Understated Chapter one

Although most most of you probably know very little about the anime Fullmetal Alchemist, I encourage to give it a try. I've done my best to infuse as much exposition as possible. It is sorta a love story, it's really not about the physical feelings, but their strong bond, that is over looked to a degree in most interpretations of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Quick notes:

Alchemy is like, legit, and is the main form of science in this alternate history/steampunk world.

Edward and Alphonse Elric committed an alchemical taboo in trying to bring their mother back to life. This cost Edward his right arma and left leg, and Alphonse, his entire body.

Now read.

"You are Golden

You are a golden child

Don't let go,

don't let go tonight."

SHADOWS

"Ed? Do you need anything?" Winry opened the door to Ed's dark room. He often insisted on being alone, much to the worry and dismay of Al, and Winry. It had already been a week since the accident. Since Ed's eyes lost all the fire, all the drive that they once had. Since Al's existence became cold and empty.

The two boys were shrouded in a shadow. A shadow that took it's refuge in Ed's heart. It sucked his life away. Kept him from even looking at the ones he loved.

"No, not really." He croaked weakly. She was able to make out that he was sitting upright in his bed. He even turned Al away. The younger Elric would spend most of his time helping granny with the Automail business, while Winry devoted all her time to Ed's care. She secretly drew up Automail schematics in hope that he would find a reason to walk again. And she was always keeping fresh bandages and water near her, for when she would walk into his dark cave.

"Ed, those bandages are dirty, and you sound parched. You should take care of your self." Her lighthearted tone fell dead in the broken air. She stood still at the door. "It can't be good for you to sit in the dark so much. Let me turn on some lights." He only grunted as the darkness was chased away by blinding lights. She walked up to the squinting boy. "See what that does to you?" Her hands found his shoulder, and began working the bandages from the damaged flesh. He didn't even wince anymore. It hardly seemed like he was alive. Her wide blue eyes scanned him over, searching for any sign of a response. She wanted to believe that her friend was not completely gone.

"Ed, You know, Alphonse doesn't blame you." No response. "He still wants to spend time with you." Silence. "Ed, I thought your brother meant something to you!" Anger flooded his dead eyes. Comments about his bond with his brother seemed to strike a nerve. She sat next to him on the bed, trying to keep her hands from trembling. When the anger left, he looked weaker still. "Ed! Why wont you answer me? Why are you giving up like this?" He turned his face away. It didn't even seem like he was listening. "Why are you so intent on making yourself miserable. I can understand feeling remorse about this for a while, but you need to keep living. You're still alive, and we're still young." Her words shot out, far beyond her years. The both of them had seen far more than what their years could account for. They were adults in children's skin. The world weary and desperate. Asking why.

"Edward..." Her voice grew shaky. His body tensed at the sound of tears threatening to fall. "Ed, Alphonse doesn't blame you. So please stop blaming yourself, stop trying to kill your self. I know that you haven't been eating much. I've found the food you've hidden, and I can tell when you feed it to Den."

"It's none of your business whether I eat or not..." He grumbled. Finally something.
"Yes it is! When it's a matter of your life!"
"Why do you care so much about me, huh?" His question took her aback, she drew away as if she had been shocked. She grew angry. "Why is that a bad thing? Why do I have to have a reason to care for you! You're in need, so I help you, and-" He relaxed a little. She continued the work on his shoulder.
"Ed, I don't understand why you think you're so unworthy of everything. Unworthy of happiness, of love, of...life...Ed, You're hu-"
"Just shut up Winry!" His tone was dark. She couldn't speak.
"Wha-"
"I said shut up."
"Why should I?"
"Because it's true! I'm not worthy of anything after the mistake I made, after what I did to my brother." His remaining fist clenched.
Winry tied the final knot on his arm tightly.
She couldn't think of anything to do to make him see that she cared about him. That he was still worth anything.
Her body moved on it's own as she tackled the weakened Ed flat onto his bed.
"What the hell are you d-" She cut him off, pressing her body flat to his. Winding her arms around his misshapen torso. Tears soaked in the blanket next to his head. Into his hair.
"I'm trying to show you that I care. You deserve to be cared about, it was just a mistake-"
"No Winry, I knew the risks!" He tried to push her away but she clamped even tighter, crying harder.
"You just wanted to see your mother again. I understand! When mom and dad died, I would have done anything-"
"Stop trying to compare yourself to me! You're nothing like me!" He writhed even harder, but his chivalry and fatigue stopped him escaping.
"Stop trying to cut yourself off. Your just another human...Ed.." Her tears conquered her words.
"Stop crying...I can't stand to see you cry over something so stupid."
"Maybe if you stopped thinking that you are a "Stupid" reason, than maybe I would cry less." Her tears dried, as she let her self relax. She propped her self up. Locking her gaze with his. Willing for there to be a spark in those golden eyes.
Forcing down a blush, she helped the crippled boy back into a sitting position. Cradling him. He looked like he could break apart. But was held together by sheer force of will.
"Let me do your leg now."
"Mn, right."
Her hands worked quickly, diligently, skillfully, and purposefully. She had to put him back together. These dripping, glittering fragments of regret and pain. They could be assembled again. If only she tried hard enough.
I will support him always. I will help him walk again. He's strong. Somehow, he'll find a way to smile again.
She smoothed out his bandaged leg, massaged the sore spots delicately, He grimaced, but she persisted. She placed a cup of water to his parched lips. He seemed to accept it with more...vigor, was it? More purpose...? And she could swear she saw a flicker.
"Ed...Good night..." She began to walk away when he snagged her dress with his hand.
"Wait, Winry..."
"Yeah?" She said suppressing her surprise at his forwardness.
"Uhm..." He blushed red, searching for words.
"Yeah?" She pried wryly.
"Thank you." He grumbled.
"You're very welcome." She took that opportunity to plant a solid kiss on his forehead. Leaving him wide-eyed and blushing.
Anything was better than dead-eyed, she decided.

Belief rant.

Some people go after god because they want to be loved, other because they want to be amazed, shocked from the monotony of life. A lot of people want something to live for. My reason is similar. My faith as a young child was driven by my logical mind and desire to help and protect people. But as I’ve weathered the world for 16 years I’ve begun to be eaten away. The world around me is fragile, Its breaking apart, I feel like the very ground beneath my feet is slipping away. Nothing is sold. Sometimes I feel like a character in a book, who saw the reader, and realized the pointlessness of it’s existence. I’m frail and failing, and I need something permanent and solid to hold on to. That’s all my desperate heart is running on in the drifting life. Because in the end, nothing I do is of any worth. All of my righteousness is but rags.

Write a Riff

This is a collection of short excerpts that line up together from my working novel "Gloomy Eyes" It is about a high school musical prodigy by the name of Maralee. In the novel she tries to come to terms with music, emotion people and how they can all fit together. Throughout the beginning, we see her oddly refined Cynicism. It seems impenetrable. Like she's immune to simple plights of ehr high school life. But underneath, the pieces are perhaps far too scattered to ever be put back together.

~~~

I walked to the printer. Picking up all 50 pages. Every chord, cadence, melody, harmony to perfection now. It’s a very distinctive thrill, holding the key to something so strangely intangible like music in my hands. The thrill of creating. The only thing that seems to hold any color or substance in this world. There is so much struggle in this life, to leave marks. This is the thought that rests on my mind as I read page after page about Bach and Betoven, Mozart and Brahms, all these people, prodigies, madmen and geniuses alike. Now remembered through their discoveries and insane exploits. They changed music as we know it, their names, repeated, in testament to this. Handel, Holst, Mahler, Hayden, I could name them forever. 

It’s odd. People like, Mozart in particular. He was a circus act in his time. A child prodigy, a novelty. He died drunk, poor and alone. In the street. One of the greatest minds of the millennium, tossed aside like trash. Only then did they see. He was truly a genius. Now his etudes, his doodles are in lesson books. His sketches in high schools and masterpieces in opera houses and symphonies. His grave, so adorned.

I glanced at the composer  busts on my book shelf. Lined up chronologically. So often I think about death. Not the pain, or the urgency, but the long part. The remembering part. Names carried along in whispers, gravestones, books and records. Stories and photographs, remnants. Footprints.

“Übrig.” I murmured after picking up my german dictionary. “Something left behind, a remnant.” All that’s ever left.

Inevitably I’ll come to think about what I’ll leave behind. But that soon becomes irrelevant, considering the insane advances of technology. Most likely what I leave behind wont even be physical. Electronic money, possessions, energy signatures. If you look at the fact that when I was born CDs and multi functional computers were a miracle. Where will we be, where will I be, in my field of work?

~~~~

The longest part of death, the forever part of death. Weighing on the shoulder of the road. Right in front of me. Police, ambulances and firetrucks, all screaming for me to leave, but I still saw the body. The ended life. No matter the things I  could tell my self to distract me, my mind zips to the darkness.

That person had a family. Loved ones, a job, hobbies, loves and passions. All gone now. The simple unavoidable fact that the blood could be my blood, or anyone’s blood. Perhaps attachment, just doesn't payout in the end. The stuff of gossip, worries. All left behind, after just a few intersections.

I soon found the hotel. A sign, and lots of smiling faces. I signed in, got a name tag, and slid effortlessly into the bubbling cloud if ignorance.

Cracks

It's probably the lost nostalgia
The bitter holes torn in memory,
Faces left blank,
Things unknown,
And countless snow flakes
Melting to tears.

If the missing could be restored,
The cracks repaired,
The wrinkles undone,
Who will I be?
Whispers and open wounds?
Thoughtlessness renewed?
Or such a being of infinity?

But forgetting takes shape.
Brings pain and yet joy.
For the snow that turns to spring.
The becoming of joy from the cold, is the cracks repaired.

Remember

Colors, words, images, raindrops and summer dust.
Torn apart, replaced, rebuilt and remembered.
Remembered.
First sounds, sights and smells.
Electricity, the current of existence.
Off kilter, switched around,
Forgotten,  gone.
Slipping slowly,dreaming softly,
Evermore, evernever,
Remember.

An original poem by me.