COMPUTE-
I never did believe in God.
An egotistical being that thinks the world is his back yard; a playground to amuse his childish desires. And humans are mere pawns- like dolls- to play and role-model how he decides life should be. What a load of bull.
Preordained destiny, a future which is already decided from the moment you are born. And if you don't like your fate, too bad, you can't change it. That's what the scientifically unidentifiable being (supposedly in the heavens) declares in teachings. I suppose that could be true. Most people cannot change what their destiny is, they can only watch as a reeling film plays out their life. And when the hands run out it's Game Over, and they have no Free Men.
You could say I was similar to these poor individuals. I watched my life go whipping by and came to be where I am now. This is my destiny. I lie each day looking out a window that I can't reach, rotting from the inside out.
If he hadn't died, maybe I would not be here. Maybe my destiny could have been different…
Laws always made sense to me.
Anything that could be defined by either a dictionary or by science was easily understood when I looked at it. Equations especially were easily comprehended in my mind. Even from only one glance. Materials equals Products, Reactants equals Product, 5x6 equals Product. Everything ultimately has a Product. For example, gorgeous woman + sexy dress equals the product of lechers.
Nothing cannot be solved without rules, everything has rules with it. You can't get one from the other. Extraneous solutions never happened in my life simply because I didn't understand them. So I merely ignored the sight of them.
However, that was what I used to think. Before I discovered an inadmissible situation…
Pink.
Today the clouds are… pink. I think that's the color anyways. No, maybe they are more of a purple. It's so damn hard to think nowadays. So difficult to focus on what you're doing, or in my case, trying to do. I could ask the nurse beside me what color it is. But, she seems busy preparing that god-awful medicine of mine. And since the making requires mixing, I'd prefer to not have her end up spilling on my sheets like that last one did when I moved, so I'll leave her to her work. It's what she gets paid to do after all.
She interrupts my thinking by grasping my chin and opening my mouth. As usual, the thick and bitter medicine slowly makes its way down my dry throat and I feel strangely awake and asleep at the same time. Almost like being on a high; cloud nine. Most people have to go and spend all of their savings to get such a blissful, immortal feeling. It is so completely indescribable. But, in the end, I suppose it is still a drug.
I can vaguely hear her voice speaking to me. This is curious. The people here know that I will never respond to what they say or ask. I've been here for four fucking years! If I haven't changed since then, it's likely I won't change now. Doctors, crazed bunch, the lot of them. Drug you up with pain relievers and meds and then expect you to be able to speak coherently and understand your surrounding situations.
She carries on, speaking something of a 'Colonel' and 'questions'. At least, that was what I caught. It didn't really matter anyway…
White; immensely white. How sane humans could fit so much blinding white furniture, paint, uniforms, and lights, into one building simply eluded him. The familiar queer smells that hospitals had made his nostrils twitch. A scent of sickness wafted through the halls and made him glad that this was not a mental asylum. Who knows what that would look and smell like?
"Sir? Colonel Mustang?" The man's voice in front of him brought him out of his perplexed mind and to the present. He nodded in acknowledgement to symbolize that he was listening. The doctor continued, "As I was saying… You'll find that he is quite unaware of his surroundings and will most likely not respond to you."
"Is that the affect of his medication? He does take some, right?" The Colonel asked while preparing to jot down the answer.
"Partially. The medication is mostly for anti-depressants. You see, he is not actually what you would call 'crazy'. He merely has a rather extreme case of depression. This is why we keep him in this hospital instead of a psyche ward."
"Why?" He inquired curiously.
"That would only further damage his mind. We have been trying for nearly four years now to bring him back from whatever distant place he secluded his mind to. And I'm sure you're well aware of his many… talents." The Colonel once again nodded. "He's a man that was greatly missed, from work especially," The doctor made a last left turn and stopped at-wouldn't you know- a white door.
"This is it. Will you need the attendant nurse?"
The Colonel replied with a simple no. He hoped that he would not require help from another to speak to a man in a comatose state.
The doctor opened the heavy door and dismissed the nurse inside. The Colonel was left alone, standing in the doorway of a small red room. Red? If this patient was supposedly depressed, you'd think that red walls might simulate aggression. Obviously that's not the case, he thought briefly.
To not appear rude, the Colonel stepped in and let the door fall shut. The slight slam did not even faze the young man in front of him. He merely stared out the large window to the world outside, his eyes unblinking. It was rather unnerving.
As the Colonel tread closer, he witnessed the deadest face he had ever seen. Not even the eyes of men dying on battlefields held such a haunted, dead look.
Dull gold hair and eyes, such a strange combination. Light rings underneath those eyes depicted possible insomnia. No signs of self-mutilation were present. It'd be just peachy if his new… client was a cutter.
This washed up boy with two metal limbs was the famous legend through headquarters. This boy was the Full Metal Alchemist.
A strange man walked into my room. He pranced in, acting as though he owned the place! My hazy thoughts led me to wonder who this bastard was, and why was he bloody staring at me?
Dark hair and eyes. What were we, complete opposites? Though I refused to look where he was. I only wanted him to leave. To get out of my sight and not come back.
Mustang he said his name was. That seemed strangely familiar… That's right; the nurse was talking about him earlier. So he was here to ask questions. How stupid could the military actually be? Did they somehow think I could magically communicate with this arrogant jerk? Well, tough luck for him. There was no way I would even look at him!
But, he did have amazing eyes…
To his surprise, the boy glanced at him briefly, and then averted his attention back to the window. This was going to be harder than he first thought…
"My name is Colonel Roy Mustang. I'm here to gather information from you about a certain group. And there's no need to introduce yourself. I already know who you are, Major Elric." A slight twitch of the hand. Mustang gracefully sat in the chair placed beside the patient's bed. Hearing his military title for once must have startled the young man.
Roy pulled from his briefcase a folder containing pictures of the culprits currently being searched for. "The Furher asked me to come here and get what I could from you about this group," Roy said as he laid out three pictures for the patient to see.
He patiently waited for any sort of reaction from the first, a woman in a long black dress with flowing curls of hair. Nothing.
Perhaps the profile shot of the corpulent man accompanying the first. Still nothing.
Mustang was beginning to feel at the end of his ropes. What was he going to do if this last one did not work?
He quickly pointed to the last, a man in revealing clothing and long green hair. Roy waited in suspense. This could mean his doom.
He definitely caught the boy's attention; his head carelessly lolled to the side. As his eyes fell from Mustang and went to the photo on his bedside Roy's gloves unconsciously rubbed together. He quietly cursed at the small heat that formed. He'd have to be careful; he couldn't accidentally set the room on fire based on mere anticipation.
When he looked back up to the boy, he could only find shock.
The dead eyes reverted to positively livid. Uncontrolled rage bubbled from those burning amber depths. His hands were clenching hard enough to draw blood.
As Roy stared, he couldn't find it in himself to take the picture away. It was too good to be true that he was actually getting a reaction. Even if it seemed entirely hostile.
But, the IV cord in the boy's arm was violently ripped off as he yanked his hand to grasp the photograph. His lips curled in disgust and he tore the picture in half. The harsh beeping from the machine the boy was previously connected to must have alerted the nurses that filed into the room.
Roy was weeded to the back of the room to watch the doctor in lead yelling for a sedative. The object in needle was quickly brought and the boy restrained. A blood curling cry echoed through the bustling room. And slowly faded out as the sedative began to take effect.
Colonel Mustang quietly walked out of the now peaceful hospital. The boy had caused quite an uproar, and the doctor attending to him had asked Mustang to come back tomorrow. To which, he gratefully complied.
And despite the obvious failure in upsetting the boy to such a degree, Mustang felt a great sense of achievement. The boy had recognized the last figure, and the blood curling cry of 'murderer' was a large hint.
If he could get the previous Major to cooperate, maybe he could finally catch the notorious bastards that murdered his friend.
I feel strangely calm. It's probably the medication as usual, but this time it feels different.
Ever since my meeting with that bastard Mustang, my head feels clearer. Clearer than it's been in a very long time. It's like back when I was out of this place. Outside, traveling to my hearts content. It's like I have Al here…
…Can that be possible?