I know you're theeere guys…can has reviews? Please?
I quite like this one. Stream-of-consciousness is probably the easiest to write, especially for a psycho like Envy.
5. Broken Glass
The shattered mirror and pieces of broken glass, they're laughing at me, reflecting back faces too much like mine – no matter how much I shift, they keep up with me, laughing with bared and pointed teeth –
I'm going insane. It's the only explanation. The laughter keeps welling up in me like a never-ending spring, bursting from my mouth in a foul, never-ending flood.
The tears on my face burn like acid.
I can't stop laughing.
I raise my hand and notice the blood trickling down, even as the cuts from breaking the mirror heal up in sparks of red lightning and I want to beg myself, please, leave some pain, it's the only thing keeping me grounded –
- because I've lost myself before and it's an empty nothing of insanity, where I sink into nothing but Envy.
What started it? That's a very good question?
I laugh and laugh and cry and weep, clutching and clawing at my face. Something so simple, so wretchedly simple –
A cat. A goddamned cat on the street, and that armoured freak leaning over it and caressing it like it's the next coming of Jehovah, and his voice, so plaintive and so lost and so fucking whiny and pathetic…
"Please, brother?"
"You know we can't, Al."
"But…it's all alone."
A fucking cat and a walking talking suit of armour, nothing more than an automaton, really, and they still both have more humanity, more empathy, more sympathy, more everything than me.
God, I'm pathetic.
I'm pathetic I'm so fucking useless and pathetic. Some excuse for a homunculus I am.
PATHETIC PATHETIC PATHETIC PATHETIC
It's a neverending scream, raised from what's usually nothing more than an insidious whisper in the back of the cavern that's my empty and echoing mind.
Behind me, there's movement, and the sluggishness of my senses in the maelstrom means that I can't even manage to turn around before their blade 'sniks' neatly between my ribs. I stare blankly at the blade protruding from my chest. It's silvery steel, with a shape I recognize.
"Fullmetal." The physical agony cuts through the dizziness of my breakdown like a knife, and I shed my life like a skin in a dazzle of red. It's the center I needed. Sometimes I've just lived too long.
He pulls out the blade and I hear his footsteps walking away.
He didn't stay to finish me off?
He didn't stay to fight?
Somewhere, deep in my still-healing, still-spinning brain, I wonder if he understands that in taking one life, he saved mine.