Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair…
I had imagined this day many times, shaping it out in minute details that kept changing as I grew older, hopefully wiser and definitely more and more disillusioned in the ways of the world. The visions, however different, remained essentially the same. At this grand moment of my life I saw myself standing in this office, thinking great thoughts, ready to change the future of Amestris.
However now, five minutes before stepping out in front of the people who put their trust in me, I can't concentrate on the words I am about to say. I am looking at the old photograph in my hands andmy mind is blank. The only thought spinning inside my head is a line from a half-forgotten poem,
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair...
A boy's face, for once carefree and happy, grins at me from this picture of a distant past. How many years since this was taken? Five? Six? No, the date on a corner reminds me brutally. Ten. Surely, it can't be that long ago. I still remember how he laughed that day, jokingly punching his brother while someone in the office - was it Breda? - snapped this picture.
The sun outside the window is blazing away its afternoon portion of the heat. He was always saying that it will be raining on the day I become Fuhrer. I wonder, what it would have been like if he was still here. Would he have kept his hair long? Would he have been standing now in that cheering crowd, or in the selected group behind me? Or maybe, he would have been sitting right here, in this office with me, joking and lecturing me on how I am supposed to look, reminding me all the things dear and forgotten. Would the sunlight have shone on his head and added a glint to his smiling eyes, when I turned around to name him among the seven trusted Generals that will take the seats in a new High Counsel?
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair...
"Sir, everything is ready. They are waiting for you," I hear Hawkeye say from behind the door.
"Come in, Riza," I call out, ignoring the protocol. I am not ready yet. Even though I spent years waiting for this moment to come, even though I've considered myself ready fifteen years ago, now I hesitate. It does not feel right without him here.
Riza looks at me, then at the photograph in my hands; no explanation is needed, she understands me better than I do myself. In a few steps she is next to me, hands around my shoulders. She does not speak, but I hear her reassuring thoughts and feel ashamed of my weakness. I don't break the circle of her comforting hands, because when I step outside of this room no trace of weakness shall remain. When Riza steps back, a stray beam of sunlight filters through the curtains and lands on her head, painting her hair in shades of gold.
Suddenly, I wish it were raining.
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A/N: This was written for one of the wonderful prompts – a line from T.S. Eliot masterpiece "Prufrock and Other Observations". Originally I wrote two parts, but I think the theme is completely explored with just this one. Anyway, my particular challenge was to write this in a first person point of view. I am not sure it worked well. Alas.
All comments are highly appreciated. Please, do drop me a note if you see any glaring grammar mistakes!
Disclaimer: Characters of 'Fullmetal Alchemist' belong to H. Arakawa.