Evaporated
S J Smith
Note: These characters are not mine. Even if you don't recognize them, they're not mine. Drat it all.
Summary: I can't even come up with one. – shrug - What if Ed was alive in our time now, and a (semi) normal kid? What would his life be like?
Ed lay sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling and the smoke curling up toward it. His bleary eyes followed the cracks running through the stained paint, starting above his head and tracking them back and forth across the tiny room. He knew he should be getting up, should be making something for Alphonse's and his dinner but lethargy kept him pinned to the sloppily made bed, cigarette dangling from his mouth. His hand came up, pinched the cigarette between second and ring finger and he blew out a curl of smoke as his arm dropped off the mattress, springs squeaking in protest of that movement. Ed knew he should get up and open the window, let the smoke dissipate before Alphonse came home from classes but the even the threat of scolding wasn't enough to rouse him from the bed.
There were a thousand things he should be doing and Ed knew it; knew he should shake this off, get up and go do something; but even the simplest, making the bed, seemed to take too much energy. Ed curled his arm back up, taking a puff off the cigarette, the acrid smoke filling his lungs. He let out in a long sigh, glancing off the edge of the bed to tamp out the cigarette. His head turned to the side, Ed caught sight of the picture on the night table; one of a pretty girl, standing in a field of flowers. The corners of his mouth turned down and his gaze slid away from the photograph. He didn't want to see her looking at him out of that frame, like an unreachable dream. Reaching over, he fumbled with the frame, turning it face down on the table before sitting up, his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
A bass track rattled the bedroom window in its frame; a familiar occurrence, one that repeated itself more often than Ed had to pee. He raised his head staring blankly at the window, at the pale yellow light filtering through the blinds. Al would be coming home from school soon, expecting his supper. Sighing, Ed picked up the ashtray and pushed to his feet. He went to the window, pulling the blinds and unlocking the glass. Pushing the window open, he looked at the street below, not really seeing the kids playing stickball, the parked cars or the older kids and adults, sitting on the stoops.
In his mind, he saw a girl, sweet-smelling breeze tousling her hair, a smile warming her face, and Ed clenched his hand into a fist, pounding it lightly against the window frame. I can't let her down, he thought, I promised.
Sighing, Ed straightened, grabbing the ashtray to empty as he shuffled out of the room. He had the feeling it was going to be a long night.
A.N.: This ficlet spiraled out from a discussion held by D. M. Evans and Mjules one night, some time back. I may continue it or may not; the little voices that beg me to write stories down sometimes wave scenes from this universe in front of my eyes and they're kind of pretty, in an "oh, yes, that's quite angsty, isn't it?" kind of way.
