ð Misfortune ð


They told me in the middle of the night.

It had been raining at that time.

They pounded with such animal ferocity; I barely had time to grip my holster.

But I did.

My aim was deadly, the bullet lethal, and I thought I was ready to face another mob of neighbors complaining about my gun, or elderly people berating me on how I was ill educated in this neighborhood, that they had committed themselves to 'no violence,' and that was enough for me to fire in the air. It was the middle of the night, after all.

Perhaps that was why I was stunned to find military officers standing there.

They were soaked. Caps were lowered, shadowed eyes sober and distant. I immediately recognized the Major standing in the front, with such loneliness in his periwinkle blue eyes, as he was a stray dog.

Something had happened. This was evident. My grip tightened on the holster, fiercely demanding why they were standing in the rain.

None of them even flinched, let alone move, and it was evident something was very wrong.

"H-Hawkeye," Major stuttered, desperately fighting tears.



Roy died.

I found out not long ago.

At first, this was absurd. Mustang and death didn't mix. I refused to believe it.

That is, until I saw the coffin.

It was such a pretty coffin, with elegant lines of gold intricately decorating the top, the cover a smooth, sleek black I just had to tentatively touch it. This was no place for Roy. Roy deserved to be in an office, with immense paperwork sitting in front of him, waiting for me to threaten him once more, so that he could ridicule and mock my statements in the usual sarcasm.

Not a coffin.

"He was murdered," someone whispered quietly at the funeral.

I observed the burial. The coffin was placed next to Hughes, as expected, and then I wondered: was this inevitable? I often thought of what would happen if he died in reality, but that figment of imagination was brushed away as if it was never there. I disgustingly shook the thought away; I hated being so sentimental.

Few hours must have passed. Few people came to pat me on the shoulder once, mutter encouraging words or so, and walk away.

Until I was alone.

The rain came in light patters, embellishing the world in layers of velvet. I stood there alone in this gray, gray world, melting, left aside from fate, eyes closed. Nothing made sense anymore, although truthfully, it did. I could understand perfectly, and it felt odd. I could've smiled. I felt like a mere glimpse at a shadow, a shred of paper, a feather, flittering away, losing myself to its silky perfection for hours, walking across a graveyard no one was in.

It was like a miniature city of stones.

Of course, this was not how Riza Hawkeye thought.

Oh, no no no. That woman was much too strict and she would probably fail at suppressing her tears, thus bawling her petty human face out. It was a pity both of them died. They would have made a good pair up.

I sighed, staring at my form slowly shifting into that beautiful figure, smirking, and half smiling wryly at the fallen victim.

"You know, I always did envy you," I drawled, winking.

And walked away in the rain, disappearing.