japanesewing (wishing4mywings) wrote in fm_alchemist,

This was an entry in a fic contest. I haven't written anything in a while, so I'm horribly rusty. I'm sorry!

Title: Hand
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Character death
Summary: All he wanted was for his hand to be held.

It lie beautifully, tender and fragile as an eggshell, curled up on the glittering gray, embedded in a cushion of red. It shook every now and then in the gleaming light, shining a bright ruby. A thin bracelet of cloth wound around the bottom, torn off in frays at the tops, tiny wisps of white dipping into crimson. Rushes of wind’s icy breath swirled around it, forming tiny droplets of freezing tears along the surface. The sky down poured night upon them all, blanketing everything in an eternal brace that was determined to claim it’s prize, which lie huddled on the ground.

His hand shuddered once more in the cold, clutching, curling, reaching for the mid-summer’s mirage that was held so spitefully out of reach. Five pale fingers, dotted in white jewels that dotted the sky, waved to him, reaching, reaching…

If he closed his eyes just right, he was sure, his eyelids could block out the blackness. And make that hand real. Just to clasp onto his once more and keep him from falling. Shouting voices kept him from doing so. Sharp blows to the cheeks followed by harsh words, commanding him to keep his eyes open. But he wanted that hand. He wanted it so badly…

Just to hold onto. Just to keep from falling alone.

He couldn’t feel his right arm. He couldn’t see it. He was too busy looking to his left, eyes scanning the black horizon for that hand. He couldn’t feel the one that was clutching his right one so desperately, shaking it, begging him to keep his eyes open for just a little while longer…

Something cold licked at his chest, cold night’s tongue dipping into the bloody crevice that marred the spot where his heart should be. The bloody lips of his gaping wound gushed profoundly, rushing, rushing, until only a trickle was left in its wake, accompanying the boy, letting him know he was still there.

But not if he didn’t get the hand. He needed a hand holding his, to keep him tied down to the world for just a little while longer.

The stars were gone.

His fingers twiddled a bit, testing the air for any trace of warmth, of human skin ready to embrace him.

The mirage of his savior slowly melted away, disappearing into the torrents of thick rain.

And he still couldn’t feel the hand clutching at his right one so desperately, so full of toppling strength, trying to drag him back into consciousness.

But Edward couldn’t feel it.

And if he couldn’t feel it, then…

…then what tied…

…what tied…

…tied him down…



Again, sorry for how horrible it is!

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