Hi there... uh school is takeing up a lot of time right now so updates are going to be a lot slower... this came to me while reading... i guess that thinking about college and how i have sort of lived so far effected where my mind went here... oh and for anyone who read the hardest task i am planing on adding more to it by writing a sequel, and thaks to all who reviewed it! anyway enough from me
Disclaimer:
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What?
it says disclaimer what more do you want?
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fine i disclaim FMA
(grumble) even if this story with a few character name changes and place change could fit any fanficdom (grumble)
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i don't care if that is not a word
fine let me just throw this at you...
The One Left Behind.
Pamela was a girl, born in Reismbool, and that was where she had always stayed.
When she was a young girl, Pamela had been friends with most all the kids, in a small town it really was hard not to. But her best friends were imaginary, because, Pamela was always holding back, when the Elric boys led an all kid expedition to the mountain via the river, she hung back. She did this simply because she was afraid to take any risk.
In her teen years, she watched as her human friends slowly one by one, left the small town to see the world, and find their place in it. Pamela stayed, she worked her parent's farm, and as she had outgrown her imaginary friends she spent her days like that, never aspiring to more.
Eventually almost all of the kids she had grown up with were gone, the Elric boys, Edward and Alphonse were perhaps the most famous and least heard from, though that was of little surprise. Even as a little girl Pamela had been able to tell that Edward would see the world and Alphonse would follow him anywhere. Winry, she still visited now and again but her training in Rush Valley kept her away a lot. Pit had gone off to be a doctor, Alex was doing well as a writer in Southern, and Mary was in Xing studying the culture there. Nelly, who for the longest time looked like she too would never leave, eventually became a leader in the fight to protect and preserve the Ishbalen culture and people, leaving to work in Central.
Pamela married a nice young man who came to town a year before the engagement looking for a simpler life. Nathan was good to her and they bore three children, two girls and a boy.
Now Pamela was an old woman, her children had grown and left on their own way though life, her beloved husband had died the year before after getting a nasty flu. Pamela reflected on her life as she looked at the graveyard, her friends had all done things, seen things. While she had lived the life of a farm girl and had missed out on some of the adventures she could have had when she was younger due to fear. In fact the only thing she seemed to have on her friends was longevity. Almost all of them were dean now, while she still lived on the same farm she was born on.
"Don't you ever want more from life Pam?" Nathan had asked her once.
"What more could I want? I have all I need, and I hold the stories of my friends for them." She had responded.
"…it is one thing to read, or hear, or tell the story my dear, and quite another to live it."
Pamela looked at her husband's grave and thought about that conversation. Over her life she had kept in contact with most of her friends, and they regaled her with stories of what they lived, just like when she stayed back from the childhood adventures. She had raised her kids on stories of her friend's real life adventures. But she never had on herself.
But now she was old, and had a hard time making her daily trip to the graveyard sometimes. Her time for adventure was past. She did not really regret anything; she had lived a good life, had good friends, a good family, lived by good means, and was for the most part enjoying a good old age.
Pamela left the flowers for all the graves she tended and shuffled her way back to her house. On the way she walked along the river, and as it was a warm day, and she certainly did not have any particular need to be home right away she decided to rest by the river for a bit.
She settled down under an old willow tree and let the warm air and softly flowing water relax her into sleep.
Pamela dreamed of all her friends stories, she saw the childhood escapades, and the world bettering actions they had experienced. She delighted as the images danced around her and for a moment it almost - almost felt like she was the one that had done those marvelous things, she was the one that saw those rare sights, and it was her name that was remembered long after she was gone. Then the dream faded to black and Pamela the old woman stood across from a young girl looking sad and lonely.
"What's wrong?" Pamela asked.
"I'm left behind" the girl replied.
"Why is that?" Pamela asked feeling some anger, how could people do that to a young girl?
The girl looked up at her with big eyes full of loneliness "the thing about stories is that it is one thing to read, or hear, or tell the story, and quite another to live it" she said simply.
Pamela startled awake, hearing the words of her husband again she clamed down and then brushed it off as loneliness, and napping outside like she was a little girl again. Deciding that her health required her to get home she stood and continued on her path home.
Pamela went to bed after returning home, and she died peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of 117. She was found by a farm hand that helped her manage the farm. There was a nice and proper funeral service and she was buried next to her parents and her husband. For a while the locals mourned, children missed the story teller, and the adults and teens missed the woman who would always lend and ear to anything they had to say. But time passed and others told storied and listened, and Pamela faded further into the obscurity in which she had lived until no one alive really knew anything about her save what it said on her tombstone.
Here lies Pamela Skirling
The one left behind
... so please Review! man am i mood swingy today...