A/N: My mom gave me a poem she really liked when she was young, and it inspired this. The poem that goes on through out this is The Stone. By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson. I do not own it or FMA. If you have a dea for the title, please post it. Thanks!
"And will you cut a stone for him,
To set above his head?
And will cut a stone for him-
A stone for him? She said.
"Winry, we shouldn't do that, he might come back any day."
"Al, it's been ten years!" The blonde mechanic sobbed. She watched me turn and lean on the railing of the old front porch through her veil of tears.
"He might come back Winry, he still might come back, we can't give up!" I was now older, a full-grown man, and yet he still couldn't move on, I couldn't except that my older brother was dead.
"What are we going to do?" She leaned her side against the old house that still didn't feel quite like real home, she loved the house anyway, it was just missing something. For her that something was Edward.
"We can't give up on him Winry!" It had been like this, every year since Ed had disappeared, she always wanted to give up, but I never let her, because then I'd have to give up too.
"So we wait every day until he comes back?" She looked across the open field of grass that leads the way to town, hoping he would appear just above the hill, and end the argument.
"We need to get on with our lives eventually Al, we just can't wait for him."
"So you don't need to do that!" I yelled before he could realize it, and watched as the mechanic ran over the hill to town, tears and sadness blocking everything but the pain of loss from her.
Three days before a splintered rock,
Had struck her lover dead-
Had struck him in the quarry dead,
Where the careless warning call,
He loitered, while the shot was fired,
A lively stripling, brave and tall,
And sure of all his heart desired.
A flash, a shock,
A rumbling fall...
And broken 'neath the broken rock,
A lifeless heap, with face of clay,
And still as any stone he lay,
With eyes that saw the end of all.
It had been ten years and three days since Edward disappeared, and for those last three days Winry had asked me to stop waiting, and make a marker in my brother's memory. I could never do it. I waited a few minutes and watched the setting sun, before running after my dearest friend.
I went to break the news to her:
And I could hear my own heart beat
With dread of what my lips might say.
Winry was standing in front of the burned down remains of the Elric home. She remembered so little since Ed had disappeared, it was like living in a dream, everyday, just barely memorable.
"Hello Winry." The sobbing woman looked to her right to see Roy Mustang. He had been showing up lately, occasionally with ideas and theories of where Ed was, but she thought he come just to get away from the hectic life of Central.
"Do you know where Ed is yet?" She asked, her hope flickering like a candle deciding weather to fight to stay alive, or burn out and leave nothing but smoke to remember it. Roy paused for a moment, thinking.
"They say he's dead." He said finally. Winry nodded, and Mustang left her to her tears. Pinako would like to know the news too.
But some poor fool had sped before;
And, flinging wide her fathers door,
Had blurted out the news for her,
Had struck her lover dead for her,
Had struck the girl's heart dead in her,
Had struck life, lifeless, at a word,
And dropped it at her feet:
Then hurried on his foolish way,
Scarce knowing what she head.
"Winry." My words caught in my throught, I couldn't stand seeing my friend like this, on her knees in front of the old house burned down in some other time I could never remember.
"Winry." She gave no sign of hearing what he said. I kneeled beside her, trying to comfort her in someway. "Mustang already told you." I said mostly to myself.
And, when I came, she stood, alone,
A woman, turned to stone:
And though no word at all she said,
I knew that all was known.
I helped her stand, trying to speak soothing words to calm her, but to no avail. I helped her walk back home, her tears as stopped, her face was blank of all emotion. It was then tears tempted my eyes.
Because her heart was dead,
She did not sigh nor moan.
His mother wept:
She could not weep.
Her lover slept:
She could nor sleep.
Three days, three nights,
She spoke no word;
Nor ever closed her eyes,
From sunset to sunrise,
From dawn to evenfall,
Her tearless, staring eyes,
That, seeing naught, saw all.
Winry had remained the same for three days. She was going to make herself sick if she didn't start caring for herself again. I tried to help her. But she only stayed the same. She shed no more tears for him. That worried me the most.
The fourth night when I came from work,
I found her at my door.
"And will you cut a stone for him?"
She said and spoke no more;
But followed me as I went in,
And sank upon a chair;
And fixed her gray eyes on me,
With still, unseeing stare.
I had gone to town to get groceries. Pinako was getting to old to make the trip, and Winry had only gotten worse. As I came to the house, I saw her there waiting for me.
"Will you do it Al?" She asked me with a pleading gaze. I walked into the kitchen, and put the food away, she sat down in a chair and waited, blue eyes both following my every movement, and staring into a far off place.
And, as she waited patiently,
I could not bare to feel,
Those still gray eyes that followed me,
Those eyes that sucked the breath from me,
Those eyes that cut me to the bone,
And pierced my marrow like cold steel.
I couldn't stand her looking at me like that; I turned to her and grabbed her hand, leading her outside. She said nothing, her face showed no emotion, only her eyes showed the sorrow she felt. Turning back to the path, I lead her to the graveyard.
And so I rose and sought a stone;
And cut it smooth and square:
And as I worked, she sat and watched,
Beside me in her chair,
Night after night, by candle light,
I cut her lovers name;
Night after night, so still and white,
And like a ghost she came;
And sat beside me in her chair,
And watched with eyes aflame.
She kneeled on the ground when I dropped her hand, and I approached my mother's grave. I stood next to it and pictured carefully what I wanted to make. I felt her eyes on me, watching me and not watching me. I kneeled and touched the ground as the alchemic light glowed around us.
She eyed each stroke;
And hardly stirred:
She never spoke
A single word:
And not a sound or murmur broke
The quiet, save the mallet stroke.
The sound of slight buzzing filled my ears; I looked back and saw her. Her face showed no emotion, but her eyes, her eyes told mine novels in seconds. I knew how she felt, and focused more energy on my creation.
With eyes ever on my hands,
With eyes that seemed to burn my hands,
My aching, over wearied hands,
She watched, with bloodless lips apart,
And silent, indrawn breath:
And every stroke my chisel cut,
Death cut still deeper in her heart,
The two of us were chiseling,
Together I and death.
I was getting tired, but it was almost finished. I heard Winry gasp; out of pain or shock I didn't know. I just had to
finish, this, for both of us.
And, when at length, the job was done;
And I had layed the mallet by;
As if, at last, her peace were won,
She breathed his name; and with a sigh,
Passed slowly through the open door;
And never crossed my threshold more.
I was finished, a large stone stood taller then the rest in front of me. It was etched with detail on all sides, on the front in sturdy weaving letters, "In Memory Of Edward Elric" was written. I heard Winry say his name, but did not hear her leave. I turned to see her reaction, but she was already gone. I looked as far as I could in the quickly darkening atmosphere, and called her name until my thought was torn. But she never came back, but then . . .I don't think I expected her to.
I told Pinako when I got home; the elderly woman looked shocked, but said nothing. I sadly went to my room, hoping for sleep that would never come.
"Winry," I said aloud, "You will never be forgotten." It was two people I lost now, but I took comfort in knowing that someday, I'd see them both. It was what they had wanted to do, and sometimes, all we can do is except. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep, I would have to rest for tomorrow, for my job was not yet done.
Next night, I labored late, alone,
To cut her name, upon the stone.
A/N: That's it. Hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!