AN: Hello everyone! Ok, this is my first FMA fic. I've been obsessing over this since December and I've finally come up with a stable fanfic idea for it. I'm really stuck in my other two Danny Phantom fanfics, so I'm hoping that if I start writing this, it'll help me get out of my massive writer's block that's been going on for, oh I don't know, EVER! So yeah, I hope you like it. I like doing these Alternate Universe, "What if…?" fics. They're my favorite! Anyway, read and review. (I love reviews to death, BTW. If I don't get enough of them, I…..well, we'll tackle that when we get there. Sorry, if we get there. Which we won't….right? Lol.)
"The Boy on the Hill"
By: PhantomPhorever16
Introduction
"No…." Edward gasped, taking in short, jagged breaths as fast as he could. His chest and stomach felt as though they would give out at any moment, they were causing him so much pain. His vision was blurring, and not just from the mixture of the cold, down-pouring rain and his tears. He couldn't actually tell if he was crying or not. It had been so long since he had cried and he couldn't seem to remember the feeling at first. He forgot how painful crying was, especially when you tried to hold them in. That wasn't the main thing he was focused on, however. He was just trying to keep breathing.
"Why?" he asked himself, his hands and knees, metal and flesh alike, digging into the sodden mud. Edward closed his eyes tight, a pathetic attempt to wake himself up from a dream that never existed. "Why did I do this?" Hadn't he learned his lesson the first time? But he hadn't been in his right mind. He had thought that somehow it would work this time. What had made him think that? He was just desperate and distraught, he supposed. Because of that, he hadn't been thinking clearly, and he did it. Now, he was giving every ounce of strength he had left in him just to keep from collapsing on the ground.
His labored breaths became huge gasps for air. His lungs felt as if they were set on fire, and it felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach. He clutched his stomach with his right arm, the one made out of metal, in attempts to make the pain subside. It did no good, however. It only grew stronger. He tried breathing through his nose and out through his mouth, but when he did that, it only made the pain worse somehow. When the feeling that he'd vomit subsided, relief swept over him. But it was short-lived. Edward began to cough, violently and uncontrollably. He tried to stop but it just continued for what seemed like forever. With one last sputter, however, he managed to stop, his stomach muscles aching, and his throat raw. His eyes opened like creaky doors that hadn't been used in ages. He looked at the ground again, but it looked different from a few moments ago when his eyes were last open. Something had been added to the mud: something liquid, but thicker than water. It took him a moment to realize what it actually was, and when he did figure it out, his eyes widened in shock and fear.
It was blood. He had just coughed up blood.
His sore joints soon gave out underneath his weight and he fell to the ground, dirt and blood caking his face. I'm going to die, he thought. I'm dying. But it's just as well. This is my punishment. I tried to undo my last punishment and this is what it led me to. I was lucky before. Now, I'm getting what I should have gotten last time and then some. No one knows I'm out here. I'm going to die here, alone and pathetic.
From the distance, Edward thought he heard someone call his name, but he devised that his mind must have been playing tricks on him. Nobody was coming for him. He coughed a few more times, not as bad as the first time, though. As soon as it passed, he closed his eyes, exhausted. "Where the hell are you, Fullmetal?" he heard the imaginary voice say again. But Edward didn't answer it. He didn't even have enough strength to open his mouth, much less speak.
Amidst the pounding sound of the heavy rain, Edward heard another noise: a faint wheezing noise, like someone being choked to death. He had heard that noise before, years ago and once he heard it again, an image flashed in his mind. Two huge, inhuman, glowing eyes; a mangled form of a make-shift human body. His own body tensed as much as it could at the thought of it. He knew the image well. It had haunted his dreams for years, and he was sure that he would see the same thing staring back at him if he turned his head and opened his eyes. He was glad he didn't have the strength. It would be as horrific as the first time. Only this time, he had no determination, no hope. This time, he didn't try to get up or move forward. This time, all he did was lay there, weak and lifeless.
He heard the imaginary voice call his name again, temporarily muffling the choking noises from a few feet away. Edward tried his best to block both sounds from his mind, and he just listened to his staggered breaths, the ones he knew would be his last.