Hi everyone!

I don't really know what came over me when I wrote this thing. I suppose I was in a weird mood or something like that. Anyway! I thought about the Door, mostly in the first FMA anime (I just LOVE this anime, can't get enough of it) and I wondered what it would be like to be one of these weird shadowy thingies trapped inside. You know, the black figures with purple eyes and I don't know how many arms.

Then I just thought about a person, a human, who would be trapped in it, much like Alphonse was after the human transmutation.

So here it is, a weird short novel about the first time Ed and Al tried a human transmutation. The scene is told by an unknown character, this human I imagined trapped behind the Door, who would see Alphonse when he first entered it and lost his body.

I also tried to use an extended metaphor throughout the story. I don't know if it came right... Anyway, if you can find out what it is about, let me know of your guess!

Just one more thing: English isn't my native language, so any correction or suggestion you can think of are most welcome.

Thanks for reading this, I hope you'll enjoy it.

He didn't know were he was. Everything he set his eyes on was blurred, engulfed in thick, deep darkness. His eyes couldn't focus on anything. The landscape eluded him. It danced at the edge of his vision, teasing but carefully, mockingly out of his reach.

He hissed.

His muscles were burning, each and every one of them, even those he didn't even know he had. His body ached. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his ragged breathing heavy with pain and exhaustion. He breathed a testing sigh only to groan once more: his lungs burned. His mouth tasted like ashes, his throat was dry.

He coughed.

"Shhh…"

He tensed.

There was a voice. A soft, caring voice that whispered soothing nothings at his ear. A sweet, beautiful voice he didn't know. It was close, so very close…

Too close.

Far too close for his comfort. He could feel a burning breath crawling over his skin at the junction of his shoulder and neck, the mouth barely millimeters away from his most vulnerable point.

He jerked.

Pain shot angrily through his body, stilling him mid-movement, scorching his nerves and setting his skin on fire.

"Shhh…" it repeated.

"Don't move. It's alright, everything's alright."

He didn't believe it. The pain was too harsh, too real. His head was hurting, it felt like a hammer was banging on his skull. His eyes fell closed. He couldn't force them open again. His eyelids felt like they were sewn together. His mouth refused to work. His tongue had melt behind his grinding teeth. He couldn't feel it, couldn't move it. But he barely registered this.

The voice, the voice went off and back, it hummed, and sang, and chanted. It twisted and recoiled, enticing him like nothing has ever done. His ears were ringing. His eardrums had been bleeding, and were still suffering from a previous strain. He couldn't remember what had happened to send him there, lying half-dead on a hard mat on the floor. Even with his damaged nose, he could still smell the strong scent of damp wood and old dust. He could still feel the holes and bumps carved in the floor, still hear the hissing wind behind the battered walls. He could see nothing, his eyes were dead, that at least he knew. But his other senses had never been so alive.

He smelt death, decay and suffering.

He heard cries, pleas and sighs, chocking, the disturbing noise of throats closing up and heaving.

He felt pain, cold and hardness.

He was helpless, doomed, unable to fight back. Stuck like an animal waiting to be slaughtered. A piece of meat ready to be bled.

All around him, hundreds, thousands of moaning figures, all drown in shadows. He could feel them like he knew his kin. Their pants and grunts, their jerking moves, their harsh breathing, barely there, almost extinct, he could understand it all.

"Shhhh… It's alright, you'll see. I'll take care of you."

Soft, satiny skin, flawless hands and delicates fingers stoke his temples in a feathery touch. His forehead shone with perspiration, he could feel it pearling down his face, damping his tangled, dirtied hairs. There was no blood. Its coppery, pungent smell was strangely absent from the air. Instead he breathed heat and bodily fluids, suffering, arousal and exhaustion.

"Don't fear, let go. Just let go."

The ghostly hands slid down his body. They brushed his throat, down his collarbone to his pulsing heart. They stayed there for a while, hovering over his chest like a ray of moonlight over a sack of bones. Then they strayed afar. They left his chest, ghosted over his sides. He quivered. His skin burned, he felt like thousands of needles had pierced his flesh. He tried to scream, but his throat clamped down and uttered nothing but a chocked, pained whimper.

The hands didn't stop. They slid over the line of his pants, then slipped under the fabric.

"There. Let go…"

He did.

The pain was too much. Soon, darkness engulfed him. Through the mist of his agony, he heard a door open. Sunlight, fresh air and blessed silence flooded the room. Then the door closed and a surprised cry rose in the darkness.

The hands left him.

Harsh, ruthless cold replaced them. Frozen tears cascaded down his cheeks. His entire body shut down.

"Shhhh… Dear, poor fool. Here, bring a mattress. Lay him down. Don't fear, I'll take care of you."

Eyes closed, he trembled.

Another had fallen.