There is nothing. Her five senses are gone, washed away by the tide of oblivion. She has no company, simply the little voice in her head to spur her on. It seems to talk only when it wants to, and now starts to repeat a simple question, "Who?"
She does not know. She does not know who. She is stuck with this simple thought, "Who? Who? Who?" The answer is lost in the Void.
It takes a momentary pause, before starting again. "Truth," the little voice whispers. "Truth."
Who is truth? What is truth - she cannot remember. She ponders this for a while, before something stops the process. A shiver; a tingling sensation that she can feel. A tremor sweeps through her body, before it drags her into the white. There is everything.
Trisha's hands fold neatly in her lap as she watches her two children play Skat in their shared bedroom. Their faces look happy and joyful, but their eyes tell a different story.
Father is gone. Father hates us. Father has deserted us.
The letter that came in the mail has caused her sons to become nothing. They will no longer speak his name; they refuse to call him anything but Traitor or Bastard. She can do nothing to console them. They now follow the path of hatred and emptiness. They have chosen ignorance.
Trisha does not believe that her husband has deserted their country. His gait was always a steady, strong independent one - one that was loyal and faithful.
Yet, Trisha wonders why she says 'was.' She wonders why she thinks he is dead.
"We have nothing," declared her oldest, Edward. It is a stormy Friday evening as they sit round the table. "We must join the military and avenge mother - we must murder that bastard and show her the truth."
Her youngest, Alphonse, smiled tiredly. "Mother wouldn't approve. She disliked anything to do with the war."
Trisha stood next to Edward, nodding her head along with Alphonse. "You will certainly not join the war."
"But we have to!" cried Edward loudly, standing up and nearly knocking over his chair. "God! Al, please just listen to me and come. We must prove to mother that we are not ignorant; that that traitor never deserved her!"
Alphonse, knowing the futility of arguing with his hot-headed brother, gave in. Their lives continue, and they power forward with a new goal, leaving Trisha once again running at their heels. They ignored any opinion from their mother, who could sympathize but not empathize, because she had yet to feel nothing.
On the Saturday, Trisha stands at their garden fence and waves off her boys as they sprint toward the Sea of Tears. She tries to run after them, but finds she cannot leave the gate. She pushes her body past it, and is greeted by agonizing pain, so she retreats.
She spends most of her time in the flower bushes outside. She tells herself that they'll send her something in the post. Everyday she checks, but she has yet to find anything.
The more time that passes, the more the desire to leave the garden gates grows. She is not sure how much time has been spent, but she has seen many cycles of the leaves. This is her safe haven, yet she desires to know what is outside. She can no longer remember what resides past the gates. Her head burns with the desire to know more. The sensation grows until it can not be ignored.
It is a frosty morning when she slowly opens the gates and steps outside. There is an immense pain in her head, but she resolves not to stop walking. She must figure out the truth behind the walls, even if it kills her.
The pain grows worse as she stumbles out onto a road. Her eyes dash around frantically until her mind focuses on one place: a small park. Staggering toward it, she trips and falls. Why is it so hard to walk into a park? Why does her body hate her so?
It takes her ten minutes to make her way into the park, where she finds a stone bench and quickly sits down. The pain quiets, and she sighs, relieved. Looking next to the park bench, she sees a beautiful flower display. The flowers are covering something which looks like a grey rock, and she leans in to get a closer look.
Wiping the long accumulated dust and dirt away from the object, she realizes that it is a gravestone. With one last rub, she reveals the name.
Trisha Elric, 1878-1904.
Her head explodes. The pain is unbearable, worse than before. All she is left to do is think and cry. How is this possible? How could she be dead? Is this a dream, is she hallucinating? The little voice in her head suggests anything that could lead to a different outcome. Anything at all.
She has no more time left to think. She has used it all.
There is everything. A tremor sweeps through her body, before it drags her into the white. A shiver; a tingling sensation that she can feel.
She ponders this for a while, before something stops the process. She cannot remember - what is truth? Who is truth? "Truth," the little voice whispers. "Truth."
She is stuck with this simple thought, "Who? Who? Who?" The answer is lost in the Void. It takes a momentary pause, before starting again. She does not know who. She does not know. It seems to talk only when it wants to, and now starts to repeat a simple question, "Who?" She has no company, simply the little voice in her head to spur her on. Her five senses are gone, washed away by the tide of oblivion. There is nothing.
Something I wrote for class that I wish to upload. It's more based upon realism than alchemy, as I had to change some of the things to fit the theme I was going for.
Prompt: Truth
Have a nice day!