Author's Note: There really isn't anything I can say about this. It's honest crap, and I only gave it a quick once-over before deciding that it wouldn't get better even if I did edit it. Some of the things I've seen are worse, though—like all those uber-strange Elricest MPREG fics. I mean, SRSLY, D00D. Screwed-up much?

Rambling again. Sorry. xP

January 1, 1914.

Isn't it funny how time works? It's one of the only things in life whose beginnings stand out more than its endings. We don't celebrate the end of an old year; we celebrate the beginning of a new one.

Exactly one year ago, big brother gave this journal to me as a New Year's present. "So you won't be alone with your thoughts at night," he had said, grinning as he placed it into my hands. We both knew that I'd be using it often. There was nothing else I had to occupy myself with during the wee hours, and brother needed to get a good night's sleep for the sake of both his body and mine. Eventually these journal pages became my most loyal confidants—I could tell them of everything, even things I wouldn't want to tell brother. It was truly overwhelming, the power of a blank book and a pen.

Isn't it funny how I can flip through this journal and recite everything that's happened in this past year? I've recorded it all in detail—the good, the bad, the shocking, the dull. Ten pages ago, I hastily wrote of President Bradley being a homunculus, my brain moving faster than my hand could ever hope to. Twenty-two pages ago, I noted the facts of Hughes's death, my brain numb and hand trembling. And in between, ramblings about the people in my life and the people that weren't—every night, I would speculate my lack of a girlfriend and wonder if I would ever find one. Now, with what's happened today, that path doesn't seem too far off.

IToward the beginning of this book is the page about Rose, the girl that had relied on Letoism to make up for her loss, only to find out that it was all a hoax. It happened a long time ago, but I still remember the bittersweet legend brother recited when he met her. "There once was a hero who flew too close to the sun. His wings of wax fell apart, and he plummeted toward the Earth…"

Isn't it funny how that legend fits us perfectly? The pitiful remnants of our wax wings still remain on our backs, God's constant reminder of our sins. His symbol showing us that we may no longer search for redemption. But perhaps God overlooked that wax is a solid, and like all other solids, will harden after melting.

Isn't it funny how, in just one day, you just might find what you've been searching for? Today brother and I learned how to reach Truth's pearly gates and fetch my body, which is waiting expectantly in front of them. After years of relentless hunting, we've finally reached our goal. It's hard to imagine being human again, having spent a quarter of my life inside a suit of armor, but it will definitely be a change for the better. I'll be able to feel the sun on my skin, able to enjoy the taste of rice, able to find a loving girlfriend. And brother will finally quit being a dog of the military, though I can't say that our ties with it will be completely cut—after all, how could we just leave the people that have stayed with us through our long, grueling journey?

Isn't it funny how sure we are about this? There is always the chance that the transmutation could fail, and I won't be able to return to my body after all. Why aren't we paying any heed to that chance? Maybe it's because we've never been of the pessimistic caliber—if there's a shred of hope, we'll be sure to cling to it like an infant to their security blanket. Through the course of our search, we've never been truly hopeless. I guess that's what got us through everything.

Isn't it funny how we never found out what happened to that hero? If they had continued with the legend, would he end up like us?

"There once was a hero who flew too close to the sun. His wings of wax fell apart, and he plummeted toward the Earth. All he could do then was move forward, waiting for his wings to dry so that he could, once again, take flight."

Like I said, God overlooked that wax is a solid. Funny, isn't it?

Yours,
Alphonse Elric

So. Is it okay? Did it suck? Was it so confusing that your brains were blown out? Leave a review or something so I know how horrible it is, and please try to make it longer than a sentence. Remember, a page-long flame is better than a one-word review.

NOW PREZZ DA GO BUTTON, BIYOTCH!1