Prompt #54: Anger
Title: Living Dead Boy
Summary: It's what they expect, after all.
Word Count: 248
Rating: T for one swear
A/N: This changed a lot before I finally settled on what I was doing. Hope you all enjoy, I'm sort of 'meh' about it. FMA belongs to the cow with the specs!
Written for fma_fic_contest. Didn't place, but I rather liked writing it. Hope you all enjoy. Beated by please knock, big thanks to her. :)
Ed is the one that flies off the handle. Ed is the one that gives infamous tirades and screams at the top of his lungs, making other cower in the face of his wrath.
I am the rational one. I am the one that discusses. I am calm. It's what they expect, after all. Being pissed off in a gigantic body that feels no pain is hard in all the ways I couldn't expect. I could so easily rip off someone's arm. I could kill people like Shou Tucker, easily, without worrying that he could hurt me back.
But I'm Alphonse Elric. I'm the nice one. I'm not supposed to think that way. I'm not supposed to get angry. My label reads as one that is kind and giving and patient, despite how I look.
I think if you flipped my tag over, you'd see a lot of things that you wouldn't expect. They wouldn't be pretty things, like wonders about cats or what I'll do if I ever get my body back, because this fucking empty shell that traps me echoes with my doubts and my fears and all the things that piss me off.
I guess this means that when I snap, no one will see it coming.
I'm the little boy the years haven't marked, that hasn't known puberty, that has too much power for my own good, power that I hate and yet yearn to use.
But I don't. Because I'm the nice one.