It is a small world and yet I cannot find love. Perhaps it is because I look like a demon most times. It's far easier to place all the blame on the world…but I cannot do so anymore.

For the first time in a very long time I relax. Tense muscles that always waiting for prompt movement, unwound. I shut my dark eyes and lay peacefully back onto my bed. Despite the fact I need no sleep, I do it any way.

If I listen, I can hear my heartbeat. I focus on the strong deep sound inside me, counting the seconds in between beats. However, I must have tried too hard to hear it because suddenly there was no pulse to pay attention to.

I look up at the dusty black canopy draped above my bed, noticing for the first time, there were tiny lights that not unlike stars. I sit up, struck by a world-shattering idea. I reached the desk across from me in a blur. I jerk out every drawer in my haste to uncover a piece of paper and pen until, finally, having all I needed, I began to write.

Father,

Almost immediately I cross the word out. I am not the one he truly wanted. He's right, I am merely a shell full of scattered memories that belong to a person whose face I share. I remember transmuting twigs and brush into miniature sail boats we'd release into the river. I recall Him smiling as he told this other me how smart he was.

Only, as with the good, there is bad. I remember dying. The pain that never ceased. Choking on my own bloody vomit. I remember the Gate. How it tore and ripped me apart, only to piece me back together. I remember those cold eyes. Tiny bits of laughter.

I remember, still to this day, of one particular set of eyes laughing at me. Dark golden eyes that belonged the other me. These memories are my punishment and reward. Again, I feel the need to try again.

Father

Hohenheim

Again I strike out the name. I am no stranger to that man but nor am I his son any longer. That person is dead, has been dead longer than any building that has been built. Yet, I am not the oldest in the world. Even Master, no--Mother. No, that's not right she's the Master. Yes, she is my master, no longer is she Mother. Even she is not the eldest, that prize goes to Hohenheim of Light.

Father

Hohenheim

I don't understand why you left me. I did every silent prayer you whispered to me. I curbed my frustrated filled anger.

But it wasn't enough!

I found myself a form of my own. No more light colored hair with eyes that match. No more familiar voice that always made you weep. Now I have a new face to make you not cry. I want you to see it. I want to know what would make you love me best.

I'm crying now, tears dropping off my chin and down onto the parchment, smearing my prayer to you.

Anger suddenly descends and I viciously begin scrubbing the tears away as I tear my letter apart.

Why should cry for that bastard? He abandoned me! I am not some idiotic puppy scrabbling for little bits of love. I refuse to shed another tear for that bastard. How dare he leave us. Master and I. Mother and son.

I'll kill him. I'll be the one that rips his still beating heart from his body. I'll be the one to laugh in his face as his spirit fades away.

Then there will be nothing left to remind me of these haunting memories of a little boy, so happy to just to have his father and mother home. Homunculus have no parents.

I have no parents.

But..I wish I did.