Author's Note: Well, this was originally going to be a kind of poetry compilation…But then I gave up on it, and thus decided just to post them up as separate oneshot pieces. So - here was the very first piece that I'd written about the colors and how they've entertained so deeply into Roy and Riza's lives. Thank you, and please read and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.


She doesn't remember.

.

Stationed,

Here,

In this awful deserted wasteland,

Put here to kill,

And maim,

And capture.

.

She can't remember green.

.

It's no surprise,

Really,

That she can't remember.

.

Green means life,

Means growth,

Means rebirth,

In something new.

.

Nothing here is green,

Nothing at all,

And she can see why.

.

All she knows,

All she knows since being here,

Is brown

And black

And red

And grey.

.

The chocolate brown hair

Of the soldier she gunned down,

The dusty brown-yellow,

Of the dirt that she stands in,

Lives on,

Digs her shoes into,

Each and every monotonous day,

The dirtied, rusted mocha

Of the once brown-yellow ground,

Blood seeping in through the dry cracks.

.

The glistening black color

Of her silver-tipped shotgun,

The dull,

Gunmetal-gray color

Of her lead bullets,

The complete darkness

That falls on the camp,

A carpeting of the darkest black,

Screams and gunshots still,

Sometimes,

Ringing out from the blackness,

Piercing the silence,

Before all is quiet

Like it was before.

.

And his eyes,

His hardened onyx eyes,

That hold such immense pain,

Such utter remorse,

When he has to take another life.

.

The deep burgundy,

Almost black-

But not quite-

Of their blood,

As,

Falling,

It soaks into the dusty ground.

.

The red-orange

Of the darkly setting sun,

Slowly descending

Into the waiting darkness,

Waiting to unfurl

It's carpet of inky black.

.

The red of his flames,

Sparking at a mere snap of his fingers,

Burning brightly,

Clearly,

In this colorless desert,

As they burn,

And kill,

Legions of soldiers,

Armies,

Dead in their tracks.

.

Grey –

Grey is the color,

That one hidden color,

Of the eyes of soldiers,

Soldiers who have seen too much,

Lived too little,

Before being forced onto the battlefield.

.

Before being forced to become murderers,

Killers,

Dogs of the military.

.

And grey,

A soft,

Dusty,

Near-white gray.

.

The color of the ashes,

The ashes he leaves behind

Every time he starts yet another flame.

.

For once his fire,

His uncontrolled,

Raging,

Tamed,

Fire is through with them,

With whatever he has chosen to set alight,

That is all that is left.

.

And in this world,

This narrowed world

That she now finds herself living in,

There is no green.

.

How could there be?

.

Whatever was green,

Was once vibrant and growing,

Has been changed

Into a sickly,

Wilted,

Drying yellow.

.

And so he finds her like that,

Lying on the ground,

Tracing patterns,

Aimless spirals,

Into the thick layer of loose dirt

That covers the earth.

.

She lies there,

Merely drawing unknown shapes,

Trying to remember,

Really,

Truly,

Remember,

What green had looked like.

.

She tries,

And fails,

To imagine the earth-

A rich, dark, earthy brown color,

Not this seedy baked clay-

When green,

When life,

When flowers and herbs and plants and trees,

Were once growing out of it.

.

And she fails.

.

She can't do it.

.

She sees him,

Hears his muffled footsteps,

As he sits next to her,

Eyes questioning.

.

"I can't remember,"

She says,

By way of reply.

.

"I can't remember green."

.

"I can."

He says,

Softly,

Softly,

Almost inaudible

To her sharp ears.

.

"Please,"

She whispers,

Pleading,

.

"Remind me."

.

And,

As they sit there,

Hands laced together,

Looking towards the beginning sunset,

The sky already turned pale pinks,

Darkened blues,

A bloody red near the horizon-

He talks to her,

Paints wonderful pictures in her mind,

About green.

.

He reminds her,

In quiet words,

Of the dark green dress she wore,

Of the light green-blue sheen

To the stilled lake,

Right by her house,

Of the lightened green that was seen,

The first sign of budding

From her planted sunflowers.

.

And at the end of it all,

She smiles,

For,

Although she may not remember fully,

She can now remember green.

.

They fall asleep that way,

In front of her tent,

Hands still entwined,

Still facing the setting sun-

Which has set,

Long ago-

A content smile on her features,

And the same on his,

Happy enough with how the day has gone.

.

And when he proposes to her,

A few years after the war,

With a vibrant emerald engagement ring,

She smiles.

.

And accepts,

Of course.


Author's Note: This was written some time ago, so I'm really not sure of the quality of it. =_=

*sheepish grin*

Well, I hope you enjoyed it - and please leave a review if you did, if it wouldn't be too out of your way!

Thank you!