Black Snow of the Airspace
Summary: With a flash of light, Edward knew it was over. Post-Movie Timeline, 1945.
Disclaimer: I don't own the FMA characters.
He knew rejection. And he knew those looks of mockery, mocking him for his supposed land of birth, for his skin, his eyes, and the words of his lips. He was a living, breathing form of their suffering. But for today, just this day, no one dared touch him, for no one saw him. Not with their eyes clouded with blood, not with their bodies skinned to its core, not with their sizzling flesh dropping to the ground with every movement, every dying breath. Edward stood in the street, uncertain, until a house beside him swayed and collapsed at his feet. The deafening silence wailed and urged him to walk on, walk further and see the extent of your failure, your sin. Buildings have caved in or toppled. Fires sprang up and whipped by the suffocating wind. White smoke slowly dissipated to the air, pleading, reaching out to life, only to be blocked by the dark yellow sky.
Ashes fell slowly like snowflakes, only there was no happiness and blue sky and bright sun.
He did not know where he was, for there were no landmarks. This city, so busy with life a couple of days ago, seemed so small today. He only found crushed happiness and gagged hopes. People searched for their loved ones with bewildered dazes, friends did not recognize each other, as they simply lost their faces. He saw a man drinking the blood-filled water of the city's reservoir, and his wounds smoked whenever he dips his hands on the water. An old woman lay near him with an expression of anguish on her face, her lungs exposed to the world, expanding and contracting with every breath. He averted his gaze. And there was a naked woman silently looking confused at her naked baby. Indeed, for this day, everybody he saw lost their modesty and walked naked in the streets. He realized that something deprived them of their only dignity. Men and women stripped down to their skin. Men and women made equal by the terror of the unknown.
And he saw a person, yes, a person, yet he was not sure whether the person was a man or a woman. Edward could only see a black mass baring a mere outline of a human body. It walked towards him, its arms held out from his body, with forearms and hands dangling, its clothes barely holding on to its skin, or was its skin the clothes? It was a walking scarecrow, but Edward, more than being scared, forced down the hurt in his throat.
"Where did you come from?" He asked. He knew it was a stupid question, but he wanted to see anything that he could hold on to just to tell himself that not all was lost.
But the body could not speak, he opened his red and black flesh of a face, and blood oozed out of the mouth. The sound of his flowing blood from his moving flesh churned Edward's stomach upwards.
The body pointed his roasted arms to the city, indicating where he came from.
"Where are you going?" He asked further.
The body pointed to the north, or anywhere, just away from the city. And as if not talking to Edward at all, the body continued walking like a corpse from a grave, only he was still holding on to whatever shards of life he still had.
And Edward continued walking. The city was mostly deserted except for the dead. Some looked as if they have been burned while on flight; some were lying on the ground, their limbs broken, like the force of something unknown threw them to their deaths; and some literally lost their bodies, for they became shadows imprinted on the walls.
His heart pounded inside him, his breath became short, and he felt dizzy with the thick, sweetish electric smell that assaulted his nose. His legs gave way under him.
He finally dropped to his knees and implored to any existing god to kill him right there and then.
He closed his eyes and remembered that the city was living just two days ago, virtually unharmed by conventional bombing. And people from the capital were fleeing to this place, as it was rumored that the enemies would convert it into a residential hotspot if they won the war. The days were greeted by the same sun and skies every day and children actually played in the streets, unwary that maybe one day, they would not anymore. Not that the people were not on their feet either, they have packed their necessities, ready to flee from their homes once the enemies crush their whole country. Ready to take arms –and die- in the name of their god, their Emperor.
It was a healthy city two days ago, until a squad of B-29s disturbed the dormant blood of these people.
It showered confetti.
Perplexity conquered the minds of people as pieces of paper spiraled downwards to them. He heard the weeping of the old people and the anger of the parents who thought that the great Japanese Empire succumbed to these crass foreigners. And he heard the gleeful delight of their children, reaching out to these paper snowflakes. Not knowing that it warned them of their doom.
Crumpling the note on his flesh hand, Edward dashed, leaving a mob of angry Japanese behind.
The words of the confetti echoed in his mind.
"Your city will be obliterated unless your Government surrenders."
It was a command. It was a command to an empire to fall down on its knees, a command to subjugate a people too proud of their heritage; it was a command to a god himself.
But this; Edward desperately gazed to the dead trees, the melted bridges, the destroyed buildings, the sheer carnage of botched flesh, and the whole goddamned smoking nothing; this is unforgivable.
It was a healthy city fifteen minutes ago, the sun and the sky greeted them like always. A B-29 flew over the city, and the people rushed to get their things to head to the shelters. But the bell of the evacuation area did not ring. There was silence, yes, the city was always silent. Maybe the plane was just a reconnaissance.
But it was an eerie silence.
Then there was a light, a flash of pink, blue, red or yellow. Edward did not know, but it was brighter than a thousand suns, brighter than any transmutation he knew.
Edward opened his eyes.
You failed.
It was a clean destruction.
The stones and granite burned, trees turned into ashes, steel melted, and rivers and people evaporated.
You failed miserably.
Edward tore at his hair, disgusted with himself. Cursed the day the gate threw him in this world, only to suffer more. He let himself fall to the sick soil, face on the ground, begging any god to kill him. But there was none.
For the longest time, time stopped. And Edward heard the echoes of Japan's sorrow, the silent wails of Hiroshima, and the laughter of the gods.
It's all your fault, Elric.
He kissed the ground and dug his fingers on the soil as the black rain seared the dying fields.
A/N: I have always wondered what Edward thought when the bomb exploded and there's nothing about that here. So, there's my take.
Thank you very much for reading my story! If there are any historical inaccuracies, let me know. Comments, reviews, and concrits are much appreciated.
- yujinli