WOW! Sorry, this wait was extremely long, I apologize but I have been very busy. Anyways, here's Chapter 12, enjoy!
WildfireDreams: Thank you very much for that comment, I really appreciate that you enjoy this story and that you're reading.
Shingami's-Girl:(ch. 11)MWHAHAH YES! ED IS EVIL! AND WE ARE EVIL! YAY!
Shinigami's-Girl:(ch. 10) YAY! (does a happy dance) WE ARE SO COOL LIKE THAT!
Unkown: Well, I really am trying my best to keep this story organized, so thanks for the comment! I hope you keep reading!
Aztec Goddess: Congrats on finishing your story btw lol! Yes, I was in a situation, except i was the one who threw a nickel at someones head that I hated, and we started screaming at each other. WRATH IS SO CUTE AWWWWW!
KatieKitty98: YAY! I AM ROCKIN KNEE HIGH SOCKS ALL OVER THE PLACE! (grins proudly for my knee high rainbow socks) Anyways, thank's for the loverly comment!
MookieChan: Thanks for the review! Haha, yes I had alot of fun typing that chapter XD
ScarvsState: Yes, I did an amazing rush job because I had a lot of fun typing that chapter, and I coudlnt stop hahaha. Sorry this one came on so late though lol. WHEE IM ROCKIN SOCKS!
Please r&r!
What mistakes do I need to fix?
Alphonse pondered; his gray eyes were fixed upon the painting in front of him. It spoke out to him, like a message, and it had a meaning that he would one day understand…
Alphonse poked his head around the corner of the wall, and tried to remain as silent as can be. He looked down to the floor below him as his feet nervously shuffled. His fingers were eagerly wrapped around the corner, as he tried to keep himself upright while he leaned secretly.
He watched the fine bristled brush dance upon the easel, making swift moves ever so gently to create something beautiful. He could hear it whispering quietly as it moved, as if the art sang a quiet song to him.
"Alphonse, you may come in if you like," her warm voice almost sang along; her eyes were still fixed only to what was being created in front of her.
Alphonse quietly walked over to the table, a look of concern in his bewildered eyes. His mother sat comfortably in a wooden chair, a paintbrush grasped gently in her long fingers.
Enthralling colors lay orderly upon the paper, connecting together in the most stunning way to form a fine work of art; Alphonse eagerly tried to pull his small body up closer as he grasped the end of the unorganized table.
"Mommy, what are you painting?" he asked in his timid voice, a look of confusion upon his face.
Trisha smiled affectionately, and paused from her work, "Do you see the flowers over on the windowsill?" she nodded her head towards the white daises that blew gently in the breeze, the sun's rays gently caressed the soft petals.
Alphonse cocked his eyebrow, and looked back at Mother's painting. Throughout his life of running playfully around in the garden, he had learned that daises on most occasion were a pure white.
"But mommy, the daises you're drawing don't look like those," he pointed a small finger to the windowsill, but kept his eyes upon her work. Her painting was much more colorful and alive. She didn't even draw a windowsill like there was before her, instead, a green field with a bright sun.
Trisha laughed, "You don't have to paint what you see Alphonse," she dipped her brush into a mixture of red and white paint, "When I see a daisy, or any flower for that matter, I see something different," she brought the brush to the easel, "I see a new life that is being bloomed…and to me, life has more color."
Alphonse still stared with his puzzled eyes, and gestured himself to be seated into his mother's warm lap. He did so, and she kept one arm around his waist while she continued to paint. Her hazel eyes darted from windowsill to easel, windowsill to easel, and it went on like that until the daises refused to dance along with the gentle breeze.
Alphonse never painted what he saw, but what he felt. He felt as if he had nothing to see anymore, but enough emotions to guide his hand wherever it had to go. But sometimes, certain emotions were born from his memories, and those he needed to forget, for they were too painful to grasp.
I see…that is the mistake I made…A painting should always be finished, he thought, or that's at least what his mother would tell him. She had never left an unfinished easel, or lazily tossed her brushes aside when her mind failed to give her more artistic ideas. She was dedicated; she let her emotions spill onto the blank parchment.
Alphonse didn't know how to fix his mistakes. They were there, bluntly in front of his stinging eyes. He thought at times, maybe someone can help me, someone who can understand. But he halted at those last words, knowing that no one should see his mistakes. If he was able to let those mistakes be born, he could just as well fix them on his own.
His tool was grasped in his trembling hand, his easel screamed for him, but his mind ceased to think. Alphonse would look at his painting, and was always shocked to see that his thoughts caused him to sketch such a thing. At times, he didn't know what it meant. And he was always ashamed to notice, that it was never once colorful. He wondered if he would ever have the courage to finish. All that mattered was that he had no more tears to cry.
Roy opened his mouth wide, and exhaled onto the cold glass in front of him. A warm, fog grew on the window, and with the white cloth in his hand he wiped the spot clean.
He continued to do that for what seemed like hours, but he was able to hear the clock on the far side of the room tick very quickly.
He was glad Edward had come in to help with cleaning up today. Roy was also surprised Ed forgave him so quickly; he wasn't too sure if he deserved to be forgiven in the first place. But that Edward was always so unpredictable, if Roy did something that he thought would be for the better, it usually ended with a horrible conclusion.
Edward also seemed happier he thought; his frown wasn't too noticeable today. Even when he was washing the beakers he seemed to be in a pretty good mood…hell, Roy thought, he has to be in a good mood if he's actually volunteering to clean up the lab.
"So Ed, got a date for Homecoming?" Roy randomly asked. He sat at his desk comfortably, watching his student pick up lost papers on the tables.
Edward muffled a laugh as he tossed the torn worksheets in to the bin, "No, I'm not even going."
"How come?"
Edward turned, and gave him an obvious look, "Homecoming is gay. There's no point for it." He picked up the last paper, and tore it down the center.
Roy sat back, and added a sly smile, "Ah, of course," and he started to laugh in his booming, sarcastic voice, " Really, what is the point of Homecoming when you know you're going to come back next year anyway…"
Ed rolled his eyes and started to push in the high stools underneath the lab tables; it remained pretty quiet for some time.
Roy placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, "I think I'm going to chaperone…"
Edward looked over confusingly, "Why the hell would you want to do that?"
"Then maybe I'll ask Riza to dance…" his voice trailed off, and he was oblivious that Edward was still listening.
Ed smirked, "Oh, I see now, that should have been obvious in the first place," he started to turn the faucets on the sinks off completely to stop the annoying dripping.
"What about the play? You going to that?" Roy asked, "Word around the lounge is that it's supposed to be good…"
Edward paused, and struggled to turn off a remaining sink. He continued to tug on the stubborn handle, and it refused to move. Roy asked him again, wondering if Ed had heard him.
Edward continued to ignore Roy, searching for an answer in his mind. He finally stated with a simple, "Maybe…" and asked, "Why do you want to go?"
Before Roy could open his mouth, Edward interrupted with a sarcastic voice, "Wait, don't answer that! Riza!" He grinned innocently as he started to clean some of the beakers and tubes.
Roy cocked a black eyebrow annoyingly, and crossed his arms, "Hey, sometimes a man of science can appreciate good art."
Edward laughed mockingly, "Right, of course, I can totally relate." Edward took out the white cloth Roy had lent him for the cleaning, and began to wipe the glass equipment, until they were all crystal clear.
Roy sighed, "Well like I was saying, it's supposed to be good. The drama department has finally picked some good people for the starring roles…" he trailed off, glancing over to Ed, who refused to look up and talk directly. Roy's eyes widened, "Hey…your little friend is supposed to be Juliet, isn't she? Winry right?"
Edward felt as if he was about to crush the fragile beaker in his hand, and he grumbled, "Yeah what about it." He wasn't too sure why it felt like his face was heating up; he tried to convince himself it was from annoyance.
"Well, I thought you would at least be supporting her, or something along those lines…" he turned to his computer, pressing away at keys on the keyboard, and he began to talk to himself, "Speaking of starring roles, Tringham owes me extra credit…"
Roy turned back to Ed, and asked, "You're his friend right? Tell him he owes me page 126-"
Edward interrupted, flashing his hand in the air as a gesture for Roy to stop talking, "No, you're mistaken, I am not his friend." The tone of his voice seemed to grow angrier with each word as he said that sentence.
Roy stared perplexed, still managing to type on the keyboard, and sighed. Ah, he thought, it's amazing what kind of hatred students can bring towards one another. Of course it wasn't anything he was new to, he would see it in the hallways, or in class, and obviously he was a student one point in his life. He thought at least Edward would be one of those mature students, and not bother worrying about those kinds of things, like disliking a lower classman…
"Well," Edward rubbed his palms together, dropping the cloth upon the clean table, "I'm done."
"Thanks Ed, I really appreciate it." Roy smiled, but remained glued to the computer screen.
Edward brought his head back, and added a long sigh. He then looked at his watch on his left wrist; his eyes widened, "Crap, I'm late…" his face grimaced as soon as he thought of his Sensei; even in his thoughts, her eyes were angry.
Edward rushed to the door, without attempting to say goodbye. But he paused, when a noise settled and caught his attention. He turned his head quickly, to witness Roy getting up on to his feet; his hand grasped the back of the chair.
"Ed, you really didn't need to do anything," Roy stared blankly; the lids on his dark eyes did not blink once.
Edward stared wide-eyed, and his face softened a bit as his hand grasped the handle of the door. He darted his eyes down to the floor, thinking of something to say. He almost forgot that time was passing quickly, and with each second, Sensei got angrier.
"You do know…" Roy broke the silence, "That he may come back." The grip of his fingers on the chair intensified; a knuckle in his hand cracked.
Edward closed his eyes, thinking that maybe this was all just a dream; a horrible dream that he could simply forget about in the morning. He brought his face down to the floor, and opened his eyes, only to witness his right hand by his side. His brows frowned.
"Yeah, I know." He attempted to talk straight to his friend, but his last words came out in a hoarse whisper. Just then he thought about when he went snooping through Roy's desk, like a destructive child. He wondered what Roy thought about him just now; he wouldn't be surprised if he was still upset with him…
"Ed, you may not think it, but I am truly sorry." The tone of his voice was serious, yet forgiving. Edward looked up only to notice a frown on Roy's pale expression.
Roy sat back in his seat, and rested his chin on the back of his palms, facing straight ahead, "I've known you for some time, and you have experienced more then any person ever would. And yet here you are, standing tall and moving on with your life."
Edward looked down to the floor yet again; his eyes remained fixed upon his feet. He then thought about Winry…if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be able to stand and move on.
"Ed… I should have realized before that you were mature enough to understand… why I couldn't just simply let you know about him…" his voice quivered, and trailed off a bit.
Edward couldn't take it; he turned the doorknob suddenly, and left through the heavy door. He paused, and found himself still standing in the doorway. He slowly turned, poked his head into the room, and simply said,
"Thanks for saying that I was standing 'tall'."
Roy continued to stare forward, as though in an illusion, but he said quietly, "No problem."
Roy sighed, and tossed the dirtied cloth into the full trash bin, Washing windows makes me think too much…
Please review fellow readers! Sorry, to me, if you squint really hard, it kind of looks like a crappy Roy/Ed drabble BUT THERE IS NO ROY/ED IN MY STORY KAYY?
