Heehee, I figured out ! YAY!
Well, I found a pic of Roy Mustang, and this came to my mind,
it's really depressing, and it does contain a few references to bleeding death, just a warning to y'all!
Also, I might add on chapters for Ed's sorrow towards this, but I don't know if I should, it's up for you readers (if I get any!) to decide~!
Please R&R and enjoy! :D
Flames should be from Roy only, if not, then they will be removed.
It was a dark Christmas Eve night in Central, the snowflakes were falling as if tomorrow was to never come; it was forecasted to be a very White Christmas.
One man spent this evening alone, perched upon a window seat, holding a bottle of Whisky in one of his hands, and his other hovering above his pistol which was tucked into his pocket.
The pistol held a memory; a memory which he would do anything to forget, but he would never forget it.
The murder he had committed six years ago, it scars him so deep, he remembers it so clearly that it could have only happened but a few hours ago;
Two doctors lay before a youth, they were lying on a once dull grey floor, which was now smothered in a deep red colour, bullets were slowly sinking into their flesh, causing more of their blood to slowly spill out from their bodies.
The youth who had shot them was trembling before them, sweat was dripping down his forehead, regret had overtaken his body, he knew that for years to come he would never forgive himself for this sinful deed.
He slowly raised the gun to his temple, his finger just millimetres away from the trigger, he knew he couldn't carry on living with a memory like this crossing his mind all the time, as his finger approached the trigger, a firm hand was placed upon his shoulder, which prevented the youth from ending his life.
The man sighed deeply, wondering why he didn't shoot himself.
The memory haunted him, it was always with him, it lingered in his nightmares and it snuck into his mind, it always crawled behind him and attacked him, he could only have himself to blame for the memory, he chose to become a dog of the military, so he chose to commit the murder, he chose to carry on living with that memory, a memory that he will never forget, he stood alone at the time of his actions, he alone pulled the trigger that killed the doctors.
All those years he tried to put up with himself and what he did, he tried to accept who he was, he knows that he stands alone in the world, and that nobody will understand the pain he felt in the actions of what he did.
He slowly drank the last of what was in his whisky bottle, and slowly raised the gun to his temple, this time, nobody could stop him, because nobody was there, and he knew he couldn't carry on living any longer because the more the years go on, the more pain the murder inflicts him.
He wanted to serve the people of Central, he wanted to fight for their survival, he wanted to do what was right.
He didn't want to murder, he didn't want to be the one who shot those two doctors, who were only doing what they were supposed to do, and he killed them, he didn't want war.
He wanted peace.
He wanted peace and he will get it.
He held his finger towards the trigger, just moments away from pulling it.
He never wanted his life to end like this, but he had no choice.
He hears a click and an explosion; he feels his ears ringing and starts to lose his sight.
He feels nothing.
What did'ja think?! Did ya like it?! :D
I hope you did!
I know it's crappy in some places, but we don't all begin with natural talent, do we? (Well, I'm positive that CrimsonStarbird was born with it :D)
Please R&R! :3
Don't forget to include if you want chapters~! X3