Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story.
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Blue eyes burned with hatred; tears streaming down the young boy's face. The black hair that adorned his head was matted and dirty. He couldn't have been more than eight, but his eyes shone with grown defiance. The stick in his hand dripped blood.
"Little bastard!" The soldier towered over the boy; hand clutching his face; red slipping through his fingers. "I'll teach you to strike a military officer."
The back of the soldier's hand connected with the boy's cheek, sending him reeling backwards. "What's the matter?" he scoffed; wiping the blood on his blue uniform. "Not so tough anymore are you?"
The boy stayed where he was; facing the earth; hands grasping at the soil. Father, I've failed you. Mother, sister, everyone is gone.
"Now not only have you ruined my face, but you've gone and bruised my hand as well." The soldier started for the boy and kicked him hard in the stomach.
Pain shot through the boy's body, the air leaving his lungs. Dammit! I can't move. Hair hung in his face, obscuring the view of his home. It didn't matter; the village was burning and its' people with it. I'm so pathetic. The boy clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. I'm so weak. I couldn't save anyone.
"Still crying like a little bitch?" Bruised flesh became more so as the soldier's foot connected again with the boy's stomach, sending blood flying from his mouth. "Well, this is fun and all, but orders are orders." The soldier wiped some remaining blood from his face and reached to his side for his pistol. "Can't leave any of you vermin alive."
Vermin? Is that what the government thinks of us? The boy began to laugh; beaten, bruised and bleeding there on the ground; but he was laughing. Maybe they're right. If they have to go through all this trouble to wipe out an entire village; we must be vermin.
"Laugh all you want kid," said the soldier; gun pointing at the boy's head. "Get it out of your system, I don't think you'll be doing much of it in hell."
Hell? Is that where people like me go? Vermin? Laughter subsided and gave way to more tears. I don't want to die.
The soldier smiled coldly at the sight of the broken thing below him. "Say hello to mama and papa for me."
Tearful eyes flew open and the boy leapt to his feet; stick back in hand; lunging for the blue-clad demon.
BANG!
Pain shot through his face and into his brain; fueling the rage inside. The boy slammed into the soldier and brought him to the ground. Hands rose with stick in hand; but hesitated. The boy's right eye stared down at his family's murderer; his left eye refusing to open. Shouts could be heard from behind him; but they were ignored.
Kill him. "Should I?" spoke the boy aloud. Kill him. "He killed my family, I should but…" Kill him. Kill him. "But what if…" Kill him. "I can't…" Kill him. Hands tightened on the weapon they held; sweat and blood pouring down the boy's face. The shouts were getting closer. My face, it hurts. Kill him. The boy closed his only open eye. I can't think straight. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill. Kill. Kill.
The soldier inched his hand towards his gun, sitting less than a foot away. Just a little more. He took a quick glance back at his assailant; his eyes were closed and he was talking to himself. Focusing his attention back to his pistol, the soldier pushed his muscles to their limit. I won't die like this, not at the hand of some filthy brat.
A voice continued to plague the young boy's mind. There was nothing in the voice that was him, other than the sound of it. Kill him or be killed. The boy opened his eye and noticed the soldier; his hand closing on the grip of his gun.
"No!" A hard thwack of the stick halted the military monster. The voice shook within his skull.
Kill him now. You hear them. They're coming. Getting closer. Kill him! Do it now. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. KILL HIM!
FINE! " I'll kill him!" the boy screamed; impaling the stick in the soldiers eye.
Blood welled up and spouted like a fountain; coating the boy in its' crimson hue.
"I did it, you see?" No answer. "You hear me?" asked the boy to himself. "It's done, I killed him." Nothing. The voice was gone. So tired. Eyes closed shut as all energy left the boy's body, and he fell unconscious. Muffled voices drew closer as the world faded to blackness.
-Two Weeks Later-
Voices. They're coming for me. Gonna kill me. No, not voices; beeping. A machine? Where am I?
"Where am I?" the dark-haired boy asked; stirring in the bed he occupied.
A man sat in the corner of the small white room; asleep; his face obscured by long, unkempt, blonde hair. The man woke upon hearing the boy's question, revealing a kind face and gentle golden eyes. "Ah, finally awake I see."
The boy repeated his question. "Where am I?"
"You're in a hospital," answered the kind faced stranger. "You've been asleep for a couple of weeks."
"Two weeks?"
The man removed his long white coat and hung it on the back of his chair; smoothing the wrinkles on his emerald green vest. "Yes, do you not remember?"
"I remember fire and pain; shouting all around me." The boy placed a hand on the left side of his face, feeling rough bandages. "What is this?"
"I'm sorry," sighed the man. "When the resistance brought you in you were bleeding profusely; your eye was lost."
"Lost."
The golden man nodded and grabbed a chart. "So young, and you've seen and done so much already."
A knock came from the door, drawing the man's attention. "Dr. Hohenheim, you're needed in B-wing."
"Coming." The doctor placed the chart back down. "You rest up, I'll be back in awhile." Putting his coat on, the man left, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts.
That's right. Everyone's dead. Father, mother, little Abigail; they're all gone. The wall broke and the boy began to weep; not noticing someone watching him from the door.
"Why are you crying?" came a small voice.
The black-haired boy looked up with his only eye to see a young boy; smaller than himself; standing near the doorway; soft expression on his face, with eyes as golden as his hair. "You're not hurt are you?"
The bed-ridden boy quickly dried his tears. "Of course not, just missing an eye is all. What do you want?"
Golden eyes lit up, obviously ignorant to the other boy's sarcasm. "That's great! I knew daddy could fix you." The smaller boy smiled, causing the other to turn away; his face red. "My name's Van. What's your name?"
"My name?"
"Yeah, your name. You have a name don't you?"
"You'd just laugh," said the black-haired boy.
Golden eyes shone with innocent truth. "I promise I won't; cross my heart."
The golden boy crossed his fingers over his chest. "Hope to die."
What is this feeling? I don't know this boy. Why am I blushing? Should I tell him? Yes. "King," he whispered.
"What?" asked the smaller boy.
"My name is King; King Bradley."
"Nice to meet you King Bradley. I'm Van Hohenheim."