Listless
Chapter 2; Bleak
"They gave me a while off… so I can stay here with you."
Edward continued to speak to keep his own sobs from escaping. It was always difficult, when he got home, to face the image of what his brother once was; of what his brother would never again be.
"That'll be..nice…won't it?"
Alphonse curved his lips into a thin and unconcious beam. Edward found it hard to cope, even with this small gesture, due to the fact that the boy's smile had changed. 'Stead of wide, bright, and down-to-earth, the grins had become faint, whispy, and distantly absent.
He walked down the hall and stepped within the confines of his room, where he knew his brother would have some difficulty following. It seemed cruel, now, to avoid the thing he had changed—killed. Yes, his brother was dead…and yet, with him sitting—smiling at him, it was so hard to believe this tragedy had come to pass…
But even in his own, worn room, he could not escape the sound of shuffling that met his ears. A low grinding sound was emitted, letting him know that this mirror of Alphonse was in need of something. It was but a few moments before the figure, shifting his weight along the walls in a pathetic limp, made it to the doorway. By now, the sounding pang of helplessness was a mild gutteral mewl. The mere sound made his heart sink.
He hated whenever this regular occurrence came to pass, for it reminded him of just what the sibling had been reduced to with one small flaw…through their long-prized bull-shit by name of alchemy.
"In a minute, Al."
He sat on the bed, gazing lamentingly at the night-stand. Resting upon it sat a dustless photograph, framed and kept unmarked. Edward leaned over, enclosing it in his own warmed digits. Just a picture of his brother, really; it wasn't that out of place. But anyone who knew him well enough could have easily divulged the meaning of its unusually thoughtful placement and care.
The response was another plaint.
"Mm." He mumbled distantly.
This was met with a bray; hoarse and eery. Harshly, the sound resonated, entwining itself with the cacophany of shattering glass. The fallen photograph lay, covered in shards of untouchable memory. Reaching down to brush it away nonetheless, Edward drew back slightly with reaction. A flux of warm, thin crimson inundated the frame. But it didn't matter; the picture, it was going to be tattered. Even as he poured his grieviances into this task, he was met with more difficulty. For it was not the splinters of clear flame that engulfed his fingers with dulled twinges that would bring ruin to this paper memory; it was the blood that it drew.
Still too simple and lost to comprehend the scene before him, Alphonse watched blankly as his sibling fell to his knees, attempting to clean such a worthless item at his expense. The boy sobbed, as though the photograph had been his only link to something that no longer existed; at least, his only link to something that didn't even know it had existed…