Living in the aftermath

ONE

MORNING

When he had proudly proclaimed, all those years ago, "I'll get past every obstacle that lies in front of getting Al's body back!" he really hadn't meant it like this.

He hadn't meant that a train wreck could take more than just the remains of his legs away in one foul, agonizing swoop.

He sighed softly as he sat, confined to a black-colored wheelchair just inside the beginning of the living-space that he shared with his younger brother. The walls around him were white, cracked and water-stained near the top; they spread around the length of the room, which broke into a small section of carpet flooring, and then a separate tiled bathroom not far off.

Beneath him sat a sea of white, partially-cleaned kitchen tile which was mostly covered by wooden counters, a stray refrigerator, and a small hard-plastic white dining table with one chair. There were two windows in total with ragged curtains firmly spread to allow as much natural light as possible to spill into the space.

The front door was in the farthest corner of the shapeless room, and it was elevated a bit from the carpeted floor, making it hard to get out, when he actually felt motivated to do something besides sit near Alphonse for some sort of constantly-needed emotional support; but going to the bookstore was nice, sometimes, so he conquered the challenge every now and then.

There was also a couch, a mattress on cinderblocks, and a small, cracked t.v that was supposed to be a living-room; it was literally the thought that counted, here, because he always had to imagine there was more to the space than met the eye. Alphonse was trying; and he was doing better than Edward could ever pull off, in the present days, as they slowly slid past.

Edward used his metal hand- his flesh one was horridly burn-scarred and disfigured- to adjust the way his pale-yellow blanket fell across what was technically his lap and what remained of his legs, which wasn't much. He could barely see his stubs when his shirt fell over his waist, though he silently blamed it on the fact that eating and keeping a decent weight was harder than it had once been, so his clothes were just that much larger.

His face was round; his complexion was pale- and his sunflower-colored irises seemed to glow with a dimming sense of life. His freshly-washed sun-colored hair was pulled behind his head in loose braid; overall, there was nothing about him that didn't scream faded determination.

Edward's chair wasn't far off from Alphonse, who was grappling with a cheap metal frying pan so that he wouldn't burn the scrambled eggs that he was cooking.

Alphonse was easily seven-feet-tall with a spiked metal helmet, spiked shoulders, and glowing disembodied cherry-colored eyes in the front of his hollow helmet. He was a suit of armor; and as a whole, there was nobody inside- just the soul of a young boy bound to the scratched steel in a desperate attempt to keep him among the living. "It's almost done, brother!" he assured distractedly, using one of his oversized leather gauntlets to turn down the burner that he was using with a dial attached to the back of the stove.

Edward nodded, chuckling a bit as his stomach growled in audible anticipation. The tang of breakfast- which, much to his enthusiasm, was going to be complete with bacon and toast- was almost suffocating in the small space they were confined to; but in its own way, that wasn't exactly bad.

He felt bad making Alphonse cook. Of course, he wasn't forcing his younger brother to do anything- it was all by choice on the spoken notion that, "we're brothers, Ed- I don't mind taking care of you! You took care of me, when we were kids- I need to return the favor!"

The train wreck had been devastating; Edward was one of the three or so passengers that had lived through the crash, despite the fact that there had been around a hundred on board. His injuries- which had been caused, he could easily recount, by a blazing fire that had exploded and spread rapidly from the engine room- could've been a whole lot worse. He had lost two legs, hurt his head, and gotten some pretty bad burns in various places- but nearly all of the other people had died, so he counted himself- regretfully- as one of the lucky ones.