The second stone: Orphans
Black. At every turn, the color choked out the light. Suits, cars, dresses… Everything was bland, uniformed black. She would have hated it. She always liked color- pinks and greens of spring, blues of summer, red and gold in the autumn, pure and perfected whites in the winter. There was a vividness to her. She was so… alive.
Not anymore.
She was drowned in this sea of black, in this all-consuming ocean of darkness. She was gone, leaving them behind with nothing but a prayer. There would be no pleasant way of seeing her again…
She left them, standing on a hill, staring at a cold stone. Not a glance at her smiling face, not a note of her comforting voice, not the warmth of her hand to brush away the tears. Nothing left but slate and fresh-dug earth. All they had now was each other. They would forever be orphans, no matter what path they took from that spot. More than once, one or the other had considered never moving again. How long they actually sat there, they couldn't remember. Sunrise and sunset were indeterminable, but by the time they finally managed to wake themselves from this strange coma, every muscle ached and every bone was sore.
Everything and nothing changed. Maybe it was that which so disturbed the brothers. Their lives had shattered. All former dreams, hopes, fantasies… they were gone in an instant. Something inside of them had been torn forcefully away, and their bodies cried out for it. And yet, outside their slowly sinking world, not a thing had changed. A few words of sympathy, a passing gaze, flowers on her grave. But the world continued to revolve. It shouldn't have. Did no one else realize? She was their light. Could no one else see the two children she had left in the dark? Didn't they care?
A sunset in blood seemed to set the marker to glowing a pale crimson. She had shed not a drop of blood. She left no mess for her little ones to clean up. She'd always been so concerned for their welfare.
She made them what they were, shaped them into what they would become, guided them down the right path. Who would show them the way now? How would thy go on without her?
It was in that moment, in the dark as the elder had sat staring at her grave that he realized… they couldn't. And they didn't have to. They wouldn't. What God had so cruelly snatched away, the boy was full willing to take back- with force, need be. And there was only one weapon powerful enough to challenge such an almighty deity. It was in that moment that he had taken up this noble crusade. Maybe it was for her… maybe it was for Alphonse… mostly, it was for him. He needed her…
It was not long after that he had come to understand the full consequences of challenging an omnipotent being.
…
"Brother?"
Edward barely heard his younger brother, his tawny eyes locked on the scenery bleeding together in the full summer bloom. A cold metal hand rested on the sill, warmed only by the flesh of his cheek supported on it.
"Brother?"
"Mm?"
He got an impression of concern from his young brother, but he couldn't really tell. A face made of metal revealed few emotions effectively. He was convinced he would succeed with Alphonse where he had failed with their mother. That would be remedied sooner rather than later. Still, a weight dropped into the older Elric's stomach.
"We're almost there…"
His blank voice betrayed none of the silent terror he'd been feeling since he began to recognize scenery out the train window. They were almost there… almost… home. There was no house. There were certain things that the brothers would have to leave behind them… some they left willingly. But there was a single spot where they had each left a piece of their hearts.
Up on a grassy hill, protected by a gnarled tree, where the sun set blood red beneath the horizon, there she was. There she would always be, watching, quietly waiting for their reunion, hoping it would not come to soon. And as the pair cast their shadow over her name carved in cold stone, they felt a certain degree of warmth. As long as she stood there with them, they wouldn't be orphans. As long as she kept smiling in their heads, there would be this warmth. As long as they kept those bright flowers over her grave, she was still alive somewhere.
And maybe that was enough.
"Men are what their mothers made them." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
