The Soul
Title: The Soul
Arc: Definition of Soul
Rating: R for the arc, G for the drabble
Warnings: series spoilers, hints of elricest
Summary: If the difference between human and homunculus is the possession of soul, how, then, does one define the soul? Al/Wrath
Previous: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Note: This is not the end.
It’s night and Rizembool is empty and the grass stretches out as far as the river and then beyond. The moon is high and full and there’s a tree, or what was a tree but is now a twisted and charred stump keeping watch over the ruins of where the Elric house once stood. There’s a figure standing over it, long haired and short, mismatched feet planted sturdily on the ground as if he expects to resist being knocked over at any time.
I don’t sleep anymore and the nights are lonely. I want to watch Alphonse sleep because I remember that night we spent together and I want that to be every night.
But it can never be about what I want, not in this world of humans, not in this world of souls.
I don’t jump when I feel the touch, I turn, grabbing wildly and using my powerful automail to throw my attacker to the ground; even in Rizembool I can’t shake the need to watch my back. Part of me knows it’s only Alphonse, but only part, and the part that trusts no one is the part that acts the fastest.
Al is laughing and I don’t apologize, folding my arms over my chest and scowling down at him as he sits up on his knees. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” he says, his voice light, and I scowl harder.
“Why not?” I say, my voice flat. “Have you forgotten I like taking other people’s things?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t think you’d want this,” he says then, gesturing to the overgrown ruins of his home, his eyes becoming serious.
“When you have nothing, you’ll take anything.”
He doesn’t respond right away, slowly standing up and gazing, next to me, beyond the tree and the house and the grass and the river at the moon, huge and crescent shaped and surrounded by winking little stars. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says.
I nod. “I know.” I’ve always known; I never fooled myself into thinking he would stay.
“But I’ll be back,” he says, and his voice sounds odd in the night. “I’ll find my brother and bring him home.”
“I won’t be here.” I don’t look at his face when I say it; I can’t bear to know whether or not he even cares.
I’m not Envy; I won’t spend my life wanting the things I cannot have.
I’ll spend my life angry, full of wrath, pounding the ground in frustration even in my sleep, and it’s not what I want but it’s all that I have.
Even the greatest scientist cannot create a soul, and even the most accomplished alchemist cannot change the very nature of a living being.
That is my curse: I live.
Alone.
cross-posted in fm_alchemist, fma_yaoi, al_x_wrath, and fma_rare. If you belong to all of these, sorry for the spam!
Arc: Definition of Soul
Rating: R for the arc, G for the drabble
Warnings: series spoilers, hints of elricest
Summary: If the difference between human and homunculus is the possession of soul, how, then, does one define the soul? Al/Wrath
Previous: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Note: This is not the end.
It’s night and Rizembool is empty and the grass stretches out as far as the river and then beyond. The moon is high and full and there’s a tree, or what was a tree but is now a twisted and charred stump keeping watch over the ruins of where the Elric house once stood. There’s a figure standing over it, long haired and short, mismatched feet planted sturdily on the ground as if he expects to resist being knocked over at any time.
I don’t sleep anymore and the nights are lonely. I want to watch Alphonse sleep because I remember that night we spent together and I want that to be every night.
But it can never be about what I want, not in this world of humans, not in this world of souls.
I don’t jump when I feel the touch, I turn, grabbing wildly and using my powerful automail to throw my attacker to the ground; even in Rizembool I can’t shake the need to watch my back. Part of me knows it’s only Alphonse, but only part, and the part that trusts no one is the part that acts the fastest.
Al is laughing and I don’t apologize, folding my arms over my chest and scowling down at him as he sits up on his knees. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” he says, his voice light, and I scowl harder.
“Why not?” I say, my voice flat. “Have you forgotten I like taking other people’s things?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t think you’d want this,” he says then, gesturing to the overgrown ruins of his home, his eyes becoming serious.
“When you have nothing, you’ll take anything.”
He doesn’t respond right away, slowly standing up and gazing, next to me, beyond the tree and the house and the grass and the river at the moon, huge and crescent shaped and surrounded by winking little stars. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says.
I nod. “I know.” I’ve always known; I never fooled myself into thinking he would stay.
“But I’ll be back,” he says, and his voice sounds odd in the night. “I’ll find my brother and bring him home.”
“I won’t be here.” I don’t look at his face when I say it; I can’t bear to know whether or not he even cares.
I’m not Envy; I won’t spend my life wanting the things I cannot have.
I’ll spend my life angry, full of wrath, pounding the ground in frustration even in my sleep, and it’s not what I want but it’s all that I have.
Even the greatest scientist cannot create a soul, and even the most accomplished alchemist cannot change the very nature of a living being.
That is my curse: I live.
Alone.
cross-posted in fm_alchemist, fma_yaoi, al_x_wrath, and fma_rare. If you belong to all of these, sorry for the spam!