Disclaimer: I own neither Fullmetal Alchemist nor any of the characters mentioned. I wish I owned Nina because she's absolutely adorable. But, alas, I do not.
To remain alive or in existence. This is the definition of survive according to the dictionary in Colonel Mustang's office. Most people would read it and agree, believing that the definition made sense. There was a time when I would have, too. Not anymore. Instead I wonder if they mean live or if they mean exist. For I know I exist. I have proof of this. I can see and be seen, hear and be heard, touch and be touched. But am I alive?
I'm not so certain of this. My hands can move and touch things, but I they cannot feel what they touch. My eyes see much suffering, but they cannot cry because of it. Oh, how I long to cry again. To feel tears run down my cheeks, to be able to throw myself upon my brother and sob against him, to feel his arms around me. His real ones, preferably, but I would settle for one being the cool metal of his automail, which I have never felt. I wonder what his right arm can feel. I know it feels pain; I have seen it on my brother's face more times than I wish to remember. But can he feel the cool raindrops as they fall upon his outstretched hand? Can he fell the warmth of the sun as it beats down upon his uncovered arm during our long treks across the desert? I have never asked.
There are many things I do not ask, things that are never spoken of. Our father, Nina, Tucker, Sloth. Any mention of them is taboo. I once asked him a question I thought was taboo. I was scared to ask. Scared that I already knew the answer. But I had to know. I had to know if I was real, if there really was an Alphonse Elric. If I was ever a real human boy, not just a moving, speaking suit of armor, which gives the illusion of being alive, but when opened is empty inside.
What is it you need to survive? A body? A soul? My body is a suit of armor. I move, but do not breath. I love, but have no heart. As for my soul, it is an alchemic circle drawn with my brother's blood. I can see it if I take off my head and turn it around. It looks so fragile. If it is scratched or washed away I will die. All it would take is a crack in the right, or rather wrong, place or a shove into a lake and I would be gone forever. No longer existing. No longer living, if I am even living now. I guess that's what I want to know.
Four years ago I lost my body when my brother and I tried to resurrect our mother using alchemy. My bother anchored my soul to a nearby suit of armor. Now I question, did I survive?
A/N: I did this one day while I was putting off doing my English homework. It's short and sad, but it's finished and posted. For me that's an accomplishment. Reviews are welcome.