22 - Dear brother

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The body was covered in a thin white sheet, lain on the single table in the quiet room, illuminated by a strong, electric-light overhead...

Outside the room, the forensic pathologist Imogen, who'd been assigned, amongst others, to study the body of Edward Elric before the burial so as to understand why the corpse was not cooling, was addressing the only man who'd been given the right to visit the dead man; Alphonse Elric, the only other living relative.

"It's pretty gruesome," she was saying. "Are you sure you want to see him?"

"I was told they wouldn't even show his face at the funeral."

"We had to make that request. I apologize, but the face is too contorted to be shown to the public. Makeup wouldn't do a thing to help."

"Oh." Al's eyes lowered to the ground. "Then I'll be the last person to see his face?"

"There isn't much of a face to see, I'm afraid, but, yes, technically. We were even hesitant to approve that you come here today, Mister Elric. We got some very insistent requests from General Mustang. Our limit was family members."

"But what about Winry?!" he cried out. "She was his fiancee! They were already practically family! Why doesn't she get to see the body, too?"

"I'm sorry, but that isn't for me to decide." Imogen put her hand on the door to the autopsy room, where she had performed it just the previous day. "Are you certain you want to see him?"

"Y—Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

Imogen proceeded to open the door for Al, and he stepped inside. Respectfully, she left him alone.

The body was covered in a thin white sheet, lain on the single table in the quiet room, illuminated by a strong, electric-light overhead...

Two meters separated Al from the bed on which his dead brother lay. He found himself unable to close the distance.

"Ed," he murmured. "You can't be dead... Can you, brother?"

His body shook, breaths falling short. Soon, he felt suffocated, grasping at his chest and neck in a feeble attempt to get the air in and out of his lungs properly. His knees went to the ground. Weezing, the tears gathered in his eyes.

"Brother! Brother, why would you leave me? Mother died—then father—but you were supposed to stay with me, Edward! You sacrificed your arm for me and then your alchemy... Why would you do all those things if you were just going to up and kill yourself once I was better?! How... How could you? HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME BEHIND?!"

All of a sudden, Al was on his feet. He ran across the room to the bed and threw off the white sheet, revealing the contorted mess that had become of Ed's corpse. The disgusting wounds, the stitches covering his torso...

Edward didn't even have eyes anymore.

Vomiting was a very unpleasant thing indeed. The janitor would have quite a job cleaning up all that Al produced and, regrettably, splashed all over the floors near the table.

Sweating, he slumped against the leg of the table, but, seeing as it was on wheels, it rolled somewhat off to the side and startled him. While carefully pulling it back to its original position, Al wiped his face of the vomit on his lips, only to try to flick it off of his hand to no avail, and so leaving the disgusting bile on his skin. He scoured the room for water to clean out his mouth, but there was nothing. After all, it was a place where they kept the dead, not to accommodate all the needs of the living.

He tried to get up, but his foot landed in his little puddle of barf and he slipped, banging his nose harshly against the tiles on the floor. This did not stop him from lifting himself up so he could look at the corpse.

Lowering his head, he placed it upon his elder sibling's shoulder. What should he care if he was touching a dead body? This man was all the family he had left—now he had nothing.

"Why are you so warm?!" he bawled. "It's like you're still alive! Stop—Stop fooling me like this! Making me think you're going to come back to m—"

Stopping abruptly, Al opened his eyes. He pulled back from the corpse, wondering how and why it was emitting a soft, red glow.

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