VOCALIZE:
Our Grief-
I beseech you.
I recall holding her head, watching as she slowly drifted away from me. The gun still in my grasp lay forgotten in my palm.
Her eyes looked up to me, and I turned mine to watch you scurry through the back alley making your greatest escape yet. I'll never let go of the raw betrayal that I felt.
He came as they tried to organize the small crowd that gathered. In horror he stared at me, his son, holding his Mother dead, covered in blood, with a gun.
How perfect was that?
I bet you calculated each and every step that we made. Like puppets on a string you orchestrated your most magnificent production, and I was the star. The lead role, with no responsibilities attached to my pathetic part.
But you, you reaped the benefits, watching from wherever you left to as my father had a mental breakdown after losing the one thing that had kept him sane in the world. You must be enjoying the torment that what's left of my family goes through each and every day.
Hell, if I saw him the same as he did me, I may have tried to kill him too.
It was a new version of tragic Greek drama.
Envy, I should have reputed when a delinquent like you said that Shakespeare was your idol.
"Brother, would you just sit still for one minute?"
I struggled to sit up as Al fought to keep me down. He knows that I despise lying on my back, completely defenceless. Yet, he stubbornly refuses to let me up.
"Stop being a stubborn mule!"
Oh, he just read my mind.
Were it not for this obtuse sling on my arm, I could have revolted. In my younger days, I dared to dub myself 'Houdini the Amazing Escapologist II'. There was not a situation in which I could not escape from. Even when my traitorous sibling dared to lock me in Granny Pinako's old chest, which I am proud to say was smaller than myself; I prevailed, and was rewarded chocolate cake.
Wouldn't you know that the situation had to be so reversed?
I guess I should consider myself lucky. At least, that's the kind of baloney that Al and that idiotic doctor try to feed to me constantly.
So screw that!
Spending three days in a hospital due to a rampaging man twice my size is completely unlucky.
Now I'm stuck with this damn piece of cloth on my arm for two weeks minimum. The oh-so-intelligent man who treated me shook his bony little finger in my face. I was tempted to bite it off, be called a rabid animal and be left alone. However, for reputation sake, I held myself back.
"Now listen here Edward, I don't want you removing this yourself. Don't you give me that look. Two weeks you hear? Meaning fourteen days, 336 hours and 20160 minutes, not a millisecond sooner. Got that son? Well then be on your way now, and stop getting yourself into so many fights! Not becoming for a young man like yourself you know."
As I said, an idiot.
And how embarrassing is it that Al had to come up with the lie years ago that I was a regular uncontrollable bronco, trying to beat up anything that came my way or dared to piss on my boot? Very humiliating indeed. He made it sound as though I couldn't fight.
Just because I've never beaten him, does not prove the suggested remark. Besides, Al cheats anyways.
Oh sure, the goody-goody Alphonse would never do something so disrespectful, or so I've heard. Right…
That's why his ass is now on top of my face.
I mean, I'm injured for crying out loud! How is this supposed to help my condition?
"Now Ed, you stop struggling and I'll get up. Deal?"
Hell no. I don't go down without a fight.
I carefully fortified what was uncovered of my mouth, moved it sideways to the bit of pink skin poking out of his t-shirt and licked.
To my delight he leaped a foot in the air, apparently quite distressed, "Eww! Brother, you retard!" He futilely rubbed the thin wet trail on the back of his shirt and whined.
That's right baby brother, squeal like a girl and shame yourself.
"Brother, you're gross."
I merely grinned victoriously. After all, not all battles can be won with brute force. Even I know that.
That is precisely why I am now laying on Al's bed in his room instead of my own. The bastard left after our little skirmish (as usual), and I for one was not very eager to greet him upon his return.
Our rooms were built joined together by a door when we first came here. So we've come into the habit of sneaking into each other's rooms late at night.
It is kind of funny. During a storm like tonight has brought, with torrential rain for ongoing hours, he would usually scamper into my domain, begging to come under the covers. Once again, it is a reverse situation.
It's not as if I have much of a choice in the matter.
Were I to actually go to the police and report what has been going on these past few years, I would lose everything.
Obviously, the bastard would be towed away, which I dream of celebrating each night. But, Al is not eighteen yet, and is still under his guardianship. Were he to leave, social services would be here faster than I could snap my fingers, carting him away from me.
I can't let that happen. And I will never let Al know that what occurs so often is technically his fault.
Just because I am guilty does not mean I have to drag him into it.
After calming down, he sat beside me staring at my injured arm like it was the new hit paradox. "Brother, where did you go before?"
I met his gaze and knew that he was going to get angry.
"Why didn't you just stay here? You know how he gets when you leave! You could have stayed…"
I saw the tears in his eyes and knew he meant well, but he really wasn't helping my guilt issue.
A wooden horse stood on his shelf across the room, one that I had made him for his thirteenth birthday.
At the time I was studying a course called Alchemy, where old men tried to turn lead into gold, and no matter how ridiculous it sounded, I actually found myself drawn to it. My teacher though, tried to drill into my brain that although it would be efficient to clap your hands onto a circle and be left with whatever you want, if we were meant to do such things we would be born as gods and not mortals. Then I told her I was an atheist and was flicked on the forehead for my efforts.
I took her advice more seriously than I let on.
And I had a knack for carving. I don't know how, but it almost felt as though the blade were merely an extension of my hand, like it was a part of my body.
Al loved it and kept it ever since.
I pointed to the small wild-like horse.
"A horse?" My so-intelligent brother asked. As if I had snuck out of my home to go frolic through the tulips with a pony. Honestly…
He must have caught on to my blunt annoyance, for he began repeating the term to himself repeatedly, like some member of a virgin sacrificing cult.
"Oh!" Finally. "You mean you went out with that Mr. Mustang?"
I nodded.
He seemed perfectly fine with the notion for thirty seconds, until the gears in his head slowly turned.
"That late at night, you went out just for that?" I could sense the irritation seeping over his tone, so I decided to explain myself.
I brought my finger up to my lips and touched the rough area on his chest where his heart would be located.
We had to come up with some form of communication over the years. These light gestures were much easier for him to grasp onto.
"He told you he was sorry? Well, you should have just said that. I'm glad that he did. And I can see why you didn't want to tell Father."
I acknowledged him briefly.
And I was rudely interrupted from my thoughts by a loud grumbling noise emitting near my stomach.
Al laughed, "You must be hungry after eating that hospital food."
I looked to him hopefully.
"Fine Brother, I'll make you some stew. But it'll take a while."
It didn't matter. Heaven can wait for me and I can wait for it.
I laid there for what seemed near forever. The digital clock beside my head only read 7:30, so I knew Al had only been downstairs for an hour.
Luckily, I was able to forget my hunger issues as another call to nature arose.
Without a second though I tediously rose slowly, just as the doctor told me to do, and began to make my way to my room. The bathroom lay just next to it; hence, it was a much faster route.
I nearly made it, but something shining from the faint light drifting in through the hallway caught my attention.
I picked it up carefully and attempted to bite back the expression of disgust on my face.
Winry, Al and my childhood friend, crazy, egotistical, maniacal, mechanics obsessed female had slaved over building me a watch. She said it was for me, since I was late to everything.
And when I accidentally went swimming with it on, because she neglected to tell me that it wasn't waterproof, the damn thing broke. I'm surprised I didn't acquire a concussion from the crack with the object-that-looked-suspiciously-similar-to-the-wrench-I-bought-her. I swear she proceeded to beam me in the head needlessly with it.
Sure she's all head over heels for Al, but when I step in the room, she immediately tries to blame me for breaking some new precious creation of hers.
Once I told her that anyone could have made the mistake for not taking it off and that only a blockhead would make such a fragile watch without warning a person, she (surprisingly) walked away calmly.
Two days later she emerged from her basement, that I call a laboratory, and presented me with the strangest thing I had ever seen.
A huge round watch with a strange design etched on the cover, connected to a chain. Like the kind the men in those decrepit movies carry around with tea, biscuits and all that nonsense. A pocket watch.
She said that only a moron would forget to take it off, and that I'd better not do anything to harm it.
I was quite baffled by it. And yet, I started to use it, and took it with me everywhere I went.
But one day, 'poof', it stopped. Died just like that.
I couldn't understand it at first. And certainly never though that it symbolized the day that all of our lives would become frozen in time.
A set it back down on my nightstand, lid still open, and exited my room.
Only to be met with billowing white smoke, surfing out from the kitchen and up the stairs.
"God damn it!"
A load of banging noises ensued, and I could only stand rigid at the sound of Al cursing. However mild it may have been. An Al that swore was an Al to hide from and be reckoned with.
When I crept down the wooden stairs I saw him desperately trying to beat out a raging fire from within the oven with a dingy old towel.
I found myself numb as I watched him, my mouth gaping like some abused fish.
Finally, some of his brains kicked in and he grabbed baking soda from the cupboard and threw it in the oven.
His breath came out in ragged snorts, nostrils flared, towel and bright yellow box in hand. As if he had just defeated a foul beast and was thirsty for more blood.
I honestly could not help it.
In pain I fell down to my knees, clutching my stomach, laughing uncontrollably.
But that made it even more hilarious. No noise was actually coming out of me, other than a few wheezy breaths. Like some higher above being grabbed the remote and pressed mute. And it made me laugh harder.
Tears began to pinch at my eyes, and I made not attempt to stop them.
Al sighed as he dropped the burnt crisp towel down to the floor.
"Brother, how about some takeout?"
I nodded and continued my slow painful death by lack of air.
There were just some things that one had to find funny.
Besides, it was a glorious break from what I had reminded myself of previously.
The watch lay, forgotten for the time being, hands stuck at 11:00, never to move again. Don't forget Oct. 3 carved into the inside cover.
The day our lives were cut.
After all, this was a play. And the final act was already done on that day. Lives cut as strings, puppets with no more roles to play.
That morning, when my watch ceased to function, how could I have known that that would be the day I would kill my Mother?
But hell, Envy, you knew.
Didn't you?
AN: A longer wait than usual, I know. However, when one is sick and bedridden for four days, they should take the time to recuperate their brain, rather than try to type a coherent sentence.
Lovely comments again, so thank you. Please leave any criticisms or comments.