To Make a Human
By Chyna Rose
Disclaimer: Full Metal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa among others that do not include me. Only spoilers if you've never seen the series (here's a hint: Ed's missing an arm and a leg, while Al is a soul trapped in an otherwise empty suit of armor)
35 liters of water
The wooden floor was cold under his foot. For this short trip to the bathroom, it didn't pay to put on socks. Turning on the tap for the shower, he began to get ready for the day. Worn boxers, dingy from so many washings, slid down slim legs to almost trip him when they caught on a foot. A snort of disgust, and a quick check to make sure he didn't step on the soap, and he was ready to begin to be up and about.
20 kilograms of carbohydrates
Research. Another missed meal. He knows that he shouldn't, the body needs its fuel to run but still he doesn't eat. One meal here and there doesn't hurt. But it's never just one meal. And in the end, he tells himself it's ok because there are those who don't have a choice about it.
4 liters of ammonia
On the outside he seems ok; all similes and fight. The kid with the short temper – shorter, if you make mention of his shortness. It is all an act. Oh, the rage is true enough, but its focus is as false as any mask. The smiles are diminished by the weight of what he won't admit.
1.5 kilograms of calcium
Mistakes are human. Everyone makes them; even the homunculi. He knows this lesson well. Mistakes are human and the World is unforgiving about them. Do one little thing wrong – no matter how just your motive – and you'll spend the rest of your life paying for it.
800 grams of adenosine
Scars are reminders of your of your failures, and he wears his as openly as any badge. Better the world see them and be warned of how big a danger you are, than to have them hidden away on your soul where no-one can know. Never forget; as if you ever could.
250 grams of salt
He's not a hero everyone says he is. He's just some guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Anyone could've done it. When the circumstances are right, anyone who just happens to be there will be the hero; the names and faces are all interchangeable. Besides, heroes aren't stained with the blood of sin; they are pure. Who believes in heroes these days anyway.
100 grams of nitrogen
He's getting too old for this he tells himself with a stretch. Stiff and bleary eyed, he shuffles off to wherever the hell it is he's supposed to be now. What 'this' is, is left unasked; it is enough to know that he's too old. The for what is unimportant.
80 grams of sulfur
In another world, another life, everything's perfect. Everything happened differently. His mother is still alive; his brother has his full natural body. None of the mistakes that weigh him down cause any trouble. He spends ages dreaming of the what could never bes. Funny how often in these things, he's dead.
7.5 grams of fluoride
The slim white object oozes a false innocence. Just looking at it laying there on the desk, it's hard to believe that it could do much harm. An innocuous first step to... something. He knows it's wrong, and his brother would lecture him to death if he found out that he was even considering it. Still, he starts to reach out.
3 grams of silicon
He knows that there are others who worry about him. He doesn't understand why they worry, but they do none the less. In the grand scheme of things, he is nothing; a mote in the eye of the universe. No more important than anyone else. Even if all he does is hurt them by making even more mistakes.
20 grams of assorted trace minerals
He'd love nothing more than to soak in a nice, long, hot bath. He won't though. He tells himself it's because of a million different reasons; none of which comes close to the actual truth. He won't because he wants to. He won't deny himself something he needs, at least not often, but he sees nothing wrong with denying himself something he merely wants. There is only one want he'll head; and that is nearly impossible to fulfill. And until he does, all other wants can wait.
The soul immortal
In sleep he is still. Once again, he didn't so much fall asleep as pass out. His brother keeps a vigil in a corner of the shared room; mind in turmoil. He doesn't understand. Not in a way that counts. But he knows enough. Enough to silence his own fears and questions. He loves his brother, and doesn't want to be a burden. He can't help being a reminder. And even though he never says it, a part of him wishes that he was fully dead; so his brother could move on with his life. But he understands. They are all they have left. And his brother needs a keeper – no matter how much the idea chafes.
To make a human, is to destroy your world.