Post by Audie Smith on Jun 18, 2005 21:36:44 GMT -5
The words ring through his head like church bells on Sunday. They don’t register they just keep replaying them selves over and over again like a bad horror film. Why won’t they stop? Why won’t they just go away?
His eyes wide he looks around, these people must be lying. She wasn’t murder. Who would want to murder some one like her, she…she was perfect. What had she ever done to deserve such a cruel and unusual death?
Looking from her father to her only female friend to his brother and back again, his breathing becomes shallow, deeper, filled with pain and sorrow. What did you do? Who killed you? Why? Why did they take you from him?
He stops, every movement, every sound, everything just stops. What did she do, she was your friend. Who killed her, someone that’s out to get you. Why, because they can. Why did they take her from him, because they new it would hurt.
Anger burning through his veins, like oxygen to a fire. This anger fuels the fire burning in his heart as he realizes it’s his fault your dead. It’s his entire fault. Anger burning through his eyes, through his face, through his stance, you can feel the anger radiating off his body.
It scares everyone around him, they can feel the fire, and they can feel the hate. But the fire and the hate don’t scare the people as much as it scares him. He’s never been this angry before, maybe this just keeps happening and happening and this was the last straw.
Looking up at the people watching him, he looks at the diary resting gently on the table in front of him. With trembling hands he reaches up, taking the diary into his hands. Staring at the cover, he traces the edge of the diary with his thumb, just to hold something of yours mends the hurt a little, but only a little.
Tearing his eyes away from the diary he looks back up at your father, his sad tired face watching him. Looking to Winry you can see the little shine that was once left in her eyes was now gone, most likely for good.
He looks back at your father; silently asking him if now is ok to look at the diary. His yellow orbs of molten gold staring through, trying to see what your father is thinking, trying to see his answer.
With just a nod, your father gives Ed the world; he gives him the one thing Ed never knew, your true feelings. Slowly, his hands still trembling slightly he opens the diary, to stare at the first page. His eyes not really taking in the words just being able to see your handwriting again is enough.
Flipping through pages, he continues to flip, looking at the many pages you filled out. Looking he can tell that you kept track of everyday since he left, everyday you wrote, everyday your feelings and memories poured out onto these very pages.
A small smile graces Ed’s solemn face. The thought of knowing your deepest darkest secrets, all your dreams and goals, all your memories and thoughts, all your fears and wants, makes his heart pound with unknown fear.
Returning to the first page he starts reading over your words, trying to take in everything your saying, rereading it over again just so he can remember just what it is you were trying to say. Maybe if he reads it enough, your views on your memories will become his views on those same memories.
And maybe your thoughts will become his thoughts. Your dreams will become his dreams. And maybe he’ll be able to know the pain and sorrow the happiness and joy that you felt, just maybe.
I swore I would never start a diary. I thought it was too girly, but here I am writing a diary. My name is (your first name) (your last name) and I live in the small country town of Rizembool
Ed chuckles slightly at your start to the diary. ‘Too girly’ yup sounds just like you. But I guess you gave into your ‘girly’ side and that’s why he is now holding your many long pages of you diary.
He continues to read your diary flipping from one page to another. Reading everything becoming absorbed in the diary like a good book. He is unable to tear his eyes from the pages, from your handwriting, from what little string that still holds him to your now finished life.
“Ed, I think you need some rest, it’s been an awfully stressful day.” He hears your father say, yet he doesn’t respond. Just continues to flip and read, stare flip, read stare, flip read stare, it still has yet to register what is going on in his head.
Maybe one day the sun will shine and the puddle will disappear and I’ll be able to breathe again. But until then my puddle will grow larger as I drown thinking of the sun yet to be seen
Drowning, it must have been raining everyday. Not in real life but on the inside of her mind. Just rain day in and day out, showing how dreary her life has become. Showing how sad she had become, showing how broken she had become.
“Ed I think that’s enough of the diary today.” Ed snaps his head up to look at your father. His eyes burning with emotions never seen before, your thoughts and feelings still running fresh through his mind.
Ed stares at your father for what seems like hours, days, maybe even weeks, when it’s only been a few minutes. He then closes his eyes, trying to stop seeing your face, your thoughts, and your world. Closing the diary he sets it back down on the table, his eyes still closed.
Reopening them you can see the pain and the hurt, the loss and the sorrow running rampant through his eyes, his mind. Never stopping, never just shutting down. His thoughts and emotions are always on high, now that’s there on a whole new level.
He feels so tired, not just physically but mentally. Like he could just lie down and fall asleep never to get back up. His mind is starting to slowly drift away from reality, his mind just stuck in a void of darkness and confusion, unable to find the light.
But in the darkness of the void one question keeps asking its self over and over again. Who? Who did this? Who murdered her? Who? In the void he sees the word flashing in neon bright lights, flashing over and over, he sees them in blood, in red crimson blood.
Suddenly the void clears, but it’s not light that holds its place, but red. Red like your blood spilled on the ground, red like the anger seeping through his pores. Red consuming his body, reverting him back to a primal war beast.
He wants to kill, see the blood spill to the ground, see the pain in there eyes, and he wants to laugh. Laugh at them for thinking they could kill the one he loves and get away with it. Laugh to try and hide the true pain that consumes him, threaten to swallow him whole.
Standing up, he rushes out of the room, running out of the house. His anger, his pain, his frustration fueling him to move, to leave to find who did this and make them pay. Make them pay like you had to pay. You were his friend and now your dead, you paid with your life, now they must pay with theirs.
Running to the one place, running as fast as he can. His strength is starting to give, not because his body is tired, but because his mind is tired. His mind has many doors, giving him strength and stamina, but all those doors are closing, one by one by one, and his strength falling short.
Climbing up the hill, his mind finally giving in his brain ceasing to work. He collapses on his mother’s grave, just staring at the grave stone. Just staring, not thinking, nothing just staring.
Out of his peripheral vision, he spots something. His curiosity peeked, he lifts his head from the ground, turning it to look at what ever it was that caught his eye. Staring for a few minutes his mind slowly registers what it is.
His eyes widen as tears fall from his golden orbs called eyes. Not knowing he’s crying he slowly crawls over to the thing that means the world to him. Using the last of his mental strength he rests himself gently on your grave stone.
You hadn’t asked to be buried next to Trisha, but every one knew that’s where you wanted to be. You loved it there, and you loved Trisha, you loved Ed. And they all knew how much it would mean for you, for Trisha, and for Ed.
Running his hands over the grave stone he gently traces your name carved into the stone. Your date of birth, your day of death, just slowly taking in your stone. Nothing special just a normal grave stone.
Stopping he realizes there’s something else written on the stone. Pulling back a little he runs his eyes over the words, trying to take in the mean, trying to understand why this was written on your grave stone.
To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.
His eyes trace the words as his fingers do the same. What did she mean? Why would she put this on her grave? Why? His hand slowly drops down to the ground, still tears running down his eyes, falling onto his blood red coat.
Resting his head on your grave, his mind finally giving up. Maybe the answers will come later but right now it’s just to much. The void starts to slowly return, consuming his mind slowly then as his eyes close, it consumes his whole person.
Now its time to hide in the darkness of the void.
His eyes wide he looks around, these people must be lying. She wasn’t murder. Who would want to murder some one like her, she…she was perfect. What had she ever done to deserve such a cruel and unusual death?
Looking from her father to her only female friend to his brother and back again, his breathing becomes shallow, deeper, filled with pain and sorrow. What did you do? Who killed you? Why? Why did they take you from him?
He stops, every movement, every sound, everything just stops. What did she do, she was your friend. Who killed her, someone that’s out to get you. Why, because they can. Why did they take her from him, because they new it would hurt.
Anger burning through his veins, like oxygen to a fire. This anger fuels the fire burning in his heart as he realizes it’s his fault your dead. It’s his entire fault. Anger burning through his eyes, through his face, through his stance, you can feel the anger radiating off his body.
It scares everyone around him, they can feel the fire, and they can feel the hate. But the fire and the hate don’t scare the people as much as it scares him. He’s never been this angry before, maybe this just keeps happening and happening and this was the last straw.
Looking up at the people watching him, he looks at the diary resting gently on the table in front of him. With trembling hands he reaches up, taking the diary into his hands. Staring at the cover, he traces the edge of the diary with his thumb, just to hold something of yours mends the hurt a little, but only a little.
Tearing his eyes away from the diary he looks back up at your father, his sad tired face watching him. Looking to Winry you can see the little shine that was once left in her eyes was now gone, most likely for good.
He looks back at your father; silently asking him if now is ok to look at the diary. His yellow orbs of molten gold staring through, trying to see what your father is thinking, trying to see his answer.
With just a nod, your father gives Ed the world; he gives him the one thing Ed never knew, your true feelings. Slowly, his hands still trembling slightly he opens the diary, to stare at the first page. His eyes not really taking in the words just being able to see your handwriting again is enough.
Flipping through pages, he continues to flip, looking at the many pages you filled out. Looking he can tell that you kept track of everyday since he left, everyday you wrote, everyday your feelings and memories poured out onto these very pages.
A small smile graces Ed’s solemn face. The thought of knowing your deepest darkest secrets, all your dreams and goals, all your memories and thoughts, all your fears and wants, makes his heart pound with unknown fear.
Returning to the first page he starts reading over your words, trying to take in everything your saying, rereading it over again just so he can remember just what it is you were trying to say. Maybe if he reads it enough, your views on your memories will become his views on those same memories.
And maybe your thoughts will become his thoughts. Your dreams will become his dreams. And maybe he’ll be able to know the pain and sorrow the happiness and joy that you felt, just maybe.
I swore I would never start a diary. I thought it was too girly, but here I am writing a diary. My name is (your first name) (your last name) and I live in the small country town of Rizembool
Ed chuckles slightly at your start to the diary. ‘Too girly’ yup sounds just like you. But I guess you gave into your ‘girly’ side and that’s why he is now holding your many long pages of you diary.
He continues to read your diary flipping from one page to another. Reading everything becoming absorbed in the diary like a good book. He is unable to tear his eyes from the pages, from your handwriting, from what little string that still holds him to your now finished life.
“Ed, I think you need some rest, it’s been an awfully stressful day.” He hears your father say, yet he doesn’t respond. Just continues to flip and read, stare flip, read stare, flip read stare, it still has yet to register what is going on in his head.
Maybe one day the sun will shine and the puddle will disappear and I’ll be able to breathe again. But until then my puddle will grow larger as I drown thinking of the sun yet to be seen
Drowning, it must have been raining everyday. Not in real life but on the inside of her mind. Just rain day in and day out, showing how dreary her life has become. Showing how sad she had become, showing how broken she had become.
“Ed I think that’s enough of the diary today.” Ed snaps his head up to look at your father. His eyes burning with emotions never seen before, your thoughts and feelings still running fresh through his mind.
Ed stares at your father for what seems like hours, days, maybe even weeks, when it’s only been a few minutes. He then closes his eyes, trying to stop seeing your face, your thoughts, and your world. Closing the diary he sets it back down on the table, his eyes still closed.
Reopening them you can see the pain and the hurt, the loss and the sorrow running rampant through his eyes, his mind. Never stopping, never just shutting down. His thoughts and emotions are always on high, now that’s there on a whole new level.
He feels so tired, not just physically but mentally. Like he could just lie down and fall asleep never to get back up. His mind is starting to slowly drift away from reality, his mind just stuck in a void of darkness and confusion, unable to find the light.
But in the darkness of the void one question keeps asking its self over and over again. Who? Who did this? Who murdered her? Who? In the void he sees the word flashing in neon bright lights, flashing over and over, he sees them in blood, in red crimson blood.
Suddenly the void clears, but it’s not light that holds its place, but red. Red like your blood spilled on the ground, red like the anger seeping through his pores. Red consuming his body, reverting him back to a primal war beast.
He wants to kill, see the blood spill to the ground, see the pain in there eyes, and he wants to laugh. Laugh at them for thinking they could kill the one he loves and get away with it. Laugh to try and hide the true pain that consumes him, threaten to swallow him whole.
Standing up, he rushes out of the room, running out of the house. His anger, his pain, his frustration fueling him to move, to leave to find who did this and make them pay. Make them pay like you had to pay. You were his friend and now your dead, you paid with your life, now they must pay with theirs.
Running to the one place, running as fast as he can. His strength is starting to give, not because his body is tired, but because his mind is tired. His mind has many doors, giving him strength and stamina, but all those doors are closing, one by one by one, and his strength falling short.
Climbing up the hill, his mind finally giving in his brain ceasing to work. He collapses on his mother’s grave, just staring at the grave stone. Just staring, not thinking, nothing just staring.
Out of his peripheral vision, he spots something. His curiosity peeked, he lifts his head from the ground, turning it to look at what ever it was that caught his eye. Staring for a few minutes his mind slowly registers what it is.
His eyes widen as tears fall from his golden orbs called eyes. Not knowing he’s crying he slowly crawls over to the thing that means the world to him. Using the last of his mental strength he rests himself gently on your grave stone.
You hadn’t asked to be buried next to Trisha, but every one knew that’s where you wanted to be. You loved it there, and you loved Trisha, you loved Ed. And they all knew how much it would mean for you, for Trisha, and for Ed.
Running his hands over the grave stone he gently traces your name carved into the stone. Your date of birth, your day of death, just slowly taking in your stone. Nothing special just a normal grave stone.
Stopping he realizes there’s something else written on the stone. Pulling back a little he runs his eyes over the words, trying to take in the mean, trying to understand why this was written on your grave stone.
To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.
His eyes trace the words as his fingers do the same. What did she mean? Why would she put this on her grave? Why? His hand slowly drops down to the ground, still tears running down his eyes, falling onto his blood red coat.
Resting his head on your grave, his mind finally giving up. Maybe the answers will come later but right now it’s just to much. The void starts to slowly return, consuming his mind slowly then as his eyes close, it consumes his whole person.
Now its time to hide in the darkness of the void.
