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Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Summary: Roy's reactions to Maes's death.
Rating: PG
Silence. It cuts through Roy’s heart with the honed skill of a knife as the still connected phone line sinks into a dead chasm of fear and doubt that makes his mind thunder with grim possibility. He calls out Hughes’s name once more, but it’s of no use. Empty echoes are the only reply he gets. He remains standing with the phone to his ear, his skin shivering with a frigid pallor that he’s not felt since Ishbal. Sweat clings to the telephone when he finally sets it down.
Twenty minutes later, the call comes, and the silence takes him.
```````````
Blood. It clouds Roy’s vision as he sees the frozen whiteness of that broken body lying in a too white casket in a too white room that smells of desolation and death. He’s a shadow of crimson and mangled flesh whose unnatural stillness chills Roy to the marrow of his bones. It starts in a slow rush from the one place in his mind that isn’t numb. A small, piteous whimper that soon grows into a piercing wail screaming for the man whose life he valued more precious than any other’s. A man who is now no more than dust.
`````````````
Comfort. Two easily voiced syllables that mean nothing to him anymore. There’s no place for it to bloom in a heart that’s been smashed to aching shards with the blunt force of a bullet destroying the only comfort he knew. The days have darkened; the light that once guided him back to the world has gone out. His nails dig painfully into his fisted palms as he lifts his head to the open sky and lets the tear drops wash down his face. Everything is still. His soul awakens to a single purpose. I’ll avenge you, Maes. I swear it.
Summary: Roy's reactions to Maes's death.
Rating: PG
Silence. It cuts through Roy’s heart with the honed skill of a knife as the still connected phone line sinks into a dead chasm of fear and doubt that makes his mind thunder with grim possibility. He calls out Hughes’s name once more, but it’s of no use. Empty echoes are the only reply he gets. He remains standing with the phone to his ear, his skin shivering with a frigid pallor that he’s not felt since Ishbal. Sweat clings to the telephone when he finally sets it down.
Twenty minutes later, the call comes, and the silence takes him.
```````````
Blood. It clouds Roy’s vision as he sees the frozen whiteness of that broken body lying in a too white casket in a too white room that smells of desolation and death. He’s a shadow of crimson and mangled flesh whose unnatural stillness chills Roy to the marrow of his bones. It starts in a slow rush from the one place in his mind that isn’t numb. A small, piteous whimper that soon grows into a piercing wail screaming for the man whose life he valued more precious than any other’s. A man who is now no more than dust.
`````````````
Comfort. Two easily voiced syllables that mean nothing to him anymore. There’s no place for it to bloom in a heart that’s been smashed to aching shards with the blunt force of a bullet destroying the only comfort he knew. The days have darkened; the light that once guided him back to the world has gone out. His nails dig painfully into his fisted palms as he lifts his head to the open sky and lets the tear drops wash down his face. Everything is still. His soul awakens to a single purpose. I’ll avenge you, Maes. I swear it.