Prompt 176, Arrogance, "The Forlorn Housewife"
Title: The Forlorn Housewife
Author: pedanticpigeon
Series: Any
Word Count: 458
Rating: PG
Characters: Izumi Curtis
Summary: She did not give herself the luxury of being branded as an alchemist.
Warnings: None
A/N: So, I was on my way to catch up on my reading when a hard dose of realization had finally hit me: I didn't send in an entry for the fma fic contest this week. In all honesty, the prompt had given me so much anxiety (the choices! the decisions!) that I just shrugged it off and told myself to forget about it. But then I thought: You promised yourself that you would participate every week. This is only your second week, and you're giving up already! Shame on you! And, of course, in the state of my self-inflicted disapproval, an idea came to mind, and I had quickly powered on my laptop and feverishly began to write, as the deadline was a mere two hours away (and, as I type this, I have exactly 14 minutes until it is time). This is the result of that. I apologize in advance if there are any grammar/spelling errors or awkward structuring. I tried my best to look over my work as thoroughly as possible in the short time-frame.
In the old days, she called herself an alchemist. She took great pride in it, even. She would share her alchemic brilliance with the town of Dublith with a small, self-satisfied smirk on her face whenever she did so.
Izumi Curtis lived an easy, simple life owning a small butcher shop with her husband, and she was content. Soon enough, the two newlyweds had discovered that they were expecting and were overjoyed by the news, ever so eager to begin their lives as parents.
And never once would she expect what was truly in store for her.
Never once would she imagine that she would fall deathly ill during her pregnancy, contaminating both her and her guiltless son, never once would she believe that her child, her sweet, sweet baby boy, would enter the world a stillborn, not having even the chance at one breath of the warm, earthy air, and never once would she consider that she would be to blame. But it was her fault. It was all her fault.
Blinded by desperation and depression, her days soon became weeks and months filled with long, obsessive hours of research and practice, of praying to a god that she had no faith in and hoping-yes, hoping, that she would have the chance to one day bring him back. She vowed to it, and finally, after so long, she had attained the knowledge and proper preparation to perform the ultimate taboo. For him. For the little one who deserved at least a glimpse of the world in which his parents inhabited. It was the only way, and it would surely save her child. It had to. It needed to.
Not only did her transmutation rebound and deprive her of her chances to ever become a mother once more, but again she had killed the innocent and unknowing child who only deserved the benefit of existence.
From that day forth, she was no longer an alchemist. She was a monster. A sick, horrible monster that had killed the same baby twice.
Undeserving of her previous title, she had decided to invent a new description for herself; a housewife. She was a housewife. And, after repeating the name with confidence and enthusiasm over time, she had grown comfortable with it. Accustomed. It was she, and she was it. A plain, uncomplicated housewife with the ability to perform alchemy. Nothing more, and nothing less. At least, that was who she was to anyone other than herself. In her mind’s reality, she accepted who she really was: a foolish, barren murderer who deserved nothing other than to suffer.
That was the price she had to pay for her arrogance. And, according to the one known as Father, that was the Truth.
Author: pedanticpigeon
Series: Any
Word Count: 458
Rating: PG
Characters: Izumi Curtis
Summary: She did not give herself the luxury of being branded as an alchemist.
Warnings: None
A/N: So, I was on my way to catch up on my reading when a hard dose of realization had finally hit me: I didn't send in an entry for the fma fic contest this week. In all honesty, the prompt had given me so much anxiety (the choices! the decisions!) that I just shrugged it off and told myself to forget about it. But then I thought: You promised yourself that you would participate every week. This is only your second week, and you're giving up already! Shame on you! And, of course, in the state of my self-inflicted disapproval, an idea came to mind, and I had quickly powered on my laptop and feverishly began to write, as the deadline was a mere two hours away (and, as I type this, I have exactly 14 minutes until it is time). This is the result of that. I apologize in advance if there are any grammar/spelling errors or awkward structuring. I tried my best to look over my work as thoroughly as possible in the short time-frame.
In the old days, she called herself an alchemist. She took great pride in it, even. She would share her alchemic brilliance with the town of Dublith with a small, self-satisfied smirk on her face whenever she did so.
Izumi Curtis lived an easy, simple life owning a small butcher shop with her husband, and she was content. Soon enough, the two newlyweds had discovered that they were expecting and were overjoyed by the news, ever so eager to begin their lives as parents.
And never once would she expect what was truly in store for her.
Never once would she imagine that she would fall deathly ill during her pregnancy, contaminating both her and her guiltless son, never once would she believe that her child, her sweet, sweet baby boy, would enter the world a stillborn, not having even the chance at one breath of the warm, earthy air, and never once would she consider that she would be to blame. But it was her fault. It was all her fault.
Blinded by desperation and depression, her days soon became weeks and months filled with long, obsessive hours of research and practice, of praying to a god that she had no faith in and hoping-yes, hoping, that she would have the chance to one day bring him back. She vowed to it, and finally, after so long, she had attained the knowledge and proper preparation to perform the ultimate taboo. For him. For the little one who deserved at least a glimpse of the world in which his parents inhabited. It was the only way, and it would surely save her child. It had to. It needed to.
Not only did her transmutation rebound and deprive her of her chances to ever become a mother once more, but again she had killed the innocent and unknowing child who only deserved the benefit of existence.
From that day forth, she was no longer an alchemist. She was a monster. A sick, horrible monster that had killed the same baby twice.
Undeserving of her previous title, she had decided to invent a new description for herself; a housewife. She was a housewife. And, after repeating the name with confidence and enthusiasm over time, she had grown comfortable with it. Accustomed. It was she, and she was it. A plain, uncomplicated housewife with the ability to perform alchemy. Nothing more, and nothing less. At least, that was who she was to anyone other than herself. In her mind’s reality, she accepted who she really was: a foolish, barren murderer who deserved nothing other than to suffer.
That was the price she had to pay for her arrogance. And, according to the one known as Father, that was the Truth.