Short Fics
All of these were written for fma_fic_contest. The Sand and the Sieve placed first, though the others placed not at all. :) Enjoy and comment please.
Prompt # 63: Weakness
Title: Deadened Eyes
Summary: Beasts claw at his insides. They- he -weren’t strong enough.
Word Count: 489
Rating: T for language
Mangaverse, if only because their training with Izumi seemed more intense in the manga.
His fingers couldn’t even fucking work right. His nails scraped against his already bruised skin as he worked at the knots tying the sharpened rock to the spear. But his hands were shaking too much.
The fires they made were useless, without something to cook over them.
The knife Izumi had given them was stuck in the sand next to him. Al was sleeping in their makeshift shelter. They took turns taking watch, keeping an eye out for whatever the hell was stalking them.
Al’s cuffs were rolled all the way up, but they still sagged. His brother’s ribs stuck out at sharp angles, like the arrowheads they carved. Al’s cheeks were hollowed now, a skull with gold hair and impossibly wide eyes.
He knew his own face and body were no different. Beasts claw at his insides. They- he -wasn’t strong enough.
He couldn’t save his mom. His brother lay beside him, wasting away as the moments passed. His own hunger threatened to make him collapse, while bruises and broken bones from the thing that attacked them throbbed. The stupid fucking alchemy that his mom had loved and that could save her didn’t help him now. The books that man had left behind were of no help to him, no matter how much he ran through the paragraphs in his memories.
The stick of the spear splintered under his nails as he attempted to get a better grip. But the rope continued to fray, ends peeling as the sharpened rock slipped from his stupid trembling fingers.
The sand was a constant grit in his teeth. He spat, the pitiful expulsion of air crippling him even more. He needed his nonexistent energy. For Al. For the family they had waiting, and would have again. He crawled along the sand, the fire casting long shadows that made it seem as if winking eyes peered at him from the trees or the water. There was no moon tonight, and no mother to calm him even as he protested that he wasn’t afraid of the dark, and he couldn’t wake his brother because Al needed to sleep.
His own eyelids drooped closed at the thought. Winry talked about all the things she read in her medical books- what she had left of her mom and dad- things like how tiredness could make you crazy, how going without sleep for so long could actually kill you. She’d thought that he’d ignored such comments, but he listened to everything she said. Her and Al and his mom and his dad, he’d listened-
But here he was. Dying, weak, and afraid. He couldn’t find the fucking rock and his stupid hands would keep trembling and fail, just as they’d failed to save him mom.
In the dark, his fingers brushed against the cold and sharpened stone. He grabbed it, pulling it close, finding the frayed rope again.
The rock slipped from his fingers once more.
Written for fma_fic_contest Prompt #64, Touching/Touched
Title: Conundrum
Word Count: 966
Summary: He reached up, and grabbed her hand.
Rating: K
Mangaverse
A/N: I kept the name I chose for Mrs. Bradley in my fic ‘The Eye of the King’. This story was written because I would bet that this guy wouldn’t have easily understood the concept of touch- not in such a familiar way at least.
His container had been modified to the age of five. Father could easily change it as the years passed to show an outward sign of growth.
Pride hadn’t understood why it had been necessary in the first place. He understood why this container was used- human children were hardly suspects for anything dark- but to force him to act as a small child every hour of the day, under the care of a very human woman that knew nothing of Father or his plans? It seemed ludicrous, but he knew better than to object. Father was a master of planning, and everything would turn out just as he wished, Pride would make sure of that.
Wrath briefed him beforehand, of course.
“You know how to act like a child,” He said. “That is all she will be expecting, that you are a child, and that you may grow to love her.”
Pride snorted. “She’s never met me. How can she expect some kind of attachment to form between us?”
For a moment, the sin for which he was named seemed ready to burst from Wrath, and Pride smirked to himself. That was another reason he had agreed to this- to keep a better watch on Wrath, and the slight hints that suggested his own attachment to the human woman. Wrath had been human once, and had been married to this woman for forty years; in some ways it was hardly surprising, though Pride would have expected better.
“…She is generally quiet,” Wrath continued after a moment, “With a gentle temperament, although she will still attempt to be firm with you, should she perceive you acting incorrectly.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you, Wrath? Didn’t this woman slap you?”
Once again, Pride sensed the other’s anger rising to the surface, saying nothing for several seconds before speaking in a controlled voice. “Her name is Leona. And she will be ‘mother’ to you soon.”
He was a perfect actor when he met her. He smiled a lot, was slightly formal and a little shy, but excited to meet her. That is what he had seemed, at least.
She, too, had smiled a lot, and spoken to him in a manner that suggested he was older than his container made him look. She had shaken his hand, and stood close by.
He went home with her, into a small room that bared evidence of her having supervised. It was larger than he had expected, with a bed that seemed far too gigantic for his container, and she lingered at the door when she told him to sleep well.
At least she hadn’t assumed he was afraid of the dark. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to contain his laughter at that thought.
The days passed. She always seemed to have something to say to him, and activity that she would like them to do together. And always, she seemed to find ways to touch him- on his shoulder, or his head, her fingers surprisingly strong and firm, the movements somehow fitting and natural and genuine. Humans liked touching, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Apparently brushing someone with your fingertips brought you closer to them in an emotional sense. No wonder humans were so foolish.
Pride discovered that she smiled brighter when he brought her little things, like flowers, or stupidly drawn pictures. He didn’t know why, but sometimes he did these things maybe more than was necessary. He supposed that she could have had a worse smile. By human standards, it was indeed pleasant.
Wrath kissed her a few times in Pride’s sight. There was no avoiding it of course, but it seemed as if he too, enjoyed this more than he should have. Once again, the physical contact eluded Pride. Though mother kissed him too, it wasn’t the same, and he still didn’t know why it was needed.
Once, a car almost hit him in the street. He felt it then, her body barreling into his, putting her body and her touches and her smiles between him and a thing which she thought would kill him. Her whole body shook as she held him close, murmuring words he only half caught about how glad she was that he was safe. She voiced no fear for her own safety, and he supposed too that she was rather brave. It was easy to see why Wrath was somewhat fond of her.
Almost too easy.
The next day, she held his fingers tightly when they crossed a street, as if ready at any moment to pull him back, should another car come charging. But also she held his hand in a loose rip, easy, as if the action was so simply right that she truly thought nothing of it, while Pride still puzzled over its meaning endlessly, over the meaning of these moments of contact and smiles, and touches that reached him somewhere, somehow.
It was all ridiculous, of course. But being around humans as often as he was now, it made sense that he wondered, that he strived to understand. What was it that made mother reach out to him, that made him so easily accept her touch in return?
The Promised Day came ever closer. Somehow, he couldn’t think about the details of the plan; it stirred something inside of him he didn’t like.
The Promised Day continued to approach, no matter how he avoided it in his daily thoughts. Mother would soon die.
The next (and last, though he didn’t know it then) time they crossed the street, he reached up, and grabbed her hand, feeling her warm palm and fingers wrap around his. She smiled and he smiled, and for a moment, all was right in the world.
He held onto her hand for six blocks straight.
Written for fma_fic_contest for the prompt 'Flush'
Title: The Sand and the Sieve
Summary: The longer he lived, the more fell away.
Rating: K+
Word Count: 249
Mangaverse
A/N: Title is inspired by the book ‘Fahrenheit 451’ by Ray Bradbury. FMA belongs to Hiromu Arakawa. Could be spoilers for 108, or just an interpretation really.
Before, the sun burned his skin during the hours the masters told him to work outside, until he worked past the pain and it fell away.
People were like that too.
The longer he lived, the more fell away.
No matter how much he had, it always slipped through his fingers; slipped past his palms, falling away on the wind, going places he could never find, no matter how long he looked.
Who would have thought that it would be so hard to fade with them?
Her eyes smiled even when her mouth didn’t. Her kisses sent a flush all over his body.
He held her, wishing with all of his heart, and all of the souls he contained-wrong as it may have been to use them for something so selfish- that she and his sons wouldn’t slip away.
He left her and his bright eyed boys so that when it was time, he could fall away too.
But years passed and his boys grew, and his wife slipped from his fingers anyway, and he wasn’t even there to see her go.
In the end, his boys risked it all, lost everything, but managed to catch most of it before it fell.
And he had both of his boys again before he left and finally slipped away, with her grave by his side.
In the end, he didn’t really want to die.
But she was waiting. She’d promised.
…her hand reached out to brush his face, and he smiled.
Title: Double Tap
Mangaverse
Word Count: 247
Rating: T-ish
Summary: Nice shot.
Written for fma_fic contest, but didn't place.
A/N: Title inspired slightly by the movie ‘Zombieland’. FMA belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, not little ‘ol me. Oh, and its good to be back writing these. :)
The hot sand blew into my eyes and mouth, drying and sticking to my throat like a second skin. Scowling, I rubbed at my eyes. A sharp growl sounded in front of me, followed by feet scuffling in the sand. Half-blind, my head snapped up, seeing an Ishvalan charging at me, a long knife wielded in one hand.
I fired, and the body crumpled.
“Nice shot,” a voice said behind me, and I whirled around, seeing one of the alchemists- Kimblee, I think it was. He smiled at me, his hands in his pockets. His eyes traveled to something just behind me, and made a “tsk” sound, shaking his head. “Oh no,” he said softly, his expression the perfect picture of mocking sorrow, his voice saturated with delight. “It seems you have a twitcher, officer.”
I turned around. Sure enough, the body was twitching, gurgling sounds erupting from his mouth, blood soaking the sand from the wound. His wild eyes found me, and didn’t look away, even as his body continued to jerk.
A small shift caught my attention, and I turned to see Kimblee spreading his hands, clapping them together.
The body, the sand- everything, it seemed- exploded. Blood and skin and sand stuck to my face and in my mouth. Kimblee smiled pleasantly at me, absently brushing off some of the blood.
“Rule number one. Double tap, officer,” Kimblee said, absolutely grinning now, a splatter of blood across his own face. “Always kill ‘em twice.”