Summary: Observation of War and Snow from Edward. I wanted to do more with this, but really couldn't without it sounding weird.
Pairings: What? In an FMA fic by *me*? Noooo. XD
Word Count: 255 (very very short)
“It doesn’t snow in Risembool.” We were told as she wrapped us in scarves and the armor all mothers forced you to don as you headed out into the cold world on the way to school.
The schoolteacher said it was because it was just warmer here.
We figured it was because we had been bad. The person who made the snow was saving it for when we had been good. Apparently, we were never good. Winters passed by with little more than frost on the grass.
Snow, I learned later in life, is overrated. Snow comes and goes, gives you a fleeting moment of beauty and misery. You’ll be freezing, but you’ll be stunned by the silence of the world.
And then it melts.
The white fog that comes with it goes away.
When I was a kid, snow was the greatest thing in the world. The winter before mom died, Al and I played in the snow for the first time.
I found out some years later, that the War started around that time.
Now, as I think to that time, so far behind me, I look to my hands. The snow melts- but only on the left. I can’t put my right hand in my pocket, my leg will freeze. I put my glove back on and look to the skies.
Snow is the frozen tears of the casualties of war.
It should snow in Risembool, but it doesn’t.
It doesn’t snow in Risembool.
God, I don’t want it to.