Call me Ashe or Kit
New Member
The sun was setting. The sky was a beautiful canvas of mixed pinks and oranges, the tranquility nearly angering Roy. He couldn’t expect the world to stop for him, and yet his own world had stopped a while ago. He couldn’t seem to get it moving again. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he wanted to stay here forever, leaning against a headstone until he needed one of his own. That didn’t sound too bad. Sitting in memories, letting them swallow him whole, consume his soul. Maybe he could sink into the ground, become one with the dirt like the bodies around him. Like Hughes would be soon enough.
Maybe one day he’d feel forgiven. Forgiven for not picking up the phone fast enough. Forgiven for feeling bad for himself, when his friend lay dead and buried beneath him. Forgiven, even though it was never his fault to begin with.
Or perhaps it was. It was his fault, and Hughes had died with fury in his veins. Roy couldn’t blame him, should that have been the case. That nagging guilt ate at his heart, spitting the chunks down into his stomach to become nausea as it did. And Roy knew, he knew Hughes would never have blamed him if he lived, but if he had lived, Roy wouldn’t be here; neither of them would be. He didn’t want to remember his friend poorly, keep his memory as an image of anger and fire, but he couldn’t escape the thought that maybe, possibly…
That only made the guilt grow stronger, crueler. How dare he feel like this, think like this? Hughes would never. Impure, these thoughts. Roy wished he could snap his fingers and make them disappear, burn them to ash and scatter them in the wind.
“You rely too much on that alchemy of yours, Roy. Pick up a knife every once in a while!”
Roy’s throat tightened, and he closed his eyes, willing the tears not to fall, but they came anyway. They always did. He was helpless to stop them. Helpless…
Helpless…
How helpless must Hughes have felt when he was killed? How much pain must he have been in? His hands were certainly shaking that night, and yet his knife was nowhere on his person. He’d fought back, that much was clear.
“Pick up a knife every once in a while!”
That toothy, teasing smile flashed behind Roy’s closed eyes, drawing a sob from him. If only he’d listened, spent more time with him, helped him train, even. If only Hughes had taken the day off work. If only he hadn’t found… whatever the hell he found.
If only Roy knew, so he could avenge his comrade.
There were too many “if only’s.” He could sit here until he turned to dust naming them all, but that wouldn’t do him any good. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. But then again, it didn’t feel like anything could now. Was that truly the case? No, probably not. But it sure as hell felt like it.
Roy brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up at the sky. Those lovely hues were already starting to fade.
A/N: RAAAAAAHHHH I’M SO PROUD OF THIS HNGHHH DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID??? THE HUES ARE FADING. THE HUGHES!!!
Maybe one day he’d feel forgiven. Forgiven for not picking up the phone fast enough. Forgiven for feeling bad for himself, when his friend lay dead and buried beneath him. Forgiven, even though it was never his fault to begin with.
Or perhaps it was. It was his fault, and Hughes had died with fury in his veins. Roy couldn’t blame him, should that have been the case. That nagging guilt ate at his heart, spitting the chunks down into his stomach to become nausea as it did. And Roy knew, he knew Hughes would never have blamed him if he lived, but if he had lived, Roy wouldn’t be here; neither of them would be. He didn’t want to remember his friend poorly, keep his memory as an image of anger and fire, but he couldn’t escape the thought that maybe, possibly…
That only made the guilt grow stronger, crueler. How dare he feel like this, think like this? Hughes would never. Impure, these thoughts. Roy wished he could snap his fingers and make them disappear, burn them to ash and scatter them in the wind.
“You rely too much on that alchemy of yours, Roy. Pick up a knife every once in a while!”
Roy’s throat tightened, and he closed his eyes, willing the tears not to fall, but they came anyway. They always did. He was helpless to stop them. Helpless…
Helpless…
How helpless must Hughes have felt when he was killed? How much pain must he have been in? His hands were certainly shaking that night, and yet his knife was nowhere on his person. He’d fought back, that much was clear.
“Pick up a knife every once in a while!”
That toothy, teasing smile flashed behind Roy’s closed eyes, drawing a sob from him. If only he’d listened, spent more time with him, helped him train, even. If only Hughes had taken the day off work. If only he hadn’t found… whatever the hell he found.
If only Roy knew, so he could avenge his comrade.
There were too many “if only’s.” He could sit here until he turned to dust naming them all, but that wouldn’t do him any good. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. But then again, it didn’t feel like anything could now. Was that truly the case? No, probably not. But it sure as hell felt like it.
Roy brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up at the sky. Those lovely hues were already starting to fade.
A/N: RAAAAAAHHHH I’M SO PROUD OF THIS HNGHHH DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID??? THE HUES ARE FADING. THE HUGHES!!!
