Author's Note: Ello All! This is my first story that I have posted publicly, and just so you know, it probably does suck. ; I am pretty sure it is angst...a little help please. All the dictionary says is 'a feeling of anxiety' which doesn't help...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the things in this Fan fiction...except the author's note. 3
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"Water: 35 liters? Check."
Human Transmutation, a forbidden taboo
"Carbon: 20 kg.? Check."
Never to be done by an Alchemist
"Ammonia: 4 liters? Check."
One of the most forbidden alchemic processes
"Lime: 1.5 liters? Check."
And yet, it is still attempted, unsuccessfully
"Phosphorus: 800 g.? Check."
Each time it fails, more strive to succeed
"Salt: 250 g.? Check."
Though none makes it any closer than the last
"Saltpeter: 100 g.? Check."
With every transmutation, the alchemist looses more than they gain, in the end
"Sulfur: 80 g.? Check."
Such a pointless and idiotic thing to wish achievement in, it would seem
"Fluorine: 7.5 g.? Check."
Putting the theory of Equivalent Exchange on the line, how funny
"Iron: 5 g.? Check."
It seems to be the most ironic thing ever to cross one's mind, yet,
"Silicon: 3 g.? Check."
To the one striving to succeed, it makes every bit of sense
"15 other elements in small quantities? Check."
A young, raven-haired man hunched over on the floor, reciting these ingredients, almost as if he was cooking something. With a complicated array made of chalk in front of him, this young fool was about to try one of the greatest taboos ever thought to occur; a Human Transmutation. Smiling, the man takes the ingredients and adds them to a tub, lying in the middle of his circle, whistling a merry tune. To some, this man would seem crazy, while to others, he is Roy Mustang. A once great man, he has now been reduced to a, for lack of a better word, mess. Having recently lost his best friend, the young Colonel has worked tirelessly, waiting for this night to come. Tonight, you see, was the night our once renowned Flame Alchemist would try to bring back Maes Hughes.
The room was cramped, and not exactly good for one's health, but it's not like Mustang cared. Beads of sweat trickling down his face, being caught in his five o'clock shadow, Roy reads over his notes once more as Santa Claus would at Christmas time. "I will not fail; this must be perfect…," He whispers, voice hoarse from lack of liquid. Turning around, Mustang squinted his blood-shot eyes in order to see everything in the dimly lit room, making sure it was all there. Once satisfied, Roy maneuvers around his work, trying to reach the door, in order to lock it. This man was determined, and he would let nothing stop him.
Swallowing much needed saliva, the raggedy man finds a seat on an old, rickety wooden chair next to a table filled with bottles, jars, cans, and many other things that were required for the event he was about to start up. It looked like a mad scientist's laboratory table. Grabbing one of many glasses, Mustang filled it with whiskey and took a swig quickly before he decided that his thirst was less important than Maes. After about six other shots of the amber liquid, the Asian-faced colonel stared at it in the drinking cup, a beam of light shining in through tattered curtains. As the sun reflected off of the alcohol, all Roy could see was Maes' face, laughing and smiling while explaining that his daughter was a little angel sent down to him by God. Why couldn't God send you back to me, Maes? Was the whisper that went through the young man's mind, his overbearing sorrow engulfing his very soul. He knew not even whiskey or a whore could consol him where he was. All that was left was death, so in what better way to die than to try to bring his one true friend back?
Setting the shot glass down on the corner of his catastrophic table and wiping his sweat on his already sweaty white shirt, Mustang slips out of his chair, only to sit down in his designated spot, legs folded underneath him, making his black pants even dirtier than before. "It's time, buddy. Time for you to come back…" Roy says, looking at the pile in the arrays center once more and shudders. Once a gallant man, he had been reduced to a rotted corpse, and now ashes. Mustang had burned the body so he did not have to see the flesh-eaten body that was once his friend and savior from the pits of hell. Even so, looking at the tub lent pictures into the distraught human's mind, making him ponder shooting himself right in the temple if this did not work. No one on the damnable earth was going to make him continue to live on if he had to see something similar to what the Elric brothers did. That was not how he wants to imagine his only true friend for the rest of his days. All Roy wanted was that happy-go-lucky look in golden eyes, and for his desk phone to scream at him, earning a lecture on marriage as soon as the receiver was to his ear.
Snapping out of his nostalgia, the colonel realized that he was wasting time thinking instead of acting. Memories, as he had learned, will not bring back that dead. But alchemy on the other hand, will. Letting out a whiskey-scented sigh, the main character of this story begins to lift his arms up. Before Mustang claps, though, and seals his fate, he pulls out a faded picture of the two men, placing it on the table next to him. Unable to help himself, Roy submerged himself into his own thoughts again, but none so distracting that he stopped previous minstrations as before, when he zoned out from the world in his cursing of God.In this state of closure, he could not hear the frequent banging upon his sturdy door, nor the shouts of the woman he loved, with her blond locks and beautiful eyes. Roy thinks about them once more, and the times he spent staring at them, trying to decipher whether they were brown, or maybe even a copper color.
Nonetheless, not even his beloved or her guns of fury were enough to change his course of action now, and for that he felt for her. All she did was protect him; the woman lived for him, and plainly returned his feelings; but now it was like he was throwing it in her face. Mustang could not help but smile at this. She was always calling him out for being a smart-ass, but who knew it would go this far. Clapping his calloused hands together sharply, Roy knew this was it. Bending his upper torso forward, the corrupt man played a ghost of a smile on his chapped, bloody lips and slammed his palms against the outer ring of his chalk drawn circle. Blue, radiant light began to light up the room, and Mustang's eyes followed after that. Smile turned to smirk as Colonel Roy Mustang let out a hoarse whisper.
"Let's see God try to stop me now."
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Well, now that I've typed it up, I'd really appreciate reviews from everyone. It's been revised and such; I made it longer, flow better; but I need your opinions. Even flames are welcomed, because I want to get better, and write better for you all. Well, I'd best stop typing and let you REVIEW NOW, and if I get enough love/hate, I might type up a sequel. See what happens to that silly ol' Mustang, eh?
