Author's Note: This is just a simple ficlet based off the original story The Scarlet Ibis written by James Hurst. If you have not read that short story, I highly recommend you do so before reading this. I will provide the link following this A/N. This story is in Edward's point of view. Enjoy!

The Scarlet Ibis (Original story) - http:///westwood/academ/depts/dpteng/L-Coker/VirtualEnglish/Englsih%20I/English%20Ia/scarlet_

Summer had left us and yet the air had not become chilly with autumn. It feels strange and uncomfortable, sitting here under the shade of our favorite tree. And it's times like this where memories of my childhood are stronger than ever. I see young brothers, ones like me, pass by and then I remember Alphonse.

Alphonse was crazy and loud and yet, the closest thing to me. He was born just a few weeks after my seventh birthday – Mom called it a late birthday present – though I hardly would call Alphonse a 'present.' From the start, he was more like a failure; a disappointment. He was born with a physical disability; he sported a larger head and a reddish body that was wrinkled and small. Everybody thought he was going to die.

My father, one who was bound to leave us in years to come, had a coffin built in anticipation for his funeral. I still remember mother's heartbroken face and the pain that resided deep within her large eyes as my dad hauled the thing to the house and stored it up in the storage shed just paces from our larger country home. It was raining that day; what a truly morbid scene.

But, three months upon his birth, mom and dad decided to name him Michaelangelo Armstrong. But, when we looked at him, we didn't see a Michaelangelo. We just saw a potentially dead baby struggling to even wake up in the mornings. So, I did the one thing I could think of: I renamed him.

"Edward?" My mother questioned after I told her my plan. "What name is it you wish to call him?"

I grinned at my pride – something that would punish me later on – and stated clearly, "Alphonse!"

"Why?"

"No one expects much from someone named Alphonse."

My mother, though appeared troubled by my explanation, accepted the nickname and informed my father. He agreed with the nickname (though not with my reason why) and that was that. My brother was Alphonse Elric.

As Al grew older, dad built him a small cart that I could lug him around in. If I even made one move towards the door, Al would begin to whine and whimper in that way kids do. Even without hesitation, mother hurried me out the door, placing Al in my arms and telling me to take him with me. He was a burden, but he was my brother and I knew he'd end up at my heels all my life.

One day, I took him out to my favorite spot in the adjacent forest. It was called Granny Swamp (I named it after my Granny Pinaco) and it was the best place in the world to go and just relax and think and enjoy all the things that us kids enjoyed back then. When I set him down in the grass beneath a shaded willow, his eyes began to produce thick tears that fell down his cheeks.

"What's a matter?" I asked, almost annoyed. He patted the grass before him.

"It's just so pretty, brother!" He responded. "Just so pretty!"

After that moment, I always took Alphonse with me to Granny Swamp.

Every sibling harbors that string of cruelty towards their other half and yet, that cruelty is fueled by love. Sometimes I would be a beast to my poor brother and at other times, I would take him wherever he wanted and be nice to him. Though, I fear that I was more cruel to him than I was nice. When I look back on it today, I remember the worst thing I did to Alphonse. I forced him to look and touch the casket that we had for him and told him the story about how we all thought he was going to die. Even after all that, he continued to cling onto me and cry, "Don't leave me brother, don't leave me!"

When I was thirteen, Al turned five. At my age, I wanted something to be proud of. All my other friends did and so I set out for mine. It didn't take me long to figure out that Al was the one I wanted to be proud of. But how can I be proud of my brother when he can't even walk?! So, one day, I made a promise to myself that I would teach my baby brother how to walk.

"C'mon, Al." I said one day. "I'm teaching you to walk."

He looked up me curiously. "Why?"

"So I don't have to constantly lug you around like your just a piece of meat."

"But..." He paused and looked a bit uncomfortable. "I can't walk, brother."

I scoffed. "Who says?"

"Everybody does. Even mama."

I sighed and ran a hand through my blonde bangs. "You can walk, Al. That's why I'm gonna teach you." With that, I yanked him to his feet and released him. Immediately, his feet crumpled beneath him and sent him to the ground.

"Don't hurt me, brother." He whimpered. I glowered at him.

"Shut up. I ain't going to hurt you." I picked him up again. And again, he fell. He frowned and sighed.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can, Al. Trust me." I said in a more assuring tone. I don't know what it was, but for some reason, I never gave up and eventually, I taught Alphonse how to walk. One day, a day we chose, we decided to show mom, dad, Granny Pinaco, and her granddaughter, Winry. When they saw, I remember feeling so proud as my mom began hugging and kissing Al and then me and even dad. We were all so happy now that Al could walk – even if it was just a little bit. But, even as proud as I was, I remember feeling so bad because the only reason he could walk was because I was ashamed of having a brother that was a "disappointment."

Months passed and dad left us. It was hard to deal with and I still can't believe it's happened, but it has and I have no desire to track him down. But, after it happened, things settled down. Mom tried to raise us on her own and with Al's disability, it was all the more hard. But, thanks to Winry, Granny Pinaco, and me, we managed. Soon, I taught Al how to walk real well and swore to teach him to swim and fight and do all sorts of things I could so then I truly could have my ideal brother. Al was to start school soon and so we decided to prepare him before then. But, once when we were walking, he fell to the ground, tired, and I remember looking at him, irritated.

"Oh, c'mon, Al! Do ya wanna be different from everyone else at school?"

"What does it matter?"

"A lot. Now, get up. Let's go."

And so, weeks pressed on and he continued to get stronger. It was one day, when we found a Scarlet Ibis dead in our backyard, that things changed for the worst. When we saw it lying there, Al went and buried it. He was careful with it, he didn't touch it, and soon, he returned, sad and quiet, having finished burying that Scarlet Ibis.

As soon as we finished eating, we headed out to explore the land a bit when a storm began to pick up. Frightened and tired, the both of us began to hurry back. Pride took over me again and the faster he walked, the faster I did. Soon enough, we broke into a run. It was only until I heard Al's strangled cry that I stopped. He had fallen behind and was calling me.

"Don't leave me brother, please, don't leave me!"

That furious pride of my childhood fueled my decision to run further away from him. He'd catch up soon anyway. So I ran. Further and further away. Little did I know that that was the moment in which my brother needed me the most. After a minute or two, I turned back to retrieve him. I found it strange that he hadn't caught up by now.

"Al! C'mon!" I called as I saw his huddled figure beneath our favorite willow. He did not respond and I figured he hadn't heard me over the sheeting rain that hit the earth around us and on us. I stepped closer and shook him. Nothing.

"Alphonse!" I yelled. No response. I unfolded his body and saw blood pouring from his mouth and his legs folded over. His eyes were shut and no pulse kept his body warm.

I began to weep and I held his dead body close to mine. I sat there, crying and sobbing in the midst of the storm, clutching close to me my Scarlet Ibis. Gone forever.