A/N: I used Japaneses in this. I will tell you the translation later. This means thoughts/dreams. This means text message.
Chapter One
I am sitting below the oak tree in the park behind the Rōzu apartment building finishing up reading the article that we have to read for science homework. Of all my straight 'A's', science is my best subject. It's just easy for me. As I read, the deep gray clouds decide that it's time to cry. Rain begins pouring down on me. I stand up, gather my things, and get ready to run for it until I hear...
"Edowādo, watashi no musuko, Edowādo..." I turn toward the sound.
"Mama wa?" I ask, "Kotoda...?"
It can't be her. But I see her. Her long brown hair, her sweet green eyes, it's her! … isn't it? My sight of her is hazy. I reach out for her and…
I woke up to find myself reaching for nothingness again. I clenched my fist and slammed it down on the bed. I laid there. My shoulders hurt. I pushed my flesh arm into the bed in attempt to stretch. When that didn't help any I tossed and turned in the bed until both of my feet were on the ground and my head was resting on my cold auto-mail arm.
I guess I should get up, I told myself. I forced myself out of bed. Al was already up. He was bent over his desk either drawing or writing. Just like me, science was Al's best subject, but that didn't make it Al's favorite. Al loved art. And he was an amazing artist. Name almost anything and he could draw it. I was sixteen, a sophomore at Tsubasa High, and Al had just started high school as a freshman.
"What'cha doing?" I asked my brother as I stood up and stretched again.
"I'm drawing," Al said in a tone that replaced the word "duh". I smiled.
"What are you drawing?" I asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Never mind. Where's Winry?"
"She's in the kitchen."
"Got it."
I pulled my black sweatpants on and pulled my red sweatshirt, then turned to Al.
"Did you eat breakfast without me?" I asked.
"No," was Al's simple response.
"Mhmm."
I walked over to him and looked over his shoulder. I saw his picture and had to try not to scream at him.
"Mom?" as I spoke, my voice cracked.
"Don't get mad at me, Ed," Al said.
"I'm not mad." I said flatly.
Al drew the last detail on the perfect picture of out late mother then grabbed his box of colored pencils. As he began shading in the color of her hair, Winry called our names.
"Al, Ed, breakfast's ready!"
"Coming!" I called back.
Al stood up and combed his dirty blonde hair out of his face. Al's outfit that day was simple. A plain white T-shirt and faded blue-jeans. He wore white socks and black sneakers on his feet. His eyes -which were golden, the same color as mine- sparkled.