A/N: Requested by fenikkusuken on Livejournal, drabble post 9/28/09.
Prompt: pensive
Disclaimer: I don't own the original work this is derived from. This work is complete, and its brevity is intentional.
Enjoy!
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about the lost sun
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Some mornings, Winry wakes up long before dawn and sits on the roof.
In the east the sky glimmers with paler shades of deep blue and grey, but she looks towards the north and west, into the dark. The only light she knows lies that way, and she will work in shadow until it returns and smiles at her.
Life ticks merrily over even without them. The rest of the town has nearly forgotten them, distant landmarks far behind their floating boats, but Winry remembers. Every day, even as she fixes things and makes things and beats the world around her into top working shape, she thinks of the things she couldn't fix and can't save.
Before she goes to bed every night, she prays to a god she doesn't believe in just in case. Her dreams are garbled and chaotic, but there are two constants in each of them, and she often wakes with their names on her tongue.
This is the fate of the left behind: to wait, and remember, and hope.
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