Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of its characters. This fanfiction and its plot, however, are all mine. Please respect my rights as a creative individual.
Summary: Edward Elric. The sole survivor. When tragic memories haunt the poor, deformed boy, what sad tale will unfold? AU, angst, incomplete. Rating may be subject to change.
A/N: I had hoped that this chapter would be longer, but I was on the verge of tearing out my hair from frustration and non-postage. So please enjoy what I have posted, and I'll try to get more up soon! (I know it's short, but feedback would still be wonderful)
Now, presenting:
Road of Memories
Cars speed down the highway, recklessly racing over the cold, broken asphalt that is the result of generations of abuse. The musky, pervasive stench of gasoline fills the air for miles alongside this desolate road, but very few dare to pause in their journeys long enough to notice the lonely, neglected state of this place. It's almost as if people are afraid to stop here.
I wouldn't blame them.
-
"Nii-san, where are they taking her?"
"Hush, Al. Show your respect for the dead," I whispered, instantly remorseful. I knew it was a terrible thing to say, and I knew that he hadn't understood much of what had happened in the past week. Inside me a child, much like the boy that now desperately clutched my hand, burst into tears and glared up at me in anger, as if I was the cause of all his woes. My face stayed blank.
"Nii-san, what-" he began timidly, but cut himself off at my cold stare. He was afraid of me. I could see it.
But slowly, as the old man in black robes nearby began to drone, and the small, mellow crowd surrounding us settled into a trance-like state, he reached up his soft, chubby palm and slipped it into my own. The cold iron fist that clenched my heart lightened its grip ever so slightly.
Gently, I pulled my hand from his grasp, and with my one good arm—my right arm—I pulled him up into my lap. That seemed to pacify his insecurity for the moment. He snuggled into my chest contentedly, though I could barely feel it.
Like everything else to me in this world, he was distant. I could touch him only with one arm; hold him only with the same. All else had been taken from me in the accident.
-
I sigh frustratedly, but the quiet noise is quickly consumed by the automobiles' roar. Shivers run down my spine. I hate being here- it never fails in erasing all happy notions from my mind. And yet, I still force myself to return as often as possible, like some sacred place that must, however grudgingly, be recognized.
Tall, overbearing stone walls stand at either side of me. Dark, slimy, and riddled with fractures; they are the sole remaining relic of this place and its shadowy past.
I look up. There, high up on the wall to my right, I can barely make out the faded red lettering: LABORATORY 5. I don't need to turn my head to the left to know what I will see emblazoned across the other wall: PRISON 2.
Indeed, this is a sacred place. This is where my life turned around. This is where everything I had was either taken, abused, or mangled to a point that was barely recognizable. This is my gravesite.
I claim it as my own not because I am, or ever will be buried here. It is my gravesite because in it rest the remains of those whose downfalls were my own responsibility.
And I have many, many responsibilities.
