Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Also, none of these poems belong to me. I have tried to include as many of the authors that I could find and give the credit to them. The first one, however, is just about one of my favorite poems ever, if that counts for anything. Thanks!
A/N: This is the story of the suitcase :) . (and of the suitcase that came next)
In this story he is carrying
two heavy suitcases up a steep hill road.
The suitcases are old and do not have wheels
but if he puts them down for only a moment
they roll down the hill all the same.
At the top of the hill is a small gray town.
It is an old town, a town without wheels.
Nothing rolls in and out of the stone gray town.
It begins to rain.
The blacktop becomes a slick slide.
The gray town begins to roll toward him.
It gathers speed
but now he is also sliding back down the hill.
The heavy suitcases
are adding weight to his momentum.
He thinks (correctly)
that he and the town might arrive
at the bottom of the hill at the same time.
He imagines (correctly) that when his flesh
hits the stone town there will be a mess.
He lets go of the two heavy suitcases
wondering if this will help.
He can't quite figure out the ratio,
the speed-weight-momentum-exponential
but it can't hurt.
The suitcases stay where they drop
as if full of immovable lead.
They do not slip an inch.
He watches them
as he continues to slide quickly backward.
There will be a mess if I cannot gather speed
(he thought).
The ending will be messy if the ending ends now
(he thought)
and I have no change of clothes
for long days of escaping
(he thought needlessly).
He wonders if (downhill somewhere)
there are motels to jump sideways into.
Motels that do not slide an inch,
motels that do not inquire why you have no luggage.
He wonders if his suitcases are now crushed?
He listens to the grinding roar
of the town descending on him.
Exhausted, he turns to face the on-rushing town
but wait,
there is more somewhere
but wait, there is an ending somewhere.
He is prepared to wait
but not forever,
no not for an eternity.
No he is braver than that (he thinks).
No he his heavier than that (he thinks).
No he is more resilient, resourceful
and significant
but in this story
he is still sliding and waiting.
He is still hoping
that he will get somewhere
before the messy ending.
(a poem called "The Man With Heavy Luggage" -author unknown.)
II.
The flames from a house that would never be forgotten falling away to ash rose up from behind him, as he took step after step, moving away, forward, onward.
Alphonse glanced over at him and looked him over quickly. He didn't look back, didn't dare to look back, "Do you have everything you need brother?"
Edward's chin rose to its proud peak, his eyes hard. He waved a small brown suitcase in the air before him and shot his eyes toward Alphonse for a moment, "'Course I do."
"That's it?" Alphonse asked, wary, unsure. He was glad he couldn't smell the smoke, feel the heat on his back. He didn't turn around, didn't dare to turn around.
"That's it." Edward said solidly. He heard Winry quietly call their names and for a moment almost stopped walking. He saw this, saw himself and his own hesitation, and cringed.
That was certainly it.
He did not turn around.
The brown suitcase lay on the fiery sand of the desert. He watched as his brother fell boneless to the floor of the harsh terrain, and watched as his foot slowly sank into the grainy, dry, soil. Hardly any pore space, Alphonse reasoned, sand and clay, while he had plenty of empty areas to be filled.
He found the concern he had abandoned was patiently awaiting his return, and as he fell deeper into the sand, he watched as Edward's right arm gave unsteady movements. They looked like twitches, uncontrolled, hard winces that jerked the metal for but a moment at a time.
"Fuck..." Edward drawled in the classy, respectable manner he usually presented things.
Alphonse moved quickly, trying to make a considerable effort to stop himself from falling under the sand once more. He watched as a bead of sweat made its way down his brother's face before disappearing beneath his collar. It must have been really hot.
Edward sighed and proceeded to drag the brown case in front of him, propping it upright and using it to lever himself up from the unsteady ground. His left leg dug a little too far in and his balance shifted, sending him back on his stomach once more, and he growled, "This desert sucks..." he ground out, spitting out the sand that crunched beneath his clenched, gnashing teeth.
Alphonse tried his best to reach his brother's side, "Here brother, I'll help you," he said, reaching out a hand. He watched as Edward's eyes shot up toward him and then back to his hand quickly, a moment of hesitation.
Alphonse gasped, "Oh! I forgot," whenever they were somewhere like this his armor got so hot that it would burn Edward at the touch.
"No." Edward replied, "It's fine. Thanks Al," he said as he reached up, no hesitation now, and grabbed Alphonse's hand with his left.
Why? Alphonse wondered. Why not his right? Edward's face made no sign of any sort of discomfort however, and a huge smile lit up his face. He patted Alphonse on the back and looked out at the horizon.
"Let's get going then?" He asked, taking a single step forward.
"Yeah," Alphonse agreed, walking after him, "hey, brother?"
"What?"
"Want me to carry that for you?"
"Take mine," Mom said, hearing my suitcase was full.
"I won't need luggage, the next place I go."
(an excerpt from the poem "Suitcase" by Charles Harper Webb.)
"Mom!" Edward's voice rang out through the house loud and clear, and Alphonse sighed, placing another pair of socks into his suitcase. He closed it with a loud clang and snapped the clasps together. Admiring his handiwork, he set his small fists on his hips and nodded respectfully to the dinosaur covered bag sitting on his bed.
"Mom!" Edward called again, "Mom! I can't find my suitcase anywhere!"
They were only going to be gone for a weekend. Trisha wanted to go see one of her old friends who was staying with her mother in a town a few hours from here, by train, and the two brothers had been more than excited to travel for the first time. They had always wanted to see what was outside of Resembool, beyond the too green grass and the grazing cows, beyond the quiet little town. And neither of them had ever ridden on a train. This was exciting, and Alphonse was jittery and nervous in anticipation. Edward, however, seemed as if he was determined to delay this trip.
"Mom! It's not where I left it! I can't find it anywhere!"
Alphonse opened up the door to his room to see the seven-and-a-half year old rummaging excitedly through the closet across from their room. There were clothes and shoes and old, dusty side tables, and books with ripping spines, and pieces of broken vases that used to house beautiful flowers spread all around him. He hesitated in the doorway, seeing the glass, and his blue-gray eyes widened quickly. "Brother!" he called, "There's glass in there! Be careful!"
"I know Al!" he sounded exasperated and irritated, throwing his arms to his sides and turning around to glance at Alphonse with a 'leave me alone I'm doing something' look that only a sibling could truly master. Alphonse felt his lip pushing outward in a pout, he hadn't done anything, why was his brother mad at him? He took a step forward and Edward's expression changed all too quickly.
"Al! Don't! You could trip and fall and then –" and then Edward fell, his sentence hanging in the air above him as he skidded on his elbows into the remnants of the once beautiful vase. He yelped in surprise before crying out, tears brimming his golden eyes, watching the small silvers of glass that had cut cruelly into his small arms. Blood trickled down his forearm and Alphonse's eyes followed the scarlet liquid down in one steady drop before backpedaling back a few feet a quickly as he could manage.
"Mom!" It was Alphonse who called her name now, as Edward began to cry, holding one of his bleeding elbows to his chest and successfully neglecting the other. "Mom! Brother's hurt!"
This had Trisha running. She had been looking for something before, and was planning on answering Edward eventually, but as she saw him, she wished she would have came to him right away. She bustled to his side, patting Alphonse on the head on the way over before scooping Edward up in her embrace. "Shh... It's okay, Ed, calm down," she cooed to the sobbing boy, "come on, let's go into the bathroom and get a look at that, alright."
Edward pressed his mouth together into a tight line and nodded firmly, silent tears still trekking down his ruddy cheeks. Alphonse watched as his mother brought Edward into the bathroom, picking out each little piece of glass one at a time while Edward held back his cries, trying to be brave. Finally, he was adorned with a plentiful amount of colorful band aids, which seemed to make him happy enough. Although, he still hadn't found his suitcase.
"My suitcase, I can't find it," Edward muttered, hugging his mother tightly around her neck. His band aids were stark against her brown hair, bright primary colors and one green one, long and thin, that she had found from an package that Winry had given them from Granny Pinako.
Trisha set him on the closed lid of the toilet, telling him to wait and sweeping past Alphonse, lithe and quick, but motherly even in this action, out of the room. Alphonse moved to his brother's side, where they looked at the bandages together and smiled and laughed. The situation seemed almost funny when they looked back at it, and Edward agreed with a smile, though his elbows still stung with the pain of it.
She was back in moments, an old, tan suitcase held in her hands, "My old suitcase, I used it when I was a girl." she explained.
"You can have it Edward, take good care of it okay?"
I have a vision
of unhappiness
and me pushing this
behind
and saying
I want air, life, taste, fun
and running,
I make it to the station.
Why are there those black
suitcases, waiting?
(a poem called "The Suitcase" by Anne Le Marquand.)
Alphonse ran as fast as he could, seeing his brother's retreating back before him, and hearing the train whistle bellowing out and reverberating through the air all around him.
"That's our train!" his brother had called, only moments before, turning his head in the direction of the now departing vehicle.
"Don't worry about, we'll get the next one," had been his reply after which his brother's golden eyes had darted quickly from him to the train and than back again, and then suddenly, he was off.
Alphonse ran as fast as he could, seeing his brother's retreating back before him, and hearing the train whistle bellowing out and reverberating through the air all around him. He caught up in moments, and passed the blonde boy in another. The end of the train was quickly approaching, the platform with one set of stairs, railings lining the sides, and he was there in the third moment, throwing himself upward in one smooth motion and landing on the platform easily. He looked back, and saw his brother's face screwed up in effort, as he pumped his one hand that was not holding anything and his legs fell repeatedly to the ground beneath him. The suitcase that he held in his right hand was dragging at his side. He was fast, very fast, but the train was fast too.
"Come on, brother!" Alphonse called, thinking quickly to what he would do if his brother didn't make it to the train. What would he do? They had never been in a situation like that before.
Edward ran as fast as he could, seeing his brother's retreating front before him, and hearing the train whistle bellowing out and reverberating through the air all around him. And, without a second of hesitation (he did not want to see himself hesitate anymore, didn't want to see what he wouldn't do, only what he would) he relaxed the fingers of his right hand. His feet pushed harder against the ground, and he dove forward, reaching out his right hand for the railing of the train. Metal hit metal, and hit metal once more as Alphonse's arms reached out and wrapped around his limb, pulling him the rest of the way onto the speeding locomotive.
The two brother's looked back, and watched as the suitcase tumbled across the ground, in another direction, another place (the past) far away from them now. Out of their life.
"Why did you do that?"
"It was weighing me down."
Alphonse had more questions to ask, about his brother's rash actions, about the way he didn't think before he did anything, about the way he didn't hesitate even once (and what was weighing you down? The suitcase? Or the past?). What would he do? When it came to the end? How far would he go?
"She told me to take good care of it," Edward sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, "think she's mad?"
"Of course not, you let go of what you have to, right?"
"Yeah, Al, that's right."
Edward moved through his dorm quickly, glancing at his brother, whole and alive, in the doorway, waiting for him.
"Are you all packed already Al?" Edward asked, amazed at his efficiency.
"Of course," Alphonse said, "I've got what I need,"
Indeed he did, Edward noticed, glancing over at his side of the room and noticing its neatness. Such a strong contrast to the messiness of his own. He sure as hell wasn't going to make his side that neat, though, there were people who's job it was to do that, and if he was leaving this room, he didn't care what it looked like (not that he had before, he was never here anyway). Somehow, even with his considerable lack of material possessions, he had still managed to make the room a nest of ideas and messes. Almost impossible to sort through and find what was substantial, consequential. What was important.
What he wanted to bring with him when he went back home.
Edward was in the middle of lifting a few blankets that had been thrown haphazardly over the a pile of notes and research journals, underneath which a few old books and trusty pens lay buried, when he suddenly paused, looking up at Alphonse, "I don't even have anything to put this stuff in,"
"Oh," Alphonse said, his face falling into a look of recollection and surprise, shockingly expressive in everything that he did, "that's right."
Edward changed the purpose of his search now, no longer looking for what he wanted to pack away, but for something to pack these things into. Not noticing what his brother was doing beside him, as he took a single, small, dark brown suitcase and emptied its contents onto his own, neatly made bed. (It was filled with drawings that he had done, at night when he couldn't sleep, and at hospitals as he waited for his injured brother to get better) Edward glanced over at him in surprise, as he offered up the case with a smile.
"Here, you can have it, take good care of it okay?"
Edward looked at the suitcase, his golden eyes roaming over to the bed filled with drawings, "don't you want those?" he asked, feeling the loss already. Something so personal to his brother, left in this corporate, cold place. He simply couldn't allow it.
"No, I'd rather have you have a new suitcase, you know? I mean, it's not like you're old one, and I'm sure it'll never be quite like it, but it's pretty close and I mean –" the words spilled out of Alphonse's mouth quickly and he flushed in embarrassment, still holding the suitcase in outstretched hands.
"No," Edward said, grabbing the suitcase, "I mean, yeah, I love it. Really, Al," he finished it with a bright and gracious smile, but still shifted his gaze to the drawings, "Hey, you can go bring your stuff downstairs and I'll be right there okay?"
"Alright," Alphonse called, rubbing the back of his neck and turning around in a hurry, "but don't be too long, okay brother? There are people waiting for us after all."
"Yeah, there are," Edward said, with a nod and another smile. The moment Alphonse was gone, he turned around and opened the new suitcase, "take good care of you, huh? Guess I have to do good on that promise this time."
If I could pack my suitcase and all 'round the world I'd roam,
I would be most happy when I finally got back home.
(an excerpt from the poem "If I Could Pack My Suitcase" by Abby Greenhill.)
"Winry," Edward said, a proud smile on his face, as he saw his childhood friend, her blonde hair blowing in the evening breeze, as the tears of joy tumbled down her face. Her arms came away from Alphonse's form, and Edward saw the purely happy grin that was on his brother's face, and his smile grew even wider in response. He tightened his hand around the dark brown suitcase that sat in his hand. (Not a suitcase that told a story about the past, a suitcase that held a promise for the future.)
"You did it," she said with a smile, proud in her own sense.
"Yeah," Edward nodded, "I made you cry again, but this time you're not sad. I promised remember?" He knew full well that it was not what she meant, but at the same time, it was what he had done, and he had promised.
She laughed and the crinkles in the corners of her sky blue eyes said things to him that spoke of joy and love, "Of course, of course that's what you would say,"
"I keep my promises," Edward clarified, "right Al?" he stuck out his right fist, and smiled as Alphonse extended his own to return the gesture.
The next few days would be the happiest days of the Elric brother's life, and the new suitcase would lie, open, on the foot of Edward's bed for many days, empty (waiting. Waiting for the next adventure,) And Alphonse's drawings would be tacked, inch by inch, across the wall above the very same bed. Telling stories of their own (about adventure, about waiting).
"That's it?" Alphonse asked.
"That's it." Edward said solidly.
He did not turn around.
A/N: Done! I liked this piece. And when I was looking for poems I found all of them very interesting, especially the one that I used in the beginning. It's my new favorite poem :) but I've already said that haven't I. Hoped you liked it! Love you guys!