
but so careful
When I'm in your arms
Building a mystery
Holding on and holding it
in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so
carefully
A prayer from your
secret god
You feed off our fears
And hold back your tears,
oh
Give us a tantrum
And a know it all grin
Just when we
need one
When the evening's thin
A
beautiful fucked up man
You're setting up your
Razor wire
shrine
Building a mystery
Holding
on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And
choosing so carefully
Building a
mystery
Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're
working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully
Building a mystery
Holding on and holding it
in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so
carefully
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To my Readers:
Yes, after all we have been through sickness and pain, love and hate, life and death, Edward Elric dies in the end, and I am reduced to nothing but a memory, and thus the mystery is solved and gone forever, buried with both of our remains.
This last letter I write to you will be my farewell, as my life will be complete once the entire story is told. It is not yet complete however, as my name has not yet been mentioned as I promised I would. I will keep to this promise, but a few last words are to be said.
Thank you for everyone who took the time and courage to listen to the story of Edward Elric, and by all means, take this story with you into your own life, and be sure to spread the words I give to you all. Thank you to Sarah Mclachlan, for writing this beautiful melody that blends with Edward's tale to perfectly it seems you knew his tale all along.
Now, it is time for me to fade, but remember, to never, ever, build a mystery.
Sincerely,
Alphonse Elric
Fin