|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Birthnight"I never knew the nights were this long. Before this, I always spent my nights talking with brother about alchemy, about our future...and once we got tired from all the talking, we'd fall asleep and dream of happy things. One night seemed so short then. Now one night feels so... so awfully long." Alphonse Elric, chapter 43
~ -:- ~
Edward Elric loves to sleep.
After all, spending every day traveling, researching, chasing leads and getting into various kinds of trouble can get a bit tiring. And he once heard that getting a good night's rest helps you grow, so what he misses from his issues with milk he makes up for in sleeping hours. (In his reasoning, anyway.) He doesn't care anymore where he tucks in for the night; he'll sleep on anything from couches to cold, hard ground, with only a tuft of grass for his pillow. Arms beneath his head, tucked by his chest or sprawled every which-way, mouth slightly open in a gentle snore, shirt rumpled upwards just enough to expos
Starlight"They could see that it was a tall girl, dressed in a single long garment of clear blue which left her arms bare. She was bare-headed and her yellow hair hung down her back. And when they looked at her, they thought they had never before known what beauty meant." --The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
He could never clearly describe how he fell in love with her. It was too wonderfully strange to explain; something that couldn't quite fit into human words.
All he knew is that when he saw her, he saw her. It was as though someone had pulled back a curtain and granted him a glimpse of something inside, behind and beyond what his five senses told him. Whenever she looked at him, he forgot all about her golden hair and slender figure...for what he saw in her dazzled him far more than mere physical attraction could.
He'd seen countless women and suitors back in Narnia and Archenland. Princesses, noblewomen, peasants, kitchen maids...many of them lovely an
Ever By Your Side
"Do you have it all memorized now?" Trisha gazed expectantly into a pair of solemn blue eyes. The little girl nodded.
"Uh-huh. And I won't forget it, ever," she promised, swinging her legs as she perched on the edge of the bed.
"Good girl," said Trisha, a weary but proud smile on her lips. "I knew I could count on you. And remember," she added, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows mysteriously, "you can't tell anyone about this, not even Ed and Al. It's our special secret, alright? Can you keep it safe for me?"
"Of course I can!" The words were hot and stubborn, filled with childish passion. "I promise I won't ever tell an-y-one. Cross my heart. 'Sides," Winry muttered as a resentful afterthought, "they never tell me their secrets."
~ -:- ~
They never told her their secrets, instead burying themselves in dusty alchemy books and the mysteries of the universe, driven by blind desire and false hope...and now they have paid the price for it. Ed is eleven and
TLO - And Then There Were TwoIt began with an old stone wall...and a band-aid. But that part comes later.
The wall was one of his favorite thinking spots. It stood on the farthest edge of the campus, overlooking the playground, and there were places all along the top row where the weathered stones had been broken or knocked off, leaving empty gaps that were just the right size and shape for a boy like him to sit. (Or crouch. Which was usually what he preferred.)
He would go there every other day or so during free time, lightly hoist himself up and stay perched there for a good long time, contented to hug his knees to his chest and watch the other children scurry and chase each other in the distance. No one paid him any attention or joined him on his perch, and he never bothered to come down and play with them. There was always just one on the wall; just him, solitary and impassive.
But today was different.
Because today, there was a girl. Sitting right in his favorite thinking spot. A scrawny little girl with mess
Piano MagicDarkness whispered outside, and frosty stars sparkled in the windows. Bits of fake snow and glitter were scattered here and there, with crumpled-up programs lying in the pews and the last strains of "Joy to the World" echoing in my head. The Christmas concert was over, and my family was off in the reception hall snarfing down sugar cookies with everyone else. Normally I'd be with them (I have an awful sweet tooth)...but this time, something had told me to stay behind.
I glanced around the sanctuary one last time. The dim lighting combined with Christmas-sparkle gave everything a sort of dreamy, enchanted feeling. There was no one else in this magic room no one but me, and that gorgeous baby grand that stood on the stage, tilted oh-so-invitingly in my direction. Like a moth to a flame, I made my way down the aisle to have a better look at it.
An aching longing to play filled my heart. My old clavinova back home was nothing compared to this glistening instrument, the
The Lost One - PrologueAlone she sleeps in the shirt of man
With my three wishes clutched in her hand
The first that she be spared the pain
That comes from a dark and laughing rain
When she finds love, may it always stay true
This I beg for the second wish I made, too
But wish no more; my life you can take
To have her please just one day wake
To have her please
Just one day
--"Gaeta's Lament" (Battlestar Galactica)
And it was from those haunting words that she was conceived. She was little more than a spark, a whisper, the ghost of an idea...but she was there, nonetheless.
It was a long time before her ethereal presence finally took on a solid shape, and longer still before I gave her a face and a name; but at last, she was ready for her test-run.
"Let's go, let's go!" she sang, hopping in place from one foot to the other in happy anticip
Sing to Me
There's a song that's inside of my soul
It's the one that I've tried to write
Over and over again
I'm awake in the infinite cold
But you sing to me over and over
And over again...
The young, dark-haired genius put down his book with delicate fingers and tilted his head to one side, ears alert to the faint strain of music that had just floated past him. Somewhere, a floor down and several rooms and corridors over, someone was playing the school piano. He immediately knew who it was; but as he glanced up at the ticking clock, his brow furrowed slightly.
It was 3 AM in the morning. A normal time for hopeless insomniacs like him to be awake, but why would she be up at this hour?
Stepping lightly down from his perch on the armchair, he padded across the carpet and slipped from the dim room with noiseless, barefoot steps, boredom and vague curiosity egging him on. Sherlock Holmes could wait.
He wandered down the stairs and through the long hallways with hands stuffed
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
Keep in Touch!