concentration camp // a full metal alchemist one-shot

Bang.

As simple as that. He caused me so much fucking physical and psychological pain. And now he was gone. Served him right; served them ALL right. Just a pull of the trigger and it was like all my troubles were being flushed away like their blood in the rain. And it wasn't my fault either. I was the victim. I was acting on impulse.

So why am I the one paying the price?

♪

They said I was guilty. I had to be sent away. My parents weren't even fucking crying. The only one who shed any tears was my brother…Fletcher. I hope God isn't as punishing to him as He is to me. But he's a saint, Fletcher is. Doesn't deserve anything bad in his life. I thought the same about myself, too—or at least used to.

…My dear Fletcher.

They said I had to go to camp—a camp for those poor souls who were at the wrong place at the wrong time. They call them criminals; criminals call themselves VICTIMS.

"See, Russell?" my mother joked. "You've never been to camp before."

Hell sounded more fitting.

♪

And everyone at the camp thought the same thing, too. None of use were normal. But we weren't insane. And we were alike as much as you can be alike with someone, but nothing really clicked. No one caught my attention.

Until Ed came along.

He was short. I made a comment about it to his face and he went absolutely berserk. For some reason, it gave me a sense of pride; he was really the first person to pay attention to me there. So everyday I'd tease him and he'd get angry and a little pride would come back to me. It was like a game to us. And over time, we became friends all together. We'd hang out like regular people and talk like regular people. But then I realized how nice his lips were, how tan his skin was, how slender his body was. That was all I thought when he was there and when he wasn't there.

And then I finally kissed him. He was trembling, but it's not like he pushed away. He wanted it, too, after all.

And gradually, we began fucking. He'd cringe and bite his lip and groan and I'd be filled with even more pride. Everyone needed pride, even misfits.

One night, while Ed was panting and I was panting and the storage closet smelt like sex and sweat, a guard walked in. He didn't say anything. We just looked at each other and it was like some fucking stare off. But then he grinned, tipping his hat and turning to leave.

"This place is becoming more and more like a real jail everyday."

The End.