It is October third and it passes quickly for Hohenheim. He's walking today, because he's got places to go. He has to work on deactivating the nationwide transmutation circle. The transportation system doesn't meet his needs, so he doesn't even bother. Because of this, he has never caught a glimpse of the boy in the red coat and the impossibly tall suit of armour ever at his side. He doesn't go into the large cities of Amestris, so he doesn't hear about them either.
It's a long walk, but the day passes quickly.
The sun rose early in the morning and now it is setting. The sky is blue in the east and golden in the west. There isn't really a road where he is, just the dusty ground that spreads out in all directions. It is nothing at all like the dirt roads that climb the gently sloping hills of Resembool.
It is here where Hohenheim's thoughts step off of the cracking desert floor and into the thick green grass of the only other place he let himself call home. He imagines himself running down the road to that house on the hill and flinging the door open. He can visualize it as he last saw it. He chides himself and tries to paint in little changes. A new table in the kitchen, shelves stuffed with books from the boys and toys that Trisha has taught herself how to make, a xing vase to replace one broken by Edward running into the side table. He fills in the blanks for the years that have gone by. It crosses his mind that these things will not be as he expects. But he likes that. He hopes that his family is a little different, because that means that they are living without him.
And though it hurts him to even string those words together in his head, he thinks that they are better off without him.
The air is cool now and Hohenheim wonders where the day has gone. His brain is caught on those words. He ponders over whether a day can even go to a where. He will have to go to many more heres, and theres, and wheres before he can even turn himself in the same direction as home. He hopes that by that time years will feel like more than a series of flashing lights and darknesses. Hohenheim prays that forever will be a promise and not reality.
He considers settling down and starting a fire. Once he does this, the day is over for him. It is a ritual of sorts. Cool wind and crackling fire and a mental checklist of all that's done and all that's left to do. He is stuck in a rut and individual days have ceased to register as important to him. He needs months and years. A day is nothing.
It is October third and it means nothing to Hohenheim.
Writer's woes: Another year of the grand tradition of 10/3 oneshots. I don't think I like this as much as the other ones I've done... but I think I say that every year.
Happy 10/3 dudes!
Don't Forget.
Oct.3