meredavey: (Default)
[personal profile] meredavey

Title: One Way Out (of Paradise)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] meredavey
Series: 2003, Conqueror of Shamballa
Characters: past Roy Mustang/Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric
Rating: R!!!! (fucking dark people! NOT light angst, DARK)
Summary: It's not a paradise, it's a living hell he can't escape.
Warnings: When I say dark, I fucking mean dark. It is not just pure angst. It is dark.
Notes: Seriously, if severe angst and total depressing darkness is not your cup of tea stay away. I am not kidding For prompt #96 Paradise


And there's no remedy for memory your face is
Like a melody, it won't leave my head
Your soul is haunting me and telling me
That everything is fine
But I wish I was dead
Every time I close my eyes
It's like a dark paradise
No one compares to you
I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

-Dark Paradise by Lana Del Rey

Edward closed his eyes, pressed a clothed arm over them and tried to stop the tears from flowing. His chest heaved up and down as he fought back the emotion that broiled over. His other hand clenched in the sheets as his stomach roiled and his heart burned. The daylight wasn’t enough, it never was, to drive away the darkness that ate at him. And the night only etched the shadows (deeper) into his skin. He was slowly being driven to madness. His back arched off the bed and his mouth formed an (unsounded) scream. His teeth bit into his lip and he felt the trickle of blood as it slipped against his lips, against his tongue, on his chin. The taste of metal, of rust, the taste of pain, the taste of darkness. (The taste of death.) He sat up and set his feet (only one could feel though, add it to the list) on the cold floor and stood up. He moved across the small bedroom to the main room (fireplace, couch, chair, bookshelf, large table with chairs, coffee table, tiny kitchen, phone) and to the small bathroom between the two bedrooms. He opened the door (there was a soft snick, the lock was always sticky), and closed it after himself. He turned on the faucet (creaky and old). He slipped his hands into the water (freezing cold and cold, there was rarely any hot) and splashed his face (stale tasting) with it. Edward looked into the mirror (dark bags, pale skin, sharp bones, glazed eyes, dry lips) and saw nothing of himself in it. The soft drip of water echoed (from the broken shower) in the tiled (chipped and broken) bathroom. It was a house (not home) a place to spend his days (in misery). His lip had finally stopped bleeding, and he touched it gently with the tip of his finger and felt the edges of the cut. He watched his reflection drop his arm (smooth, streamlined automail) and felt the heavy tug of it on his (aching) shoulder. He reached his (normal, gaunt) arm up to touch the (ugly) metal. He closed his eyes and tried to think (happy, harmless) thoughts but all they ended up being were (terrifying, gut-wrenching) dark. He felt sick to his stomach (aching, sour) and he had to kneel for a moment (one minute, two minutes, three minutes, five minutes, eight minutes) to regain his breath. Edward pressed his (pounding, throbbing) head to the toilet bowl and scrubbed fingers across his (tired, hurting) eyes. Standing once more (wobbly, strained) he glanced in the mirror (cracked, falling) and clenched his fists (sharp nails, blunt force) before swinging his flech (human) fist into the glass.

It shattered. (A million falling shards.)

A million shards of his heart. (His broken heart.)

Heartless. (Darkness)

“Brother,” Al (he loved Al, precious, sweet Al) kneeling besides him, holding his (gory) hand so, so gently in his (smooth) hands. “Oh, Brother,” (sad, sad Al, he didn’t want Al sad) “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” (don’t apologize, it’s not your fault).  

No words, (never enough words) to say to Al (beloved Al).

“What can I do?” (Nothing, nothing,)

“Brother? I want to help you!” (No help for a sinner like me)

“This isn’t your fault!” (it’s my punishment, my hell)

“Did you love him?” (Yes, yes, he was mine; I was his.)

Al’s arms (warm, knowing) and soft breath against his ear.

“It’ll get better.” (it was supposed to be forever)

Forever (and ever)

Never to be (only one way out)

Just a memory (on the other side).

May 2016

S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
151617181920 21
22232425262728
293031    

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 10:52 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios