It was a rush. A pain coursed through my veins and made my blood boil with a fiery intensity. A flame of passion that roared in my ears and made my mind spin. I'd never been good at hiding my emotions, and if I had, Al would see right through them anyway. He seemed to know everything without me telling him. He asked if I was in love. Who asks that? Al, so young and innocent, asked me if I was in love with another man from another world. And the funny this is, I didn't think twice about how to answer him.
"I don't think I could love some one that didn't even know I liked them, Al." I had said. It was the honest truth. "I never even hinted at anything. Hell, I barely realized it myself." I wish I had figured it out sooner. When I did eventually see him, it was for what, an hour at the most? He looked different. The same, but a bit worn down, and he… well, the years weren't exactly kind to him.
"Anyway," I continued. "There's nothing I can do now. I just gotta move on." I took a breath and stood from the couch we'd been sitting on. I went and looked out the window out to the streets two storied below. "There's a crazy world out there, Al. Just waiting for us to grab some." I turned back to look at him. He looked at me with pity. "So we gotta move. Move on, move out… something. I'm beginning to hate it here."
Germany was slowly fading. The year was 1935. Officers became more frequent. There was more segregation. I hadn't seen Noah in some time. Officer Hughes said she'd been moved to where her kind belonged. I don't think I liked the way he said it. He treats so many people like filth; the Hughes I knew loved everyone. I stopped comparing. I had to; it broke my heart to think everyone was acting so oddly.
1937 was a hard year for Al. He turned 17, but was still recruited for the army. I didn't think that Germany would sink that low. Hughes believed he would be alright. Hughes always tried to comfort me. When Al left, all I had was my research and book-keeping job at the local library. The library saved my life. It was my fortress where neither man nor beast could chase me or hunt me. Well, I thought it was safe.
"Edward, you need to get out of town for a while." Hughes came into the library with a sad look on his face. He often had that face after avoiding Gracia.
"Why?" I had asked. "I'm not in any trouble. I've obey the laws… is there some new one I don't know about concerning library etiquette?" I was always sarcastic to him, always tried to see if he was like the old Hughes. He wasn't.
Hughes sighed. "Listen, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you're a good kid, and I know you're not some filthy roach." He pulled up a chair and sat backwards so his arms rested on the back.
"Yes?" I was interested now. Many people I knew had been told to leave. I hadn't seen most of them in months. "What's happening?"
"I'll have a car come get you in the morning." He said, scratching his beard. "I think if you leave before ten they won't come looking for you. So be ready at eight." He stood and straightened his uniform. "Pack enough for a month, Edward. I… I don't know exactly how long it'll take. But I'll make sure your apartment is safe, don't worry about that. Take your valuables, and… and take your prosthetics. We don't want those to be stolen, now do we?"
"Hughes," I was speechless. "Will you at least tell me where I'm going?"
He had sad eyes. They were cold, but not heartless. They looked almost on the verge of tears, but he couldn't afford to be seen crying. He was a man of the law, he wore the uniform with pride, and he spat on scum. "My hometown."
The trip was at least seven hours long. I slept a while, but my (new) pocket watch kept track of the time. The driver never once spoke to me, even when I asked him questions. I asked him what the name of the town was. I asked him what his name was. I asked if he had kids. I asked when he'd become a driver. I asked if he was married. At that one, he tensed up and took in a shaky breath. I'd struck a nerve, but I was smart enough to not push it.
The town was nice. It was quiet, and no one asked many questions. I was told to stay in a small house with another man that wasn't home at the time of my arrival. I was shown to my room, where a bed and desk was already set up. Hughes's driver helped me unload my few belongings; a few (dozen) books, notebooks, pens, clothes, and a few random things. I was then left alone to explore.
Exploring ended up being a bad idea for me. The only bar in the entire town decided that because I was new, I should buy a round for the people inside. I had barely any money, and I told the bartender that. He told me that if I wanted a drink I'd have to buy everyone else one first. I told him to shove that logic where the sun don't shine. I was then thrown out of the bar.
I went to the bakery to buy some bread. The woman behind the counter looked at me like I had grown three heads. I asked if I could buy a loaf of bread. She asked me what I was going to use it for. Now, I know she's a woman, and I should respect her, but that just really pissed me off.
"I'm going to eat it, dammit," I had said. "What else do you do with bread?"
"I just don't what any hoodlums to mess around these parts." She had the oddest voice I'd ever heard. She wasn't exactly fond of me. "So don't go messing around, you hear me?"
I laid out some money on the counter. "Gosh, will this cover it? Just one loaf, to eat, and then I'll leave your store."
She glared at me, but then looked at the money. I bet I laid out a bit more than the loaf was worth, considering how lousy the bread was, but I really didn't care. I just wanted to leave that damn place. She took the money, gave me a loaf of bread, and then pointed to the door. I left, took a bite of the bread, and spat it right out. She'd given me moldy bread. What a bitch.
By the time I returned home from exploring, it was about eight thirty at night. There was a light on in the little apartment I was assigned to. My first night and already some one had broken into my house. I quietly opened the door and snuck inside. I passed the living room area where a radio was playing, and past the kitchen where a plate and a pot were in the sink.
"So I'm guessing you're my new roommate, then?" The voice sent shivers up my spine. The chill seemed to stop my brain from functioning. His voice was just as I remembered it. His voice was… "Are you alright?" He stood next to me. I turned to look at him.
"Y-yes," I stuttered and stuck out my hand. "I'm Ed, Edward Elric. You can call me Ed. Or Edward. Or Elric. I really don't care that much. Most people call me Ed. So you can too. But you don't have to, I mean, you can call me anything you want. Except short, because I'm not short, so that'd be a lie. But calling me Ed wouldn't be a lie because that's my name so it'd be the truth." I couldn't stop talking.
His smile grew until he started laughing. "Alright. Do you want something to eat? I just heated up some noodles." He walked past me to the kitchen. "Do you want some?"
"Sh… sure." His skin was pale. His eyes were the darkest blue, like a deep trench in the ocean. His hair was slightly disheveled and strands of the dark locks covered his eyes a bit. He looked exactly like him. "So…" It was terribly awkward. "What's your name?" I had to ask; I didn't want to accidentally call him Roy before knowing his real name.
"Roy." He smiled as he handed me a bowl of streaming noodles. "Roy Hund. Kinda ironic, actually." He sat down on the couch next to me. "Hund means 'dog' in German. I was in the military for a bit over there." I slurped my noodles as he told me. "I guess I was a real 'dog of the military' back then. But I left, so I guess I should change my name, huh?" He laughed and leaned back on the couch, putting one arm on the cushion behind me.
He was so similar. He was only a few years older than me. He laughed at what I laughed at. We grew so close. We shared secrets. We spent days in that little apartment, just talking and getting to know each other better. I learned about his childhood in southern Germany. I told him lies about growing up in London. I was 24 and he was 35. 1943 was turning out to be a great year. (1)
I didn't mean to fall in love with him. No, not again. Not ever again. Not now, at least. Not when homosexuals were being taken from towns and never seen again. Not now, when a male nurse could be killed on suspicion of being gay. No. I couldn't do that. Plus, then Roy would be arrested to. I couldn't do that to a man who'd been forcibly drafted to fight in the Great War.
He'd never told me why Hughes had let him live in his home town. I never told him that I was brought here because of my limbs. I bet Roy figured it out. But Roy… he was always a mystery. He was so honest about everything. I bet he thought I was a mystery, too.
October 10, 1943. I was taken from my bed in Hughes's apartment. I was confused and bewildered and asked questions. I was told to bring a suitcase of things I wanted to bring. I had 30 minutes to get ready. I got some clothes, a few journals, and some books and put them in my suitcase. I couldn't find Roy anywhere. The soldiers yelled and I heard the name of the town for the first time. Munster. (2)
I don't remember much about the train ride to the camp. I remember the tight space, the stagnant air, and the overflowing bucket of excrement. I remember the sobbing of the young, the dying of the old, and the yells of the lonely. I remember the pain in my leg, the hunger in my stomach, the dryness of my throat, and the sudden changes from hot to cold. At night it was freezing. At midday it was hot as hell. The dead bodies were rank, and we stopped maybe three times. At those stops, the soldiers told us to throw out our dead.
We could smell the air before we reached the destination. It was worse than any slaughter house I'd ever been to. It actually reminded me of Mustang at first. It was a burning. And as the door was opened, I recognized it immediately. Flesh.
I fell to my knees in shock and fear. Soldiers were yelling in dozens of languages. We were told to leave our belongings there. We were rushed and… sorted into two groups. I looked around my group; old men and women, very young children, and pregnant women. I looked at the other group; young men and women, fatherly figures, and husky men. I was in the weak group. In Amestris, we killed the weaker groups of prisoners.
Most of the males in my group were led to a large building. I heard two gun shots and a few screams from there almost a minute later. Then the soldiers near me pulled some men from our group and sent them towards that same room. I was left with about a dozen or so other men. They looked pretty healthy and around my age, maybe in their early thirties. We were brought with the other group (now also sorted by gender) of males to a large room.
We were told to strip and get rinsed off because apparently we smelled like old fish. The water was freezing and I only stood under it for about 30 seconds before I was grabbed by the arm. I was pulled to a room where other men were also rushing to put on clothes. The officer who'd grabbed me yelled at me in Polish. I didn't understand, but I grabbed a black and white shirt and pants set. I managed to get a pair of shoes before being pushed outside.
There was a line to another building. Men with hair were going in. Bald figures were coming out, each grabbing at their head before slowly walking toward a line in front of a building. It was terribly cold and my eyes were dry. The man in front of me was old, perhaps about 55 or so, and turned back to me.
"You're a bit young, ain't ya?" He asked, his voice raspy and soft. "You're not some homo pervert, are yuh?"
"I'm 24, sir." My own voice was shaky and hoarse. I rubbed my throat and tried to remember the last thing I had to drink. Oh yes, it was that whiskey with Roy. He'd bought the bottle for what he'd called a special occasion. Of course, I was taken from my home the next day, never to see Roy Hund again. Special indeed.
I spent the next four months working. I either moved rocks from one place to another (and then back again once done with the pile) or carried clothing from the train station to a large building where all the clothing was sorted. I found a few piece of my own clothing while in that building, but never spoke of it in fear of being killed.
My days of moving rocks kept me sane, even though the Nazis thought I was crazy. One rock and walk back. Grab a rock and bring it to the first rock. One at a time until they are all gone. Suddenly, the ground would shift, and all those rocks were back on the wrong side. I grabbed a rock and brought it to the other side. I got another rock and brought it over to the first one. It would change after each pile was done.
June 15th, 1945. The guards freaked out and started shooting whoever they could find. I hid under my living quarters with a few Jews, gypsies, and others. There was smoke, fire, blood, screams, and the sounds of bullets. The smell of death was more present than it had ever been before. It wasn't until nightfall that the soldiers left the camp. We waited until morning to peek out and see if anyone else was alive.
June 17th, 1945. The Americans arrived with guns and medicine. At first they charged at the gates, but when they found the 20 of us huddled together around a fire, they quickly went to helping us. I was given shots, even though I told them I didn't want any. They were pretty pleased to see that I could speak English. Breda, one of the American soldiers, asked if I had any family to go home to. I told him no.
Roy Hund, I later found out, was a spy for the United States. He had worked for Germany for 10 years, and then realized he wanted to work for the Allies.
He became a double agent, or at least that's what they called him. The American soldiers I befriended had worked with Hund. Riza Whiting, a major, had gone out with him a few times before realizing what a pig he was. John Havoc, who I ended up dating, had been pretty close with Roy, maybe too close, but I never pushed the subject. Kevin Feury, an outgoing fellow a few years older than me, never really trusted the man, or so he says.
Roy Hund was a liar who sold me out for his own selfish reasons. He was very much like Mustang that way; using me for himself. But Mustang always had me in mind, even if I didn't realize it at the time. Hund was nice, but had his own reasons for being my friend.
John Havoc and I lived for thirty seven years in Los Angeles.
I never found out what happened to Alphonse, even though I wasted 5 years of my (and John's) life searching for him. There wasn't even a record of young men drafted from our little town.
And of Amestris? I'd like to go back, but there's something that keeps me here. Maybe I know that alchemy isn't real here. Maybe it's the fact that we destroyed the gate. Or maybe it's the tattoo on my left arm. 352-480A-83.
Edward Elric-Havoc. It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
(1). Made it up. I know the time difference is kind of different, but I just needed this to make the plot work.
(2) A small German town that really was invaded on that day.