Everything was so disgusting. Her lonely room in the manor, the rain pounding on the roof. There was something else, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was something so disgusting it swallowed the whole room and chewed it up and spat it out. Something so disgusting that she felt filthy merely sitting here. So, so disgusting that she was sick of it all, sick of everything.
She was disgusting, covered in the blood of her tears, her soft words. Coated in the grime of her weakness, vile from hopelessness. Was it all she could do to sit in the dark? Was it all she could do to carry on? Was it all she could do to walk around, proof of evils etched upon her back? How was she so gross, so helpless?
Would it not be better to release the earth of the scar that was Riza Hawkeye? No, that would be even more pathetic than she already was.
Unable to put up with herself any longer, she ran from the lonely room in the lonely house and tore outside into the rain. She had to cleanse herself, she had to do something. She pulled her shirt over her head and let the rain hit her back like bullets.
And suddenly, she thought of Roy Mustang. The man who hated rain. For good reason, too. But that's okay. Bullets still shoot in the rain.