A/N: Hola! This is my first FMA fic, and I must say, I am very excited. It's kind of short and I pretty much wrote it on a whim, but I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. :sobs into Al plushie:

Guilt

I am the worst. The lowest of the low, the weakest of the weak. No matter how high ranking I become, I will always be lower than my fellow officers. You can call me the Flame Alchemist, make Fuhrer and say I'm the best, but I know who I am. And what I've done.

I first pursued alchemy for the same reason many others do: power. It wasn't a lust as much as it was a fascination; I wanted to be able to do the magnificent things I'd seen done by those strangers carrying their silver pocket watches. I hated being looked down upon and wanted to show the world that I could do amazing things. I dreamed to become a state alchemist and to learn every little detail of that magical power to use when I willed.

Having set my mind to it, there was nothing that could stop me. I pushed myself as hard as I could and gave it all I had, studying for days on end without bothering myself with sleep or eating. I merely ignored the advice of my family and friends who begged me to reconsider. They knew better than I – I wish I'd known that then – what alchemy really is. They told me that State Alchemist were simply pawns of the government, and that I would regret joining them. But I was stupid, willing to give up everything, if it meant attaining my goal.

And so I did. Finally, I had achieved power beyond the imaginations of men. I'd expected it to be grand and glorious, the way it looked to me when I was a child. But it was like a friend in the military told me, "The pleasure of a dream is that it's a fantasy; if it happens, it was never a dream."

What I'd done was inhumane and evil. I was worse than a mindless murderer that massacres without a second thought. I wasn't killing for revenge or pleasure, or whatever other sick reason. I didn't have a reason and knew I needed to stop. Yet I continued to kill, under the orders of my superiors. Old, weak, women, children, even some of my own who refused to sink to my level. I murdered them all, without really understanding why, knowing every second that it was wrong, and hating myself more and more for it.

What I felt wasn't anything near grand or glorious. It was lower than the lowest shame and regret and guilt. Every dark feeling I could imagine grew one hundred times worse and overcame me. I wanted to scream, sob, fall into myself and die, and the worst part is that I knew nothing would ever make it go away.

Now the only atonement I can make for myself is to make sure it never happens again. When I do become Fuhrer – and I will – it will be different. I'll give hope to State Alchemists, bound to the government, so that they won't have to face the same fate.

But no matter how I plan to change the future, the past will always remain the same. It forever haunts my conscience, slowly eating away my existence.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review, and any constructive criticism is welcome.