The Ballroom, a fullmetal alchemist fanfic

This is a gift for my awesome buddy Sarah, because I know she loves this style of writing. :P

:O Look, people! Lady Charliie is not yet dead! To all of you people who've got me on your favourite authors and look out for my latest uploads and stalk me like crazy and are obviously reading this, I'm sorry, if you still love my story you must still love me and my physical, mental and verbal lack of schedule. XD

PS: I know this is up on FanFiction, but look at it as yourself and really try to get into it. It's a hard thing to do but if you've got a good imagination you can – it also shows you have quite good acting skills XD You can infer the other character as anybody you want her to be.

She stares at the emptiness around her. You watch, silenced by everything. There's a fire burning. Only it's not a happy little campfire and you're all going to sing songs around it to the flow of the acoustic guitar – no. It's this ominous fire that you swear beats like a heart, with a life all of its own and it's dancing all around you. You can't leave this ballroom.

Another beam falls; it's far too close to you for you not to jump for cover. Unfortunately, since cover is now falling demolished at your feet, all you can do is leap in panic and yell. You've always wondered why people do that, yell as something almost hits them; is it fear? Is it because the hit that just misses actually makes contact in some parallel world? Or is it because, as a human, you're dying for someone to come save you?

You don't know. You dismiss that thought and start to wonder why you're thinking such philosophical things at such a fatal moment in your life.

This could be the end of my it, you think. You're going to die in the burnings ruins of your childhood home as those memorable photos and colourful possessions sink into darkness during your last breath.

Reeling you head to the side, you see her; she's making her way to the door. She doesn't seem scared at all-- oh. Aside from the tears streaming wordlessly down her face. Seeing her so afraid seems to dawn on you quite quickly, and suddenly you're crying as well, shaking ever so violently as you try to chase her through the room. Your room.

You wish so hard you never had that paper stuck to your door. It's burning up merely with the heat and getting to the door handle is even harder than need be. Damn, you think, I'm so stupid. Why didn't I think about the chances of a fire before?

Simple. Because you lead a life with friends and money and a good family who are going to take you to places you hate and feed you food you hate, but all of this is now lost.

Oh, God. Oh my God. Please don't say they're gone. Not Mum-- Mummy, not Daddy. Oh God, you start to cry like a little child again and you're screaming for your mummy and daddy and she is really getting petrified as she realises what kind of a situation you're both in, both stuck in, and the fact that your mummy and daddy don't seem to be answering such terrified screams.

You're desperate. You've never even imagined feeling this frightened. Your hand shoots out and you yell over the roaring crackle and the mocking whispers of fire as the metal scolds your bare skin. But now the door's open and it's opened up a whole new world – a whole new world of burning framed pictures and a flaming staircase.

You're not going to get out of this, you think. You're losing hope. You're giving up. You want to leap from the window but there's no way you're going to get past the blazing curtains long enough to open and climb onto and out the window.

Help, you cry, help, help, the words are just flowing out without your command. You don't know why you've just grabbed her and yanked her into the middle of the room, but you've bent down so you can cradle her face onto your shoulder. You don't want her to die. Maybe you're a hero, one of those magical fairytale heroes who become generous and happy and brave in their moment of death. You're still yelling, something about your best friend now, and you imagine so vividly that the window is suddenly opened by an angel that you actually fling your head up to check it's not happening. It's not.

You're still in the centre of a ballroom of fire, and you can't dance this dance.

Experiencing fear, real fear, is not something every person goes through. You're going through it and your mouth is moving and you're crying so hard you can barely breathe and there are words spilling

from your mouth but you don't know if you're saying much. She's sobbing into your shoulder and you feel a wet patch through your shirt.

You tell her it's OK. You scream it's OK. You're screaming at yourself. It's OK, it's OK. More people are saved from places like this than they're lost. Right? R-right? You're right, and you know you're right, you're so desperately correct it hurts you to think otherwise even for a fleeting instant.

Reviews are sweet, dudes! Love ya'll :P