Title: Blink
Summary: This is rather random, and abstract. A certain someone's thoughts on the events in the FMA manga, with main reference from the point his subordinates are transferred away and a what-if situation thereafter. Highly philosophical, reflective and angsty.
Rating: K+ to T, somewhere in between, but there's no observable violence and swearing so I suppose it's more on the K+ side, though it's a little dark-ish.
Warnings: Strangeness abound. Spoilers for the manga in general, if you've been keeping up. Character death; you've been warned.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is the property of Arakawa Hiromu. Otherwise it'd be renamed to 'Flame Alchemist' (jk).
Blink
It is a peculiarity of human beings to be able to live in a world where they wander around half-blind. Indeed, this is not limited singularly to the metaphysical aspect of 'not seeing', whose abstractness many have reached out to in attempt to give meaning, only to be met with inevitable failure. Nay, the blindness in concern is entirely on a physical scale.
Think about it: humans sleep a majority of the time, in a state which can be considered 'dead to the world'. Even in their waking hours, when they believe themselves to be alert and poised to face whatever the day could throw at them… Even then, for every five seconds, they are exposed. The impenetrable shield, the focused concentration, the clear image of the world and all that is in it… They are all shattered in a blink.
The elapsed time may be short, but many things can happen in a split-second. After all, tables have been turned, battles have been decided and lives have been lost within the blink of an eye.
An instant. An instant of vulnerability is all it takes.
He knew this. He was so closely entwined with the art of strategy that he could not fail to notice this tiny, seemingly insignificant detail. He was also knowledgeable enough to comprehend its importance, on a scale that is incomprehensible to the common man. And he used it to his advantage – for, against such impossible odds, one did have to make use of any resource – and crafted his own pieces on the chessboard laid before him. There had been too much at stake for him to lose.
It had worked before. His foes might be many times mightier than he, but to his credit, he had managed to wriggle under their guard many a time. Contrary to popular opinion, they were not all-seeing. Doctor Tim Marcoh had proven that when he had broken free of their ranks. The Ishbalan known as Scar was another, unforeseen hitch in their plans. And he could hardly keep track of the times when Edward and Alphonse Elric had clashed with them; not emerging victorious, certainly, but surprising them all the same. The armour-bond soul of Barry the Chopper was perhaps one of their greatest oversights, which had led to the eventual demise of one of their own. Agreed, that battle was not without cost on his side, but he had struck them a critical blow.
Things seemed to spiral out of control later, for he, too, was human, and thus was vulnerable to the weaknesses of his kind. In a flash, he had everything stripped from him, leaving him bare and helpless. But even then, he had managed to alert one of his closest and greatest allies, delve deeper into the mystery surrounding his enemy, discover their darkest secrets and eventually rip their well-woven façade into tattered shreds. All done in the moment they blinked and carelessly dropped their guards.
It was almost ironic that the so-called 'invincible' Homunculi would succumb to the same shortcomings as the Homo sapiens race they so despised. But then again, they did have the same anatomical configuration as humans.
Now, the game was done. The battle was over, and it was time to clear out its vestiges. Had he won? Though his foe was gone, he wasn't so sure. He had paid too much, lost too much; so much so that any thoughts of victory left bitter tangs in his mind.
In the long run, he supposed it was a victory of sorts. The people of his country would no longer have to live in oppression, and he had, for the moment, halted any unnecessary wars. So there wouldn't be any further bloodshed and deaths. That was what he had worked for.
Not that it mattered. His past sins and bloodied hands spoke enough to assure his fate. Ever the strategist (or manipulator, as he had been dubbed by many); he had known what was coming even before the courts had pronounced his sentence.
So, he didn't resist when he was led forward to be lashed to the wooden pole. Instead of panic, he felt a calm sort of peace descend upon him, and marched forward with his head held high. Soon, very soon, he would be reunited with those whom he had lost in his oversight, when he had so thoughtlessly turned his eyes from them and blinked.
A strip of black was bound over his eyes, but his mind still saw clearly. Unblinkingly.
/All he had to do was… /
The polished rifle was lifted and aimed.
/Once more… /
It all happened in an instance.
/Blink/
And his eyes were shut forever.
-End-
A/N: I truly have no idea what possessed me to write this. I actually finished this some time ago, but seeing that my other works don't seem to be progressing I though I'd just put this up. Reviews are appreciated. If you have no idea what was written then feel free to ask. The vibe of this ficlet has long since left me but I'll try to answer the best I can. Thoughts and interpretations of this are also welcome; I'd like to hear what the readers have to say.
-Quetz