Brief Commentary:
Yes, short. And intentionally so. I had always wondered what exactly he went through when she was killed. I imagine it was something like this. Was listening to ever-helpful Evanescence music; this time it was 'Missing.'
Left audio channel: Please.. please.. please...
Right audio channel: Can you stop the fire?
Can you stand to fight her? You can't stop the fire
- you won't say the words...
Blood
One Shot
There was blood.
Too much blood.
It flooded his vision, ruptured his senses, and drowned him in a sea of that terrible combination of iron and water. Although he could not feel it, he sensed it dripping hollowly from inside him, and he felt he might cave in from weariness and despair. And despite the fact that it was blood that tied him down to the world of the living, he could not help but despise it; loathe it. Blood was a sign of nothing but death.
There were flashes of black and white, a few grays in between, and always, that spattered array of red liquid, plastered forcefully into his mind's eye. Oh, how he wished dearly that instead of blood, it could be the Philosopher's Stone, so he could end his misery and just sleep forever in his original body.
He felt the last twitch of her dying, pale hand, before she fell still inside him, and he knew he had broken his promise to Greed's lackeys. As brutish and strange as they all had been, they had treated him fairly, and in thanks he had succeeded in getting their only, beloved female comrade killed. By the Fuhrer, none-the-less. Was it possible for the man, who had lead Amestris through so many years, to draw so much blood out of one person through a simple stabbing motion?
Perhaps only he himself was exaggerating it. Maybe there had only been a few drops, and he had been so unaccustomed to it that he considered it much worse than it had been. But no, he realized, there had been no exaggeration, as blood seeped through the small slits in the sides of his metallic abdomen and began to drip steadily, hungrily, at the filthy cement below his feet.
He had never wanted to be out of this stupid suit of armor more than he did now; he longed with an overwhelming urge for his original body, a body that could not hide petite, criminal women, or even the stray cats he found on the street inside it. Then he would not have to feel this much sorrow for one soft-hearted chimera who had also died a violent death. A brief image of a small girl, a dog, and another chimera flashed in his mind, followed a maniacal expression on the Sewing-Life Alchemist's face, before the images flickered and died.
And suddenly, amidst the sea of blood and terror, Alphonse Elric remembered everything.
And when he reached out, he only saw a half of himself, grinning maliciously, whose hand he now held as his own began to disappear.
Al...Al...Al. Al. Al...! Al! AL! ...ALPHONSE!
Fin.