Bleh, more depressing stuff. Actually, I rather like this piece. And here *sets out tissue box* you might need these.

Disclaimer: Nope.


Rain.
His alchemy didn't work when it rained.
His gloves wouldn't click,
Sparks wouldn't fly,
And he was left defenseless.

He hated the rain.
The rain that nulled his alchemy,
His greatest strength.
The rain that turned the world gray around him,
That filled the skies with swollen clouds,
And splattered the ground with murky puddles.
He splashed through the mud.
He hated every minute of it.

The rain left him weak.
Helpless.
Useless.

It was raining that day.
That day that he got the phone call.
The drops had pattered on the windowpanes,
Dripped from the gutters.
He knew that they made a sound.
He couldn't hear it.
All he could hear was his friend,
Shouting something about 'danger in the military'.
The line went dead.
Roy shouted.
The phone slammed down,
And he grabbed for his coat.
His gloves were in the pocket, and he slipped them on.

It was only when he reached that phone box,
Its glass panes smudged crimson,
A body lying half out of it in a puddle of blood,
That he realized it was pouring rain.

He stood over the grave.
The sky was clear.
No sign of rain,
Three days too late.

He stood there when everyone else was gone.
Looking up at the sky,
The clear blue mocking him,
Taunting him with what could have been.

He felt the drops run down his cheeks.

He was useless in the rain.


Review, if you could be so kind.