Internalized reminiscence by a character on a series of events.
Faith, he'd thought, was something he'd learned as a child, squirming on the hard wooden pews.
She laughs readily, but no one else, he's sure, has ever seen the double-takes with which she greets his successful deadpan strikes.
The feeling came more naturally than anything he'd known.
What price for a human soul? Even a body and a leg had left a debt that could cleave the world in two.
We were the naive kings of all we surveyed, lingering on the hilltop as we stared at our kingdom of ash, of ruins, of dust.
The brush began its march through the sunbeam locks, from crown to tail, and Riza pressed her lips to them. "Until then."
It didn't really sink in when you saw the thing, all clumsy dangling wood and leather straps, like the arm of a marionette in a kids' puppet show.
When dealing with the military, it always paid to look ready for inspection. Neatness counted; passion was suspect.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Brother wasn't the only one hiding his fears; I was so afraid everything I knew was a lie -- that our brotherhood was a lie.
It was such a beautiful way to die.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
Like other little girls, she wanted to be an actress, the heroine in her own perfect fairytale.
Falling back into the sun-warmed grass, Al smiled to the skies, offered them his hopes and dreams on a gilded platter of golden eyes.
Your eyes stared up at me, wide and questioning, in a response not fit for such a young child.
He has lots of women like her, who would like to be his anchor, and too many of them confuse that for throwing themselves head first into the ocean.
The metal in his mouth tastes cool and tangy and yummy but he can't eat because he has to find Lust.
And after all, no amount of rain can wash the blood away.
I, the stray dog of the desert, who sloped long and pale, slashed to ribbons, across the moonlight sands on my journey to God.
It seemed, the man thought, that Ed was a lot like the sun -- warm, comforting -- and at a distance.
That day, Ed had pulled his hair out of a braid and tied it up into a neat ponytail.
She remembers the dreamlike way the pieces seemed to sit on the board—on account of the light, maybe, or perhaps her own faltering memory.
And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
Alfons is a scientific man, and Edward is his paradox.
His arms weren't big enough to encompass all of himself, and Edward always got the pieces that he couldn't reach.
He couldn't understand this world, this obsession with his son in the negative.
She moves the king again, to its last optional safe square and murmurs, "I'll admit this is not how I envisioned my first night on the battlefield."
What he really wanted to know was something else - a question of 'why', quite likely.
Heavy-lidded, he would savor them slowly, letting them seep into his mind's eye until he could see nothing else.
Mustang is possessed, maybe, but not with the feverish intensity that will someday be the trademark of the Full Metal Alchemist.
"We'll have you patched up in no time." Edward announced, slicing the leather into short, precise strips. It was irrational, but somehow Alphonse hated those words.
Yet there are still nights that he wakes up to find his hand clutched by a seated Al, who laughs his hollow laugh and asks if he's okay, even though he does not remember screaming.
When the lines didn't matter, when the lungs weren't working in labor of sweet industry worlds, then it was so easy to see where they might be all born of the same blood.
According to Hughes, Major Mustang was close to promotion and as his subordinate, it was her prerogative to try and help him to reach the next rung of the ladder.
They were not used to being alone and when they were together they were not.
Envy could rip him and all the worlds in two.
He wanted Hughes to know how many lines he had crossed in his lifetime.
And of course, he does not believe in God anyway, and scorns the idea of predestination.
I know what I feel, I know what I think, and I don't need to chickenscratch the shit down and have the risk of it falling into the wrong hands.
There are things he cannot allow Greed to do.
Two boys, two faces, two fates, alive and dead at the same time, at different times, nothing in common, everything in common, one thing in common: him.
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye stands behind Colonel Roy Mustang, laughing silently about her silly dreams, her hand never straying far from the gun by her side.
She could remember his voice, husky with tortured emotion, screaming a name, the name "Edward Elric..."
Nothing made sense anymore.
Because he had said one year; and dammit, he meant it.
She paced the wide, marble floor, visited each of the soaring windows, feeling every supple sinew beneath her skin move with the perfection of the young.
There was one thing that Edward had missed above all others.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
He gave, and he gave, and he gave, and he could only hope that it was enough.