The Color of Envy

It was a cold bleak night. Only the two of them were home. The boy sighed and looked up from his book he was reading as he lay on the floor. "Mom?" the small boy asked as he looked up at his mother. The light from the fire shone into her eyes as she turned back to from it to her son across the couch. He put his book down and got up off the floor. "When's dad coming home?" he asked as he walked over to the couch and sat down beside her, his long, teenaged legs hanging over the end of it. She sighed and looked at her son with tears in her eyes. She didn't want to tell him the truth, but she didn't want him trying to find out for himself either. She just smiled at him and shook her head as she went back to staring at the fire. "How come he hates me?" the boy asked as he leaned on his mother.

The woman sighed and looked back at her son. "Your father doesn't hate you. He's just..." she trailed off, looking back at the fire. "Busy..." she murmured. The boy sighed and took his legs in his arms.

"When ever he comes back from wherever he was, he never gives me a hug...or even says hi to me..." he mumbled. "Is dad disappointed in me? Did I do something wrong?" he asked with a surprised face. He would never have done something to make his father mad on purpose. He didn't know of any time he had made his dad angry.

The woman sighed and stood up. She grabbed the iron stake from the mantle of the fireplace and moved the logs around in it to keep them warm. "You're father isn't disappointed. He's just doesn't have enough time for us like he usually would...time he had when you were a kid. He doesn't have the time. He's doing some...research." she said as she stumbled back to the couch and sat down with a heavy sigh.

"I saw dad with a woman yesterday. There were two boys with her." he said looking at his mom. "What's dad been doing? Who is she? And how come the boys look so much like me...so much like...dad?" he asked. He tried in every way he could think of to make this seem logical and that his father had a very good reason of leaving the teenager and his mother to talk to another woman. He wasn't coming up with much.

"The woman's just someone who works with him. And the boys are her sons." she said, not looking at her son. How could she tell him? "He's just going to talk to her for business."

"You're lying." he said and stood up abruptly. Even in his late teens he was a bit shorter than his father, but still looked a lot like him. He stormed out of the room.

Passing his father's study, he stopped. He wanted to know just what was going on. So, he opened the door quickly and slipped in before anyone could see him.

Quietly, he flipped over to his fathers desk and started looking through the drawers. Nothing. He turned to his fathers cabinet and sighed. He might as well. He walked over to it and pulled it open. Pictures fell out on to the ground. He grunted and picked them up, sitting in the study chair that was behind the desk his father had. One picture was of the woman, him, and the two boys. He snarled at the boys. They looked so much like him. He should be the only one his father payed any attention to. He deserved all of it. He threw that picture on the desk and looked at the others. There was another of him and the woman. She was hanging all over him. He sighed and threw that one on the desk as well. All of them were the same; pictures of the boys together, pictures of him and the woman, and pictures of all of them together. He growled and wiped all of the off the desk and on to the floor. He walked around the desk and stomped on them, ripping a few in half.

He sighed and looked around again. His father was with another woman. He had two new sons and he loved them more than he ever loved him. He cursed and hit the cabinet with his arm. He winced and looked up, hearing a vibrating noise. He gasped as a bottle hit and shattered in his face. He screamed.

He sat there, huddled in a corner of the study. He shivered and once again rubbed his eyes. There was red stuff all over him. It got in his eyes, mouth, nose, ears, and all over his skin. He was breathing slow as he tried not to cry. His eyes burned and hurt. He pulled his hands back and looked at him. He felt so cold now. His whole body hurt.

A door opened as his father walked in slowly. He looked around the room in utter surprise and gasped when he saw his son. He dropped his bag and ran over to him. His son was holding his body and coughing. He pointed to a large broken bottle on the ground. He cursed. Mercury. He sighed darkly, already knowing his first born's fate. He pulled his son close and hugged him.

His son looked up at him with blood shot eyes. "Dad...can I cry now?" he asked, gasping for air as he held his father close to him as if he let go, he'd fly away.

"Yes." Hohenhiem said with a weak voice. "I'm sorry. You can cry."

Suuichi1868
Owari