Title: Creative writing
Pairing/Characters: Eduard (alternate Ed)
Warning: Don’t think there are any…
Timeline: Sort of AU, before Ed goes through the gate.
Summary: Creative writing assignment??? Not sure what else to put.
A.N: I never know quite why these things pop into my head. It had been a while since I'd posted for a prompt and this popped up and I have no idea why it’s Eduard and just yeah…Written for the 'What if...' prompt. Don't you just love my brain? XD And I am now officially out of old fics to post and actually have to start writing again and finishing my wips ^^;
He looked down at the lined paper before him, pen nib hanging just above the crisp, clean surface. Only two words marred the page, What if? What if what? thought Eduard. I can’t believe they are still giving creative writing assignments, I can’t believe we still have to go to school, there’s a war on how does this make sense? How are we supposed to think of anything when every 10 minutes we hear the siren for an air raid?
I suppose there is always writing about what if the war was over but everyone will be doing that. What if…what if…what do I write for what if? His mind was a blank, as white as the paper sat before him. He was having trouble thinking of anything positive with the war torn city just beyond his bedroom walls. Suddenly he sat up straighter, an idea taking over his mind.
Eduard lowered the nib to the paper and let his creativity take over. He wrote about places where there was a boy like him, only shorter, and he had a brother, someone to care about and protect. He wrote of fantastical things like alchemy that actually existed in this world, was more important than science.
People creating fire with a click of their fingers, making magic with a clap of their hands. Creating something out of the simplest of things, falling in love with people they shouldn’t, wanting what they couldn’t have. Mistakes being made for all the right reasons, pain being suffered by someone so young. Hope being squashed by the most evil of people, being brought back to be crushed once again.
He wasn’t sure where the ideas were flowing from, no that was a lie, they were flowing from his dreams and he wrote them down, pen flying across the surface of the page in an effort to keep up with his mind. He was no longer in control of his hand, something was moving it and he read what he was writing with awe. If only there was such a place…maybe things would be better, no bombs, little war. It’s worth a dream.When he had finally finished and reread all he had written, he realised that a story as fantastical as any Jules Verne could write sat before him. Maybe it was going too far, after all alchemy was one of the Devil’s practices. He was about to crumple up the paper, throw it away to start again but a noise began that he had grown to despise. He placed the pen down on the table and stood, the air raid siren loud and obnoxious as he glanced quickly into the mirror. That world is almost as fictional as the idea that this war will ever end but still there is always the dream, a what if.