Sandboxes
I'm feeling very inspired by this picture. Because sometimes cliches are good.
Roy in Ishval. Rated PG-13, just to play it safe, for imagery. Cameo by Hughes.
When he was a child, he had a sandbox.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this; no, not like this.
When he lifted his hand and summoned the air to his command, he could feel the power of the Stone on his ring finger sweep into him, and suddenly, there was so much air that Roy could command, so much that he felt like God himself. He could make a hurricane with this kind of power, he thought - he could change weather patterns over a whole city, maybe a whole country.
He could destroy a whole town with a snap of his fingers.
And snap he did, and the world exploded in front of his eyes, with a bang that popped his ears and a rush of air that dragged him several steps towards his own destruction. He was blinded, he was burned, and buildings exploded as gas lines were lit and oil reserves ignited in the wake of burning air.
And ah mercy, the screaming. Hundreds of voices of agony in a tongue he didn't know, but the tone was universal, and he understood - he could feel their hurt in his bones, in his singed fingers, and he could smell it in the smoke that billowed everywhere.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry--" and he found himself starting forward towards the smell of burning flesh despite himself - he would save them!
In his sandbox full of toys, he would make and destroy whatever suited his fancy.
Until hands came around his waist and yanked him back, a hoarse voice gasping, "No, Roy, stop, you'll die--!"
And he fell backwards off his polished boots and landed against a body that was cool compared to the burning heat in front of him, landed on his tailbone with a jolt that shocked him all the way up his spine, into his brain. It was Maes' voice rasping in his ear, he realized as he spiraled back down into himself, into his human body with its limitations. "Mercy," Maes said, his voice broken; his hand tightened across Roy's uniform; Roy knew where Maes was looking, because he too was staring at the burning bodies and buildings, unable to look away like flies drawn to the flame. "Dear God ..."
And they fell silent and watched in horror as God's destruction fell upon their enemies.
This, he thinks, is not his sandbox.
Roy in Ishval. Rated PG-13, just to play it safe, for imagery. Cameo by Hughes.
When he was a child, he had a sandbox.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this; no, not like this.
When he lifted his hand and summoned the air to his command, he could feel the power of the Stone on his ring finger sweep into him, and suddenly, there was so much air that Roy could command, so much that he felt like God himself. He could make a hurricane with this kind of power, he thought - he could change weather patterns over a whole city, maybe a whole country.
He could destroy a whole town with a snap of his fingers.
And snap he did, and the world exploded in front of his eyes, with a bang that popped his ears and a rush of air that dragged him several steps towards his own destruction. He was blinded, he was burned, and buildings exploded as gas lines were lit and oil reserves ignited in the wake of burning air.
And ah mercy, the screaming. Hundreds of voices of agony in a tongue he didn't know, but the tone was universal, and he understood - he could feel their hurt in his bones, in his singed fingers, and he could smell it in the smoke that billowed everywhere.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry--" and he found himself starting forward towards the smell of burning flesh despite himself - he would save them!
In his sandbox full of toys, he would make and destroy whatever suited his fancy.
Until hands came around his waist and yanked him back, a hoarse voice gasping, "No, Roy, stop, you'll die--!"
And he fell backwards off his polished boots and landed against a body that was cool compared to the burning heat in front of him, landed on his tailbone with a jolt that shocked him all the way up his spine, into his brain. It was Maes' voice rasping in his ear, he realized as he spiraled back down into himself, into his human body with its limitations. "Mercy," Maes said, his voice broken; his hand tightened across Roy's uniform; Roy knew where Maes was looking, because he too was staring at the burning bodies and buildings, unable to look away like flies drawn to the flame. "Dear God ..."
And they fell silent and watched in horror as God's destruction fell upon their enemies.
This, he thinks, is not his sandbox.