When I was a child my parents fought in the war in Ishval. My father was a state alchemist, my mother a sniper. They refuse to talk about what happened in Ishval, but I can see the burden my mother still carries through her eyes. They will however, tell me about Fullmetal and how they aided him in saving the world. Tears still come to my mother's eyes as she describes the part when Ed and Al got their original bodies back. And my mother isn't a sentimental person.
My father is a stubborn man. He's always been one, and always will be. The only thing that my farther has ever let slip about Ishval is this: he had a friend named Maes Hughes, Maes died, and my father shared his dream of becoming Furher with Maes. Surprisingly, when my father was closest to his dream, he let go. Then again, he was blind when that happened.
My mother is quite and reserved. She's never told me anything about Ishval, telling me, "When you're older I'll tell." I don't want to know about what happened in Ishval, though, because I've seen what it did to my parents. They have manged, however, to let go of some of it and heal. They understand what happened was awful, and they are trying to stop it from ever happening again. And so far it's working. We have peace treaties with all of the countries surrounding Amstris.
My father is 2nd in line to become the president. Mom's his assistant. Mom told me how those many years ago, he gave her permission to shoot him in the back, should he ever stray from the rightful path.
I let these thoughts leave my mind and focus on what my father is saying. "All is One, One is All. Now tell me what that means." I yawn before I answer, giving me time to think of a response. "All things in Life are connected." I answer. I'm good at alchemy, but I never asked my father to teach me it.
Dad nods. "Good. Now, tell me what" I cut my father off. "Dad, it's nearly 12 and I'm hungry. How bout we stop for today." My father nods reluctantly. He stands up from where he was sitting on the ground and brushes the dirt off his pants.
It's a beautiful day, the kind where the wind is gently blowing and it's hot but not too hot, and you can smell the scent of flowers everywhere. Small children are laughing and playing about, but I'm far past the age for that. Yet I get envious of them, for the careless and simplicity of their lives. One of them, a small blond boy, stops and gives me a rose. He's got gold hair and gold eyes, a lot like Uncle Ed and Uncle Al.
I set the rose on the ground next to me and erase the transmutation circle on the ground with a stick. I didn't transmute anything today, but yesterday I made an intricate vase that I gave to mom. It was a glass one, with flowers in all sorts of colors painted on the sides. Mom immediately went outside to clip some flowers and then put them in the vase.
The wind's blowing in my hair, but I don't mind it. I let in run through my hair and mess it up. It feels good.
Dad's waiting for me with the car door opened. I slide into the seat and clip my seatbelt one. Dad does the same, then pauses to look at me. "What?" I ask him. "Nothing, you just look like your mother a lot." "Thanks, dad." It's true, I do look like my mother with light brown eyes and blond hair. My hair is a shade darker, though.
It's a tradition on Saturdays that my father teaches me alchemy. He's been doing it for two years now, ever since mom started working a different shift. I barely got to see him before that, but now we have a whole day to ourselves. The reason why we go out to lunch is because dad's a terrible cook. He could just transmute something to eat, but I think he likes an excuse to dine out.