Damn, I can't help thinking. Dammit, dammit, damn! I don't like swearing, but right now I can't do anything but. Damn that Mustang! I especially don't like swearing at people, really…But everyone's got to have a tough guy image. It's war.
And right now, Mustang deserves having some people swear at him. Let's just send the newly repaired guy, eh Mustang? He just fixed himself, now let's blow 'em up! God, the military is full of some sick bastards.
Like the ones who started this stupid war. To think, a routine check in Dansbath could have ended up in W.A.R. I hate that word. It's not even real. It's either a small fight, or a total massacre. Never a "war".
I was asked to go take something to a camp on the other side of this stupid field, and it's true what they say: The return trip is always twice as bad. I probably didn't hide as well as I could have…Now a million idiots are trying to kill me. Heh. Just the norm.
This weird feeling in my spine causes me to spin my head around, making my neck to scream out in pain. Oh well. It was necessary. A rouge alchemist was tailing me, and about to transmute.
Furiously, I clap my hands together and bring them down to the ground, blue light surrounding me and him. Sorry, buddy. You try to kill me, you're dead.
I still feel a wave of guilt and self-hate wash over me. No matter how many people I kill…I know I'll never be able to live with myself when this stupid "war" ends. Would it really be better to die?
No time for deep thoughts. The guy's friends are ganging up on me. Some of them are alchemists, and have gloves like the Lieutenant General. Some of them have state-of-the-art weapons. Of course, we'd pick a fight with the country that has the most weaponry. Aren't we the smartest.
Biting my lip, I clasp my hands together again, and they're all dead in an instant. Standing up to my full height, I look around.
It's pathetic. Only word I can think of. Millions of men dead, laying on the ground, intestines and crap spilling out. Some are still alive, running around trying to kill more. The saddest are the ones in the middle, alive, yet lying on the ground, brains everywhere, dying in a pool of their own blood. Slowly. If I die, I want it to be fast. I can't even begin to imagine what's going through those people's heads: Their regrets, their promises…Maybe their kids. No matter.
All's fair in love and war.
This is stupid. I need to keep moving. To keep moving is to stay alive. My stupid conscious is getting in the way though…As I run, I could have sworn that one of those guys had my brother's face.
But I know he's safe. When we got back to 100 flesh and blood, he immediately went back to Resembool and married Winry. They deserve each other…I know that.
But I'm out here, on my own. In this massacre, this fucking massacre, and I know that my life will be taken here too.
Optimism. Gotta keep optimistic. I'll see my brother again.
I'll see Winry again.
Hell, I'll see their kids.
I have to. If I were to die here, what would it be for?
A medal? A promotion? When it comes down to it, who cares?
You're dead. You may have a medal…But you can't feel it. Maybe you're a Brigadier General…But you can't enjoy it. You're life is gone, in the name of the State.
I don't want to be like that.
And I won't be.
Of course I won't be! I'm almost there! Home free.
I hear a roar above my head, and with a sudden sense of doom, I force myself to look up…Yes, force, I don't want to. I look up, and I see my death staring in my face with its tongue out.
Planes are crossing overhead. And not our planes. Their planes. Their state-of-the-art planes. Planes are not good.
They start dropping bombs. Huge bombs, filled with gases that kill you instantly. Funny what goes through my head, as they loom nearer.
I'm going to get my wish.
At least I'll die fast.
Surely the most optimistic of people are the ones staring death in the eye.
A bomb falls, and I swear to God it's practically on top of my head. Thinking fast, I clap my hands together again, and stop at the second stage of alchemy: Destruction. The bomb's shell collapses, so at least the impact of all that mass won't kill me. But now the gases are running free.
I was never very fast. Really slow, in fact. My brother could always out-run me.
Faint childhood memories drift across my mind as I run like hell away from the deconstructed bomb. The two of us knights, rescuing the beautiful princess Winry from the evil dragon called "Den". Exploring the river to try to get a glimpse of the sea monster. Silly little kid stuff, and I've never treasured it more.
I finally get far away enough to breathe freely, but I know that the gas is probably on my clothes, and I must've inhaled a lot. As if to prove my point, my head feels light, and my vision turns blurry.
But I'm still alive.
As I run, I see a State Alchemist running, men behind him gunning him down. Surprisingly, he turns onto my path. Is he trying to get me killed!
About a yard away, he skids to a stop. Confused, I stop running to see why.
He had been shot in the back of his head, and in his stomach. The men who did it congratulate themselves on a job well done, and run away, not seeing me, or thinking I'm one of their own.
When it's clear, I bend down to see him, but recoil immediately. The sound of bubbling blood is coming from his throat, and bubbles of blood are blossoming out of his mouth. Disgusted, I stand up, willing myself not to hurl. He was one of my own, but I didn't know him personally and I'm not about to waste time trying to save him.
"See you soon," I mutter as I jump over his body.
By now, it's ridiculous how close I am to "home" and the Lieutenant General. Safe. But not quite.
Of course they'd be there. A huge pack of them trying to stop State men from getting through. Damn them all!
Gunshots are everywhere, and the sound is pounding into my brain, into myself. I'm sure that if I live a long life, and stay in the country, and never fight again, the sound will still be drilled into my head, and I'll never be able to get rid of it.
For some reason, nobody's shooting at me. A wild thought runs through my head. Maybe…I have a chance. A chance to live.
It's funny how hope can do that to you. Now that I think I may live. Isn't that odd, in the middle of gunshots, to feel you have hope? Hope can cure all, and I sure as hell believe it.
It's unbelievable, how close I am. So close, they'll notice me. Can't hide forever…Stupid good looks…
With hope comes doom. Now I'm sure I'll die. It's so inevitable. I curse myself for my hope.
I used to know a girl named Hope. Her parents must've been stupid. What a thing to name a kid…Hope.
Yup. One thought in my head as the gunner next to me turns his gun on me and shoots. Surely he has no more bullets left…He must have put at least 20 into me!
Searing pain tears throughout my body. I gladly would have stayed under the bomb, had I known this would be my fate. It only gets worse when I realize that it'll take awhile for me to die. It's inevitable, but only one of the shots went into my heart.
Looking at that certain hole in my chest, I fall, and fall gladly. My legs were starting to hurt like hell.
Funny, what runs through your head as you die. All I can think about is the one thing I didn't want to think about while living: My gravestone. I really wanted something sweet, and witty, and different. I was sure I'd live to be old, and would have plenty of time to think of it. Well, here I am, teenager, dead without a will.
I want to be buried in Resembool, next to Mom. I don't want to be buried in the State Alchemist cemetery. Maybe my brother will tell them that's what I wanted. I'm sure he knows it's what I'd want. He probably wants it too.
I want to be buried next to Mom. And when my brother and Winry die, we can all be buried together. How sweet.
That's out of my mind. I'm sure my brother will bury me next to Mom. It's only right.
But I'm still worried about my stupid gravestone! It'll be so boring…It won't describe me at all. Maybe my brother and Winry can take care of that too.
I'd hate to be buried under a gravestone that only has my name.
That's the last thought that floats through my head before death…Not "Omigod, this gaping hole in my chest is killing me." Not "I miss my brother and Winry! I wish I hadn't enlisted! I could have had a good life like him!"
Nope. I died with, "Damn…How depressing and boring my gravestone will look…"
R.I.P.
Alphonse Elric