“Look at that one over there! It is so bright!” I breathed as I pointed out a cluster of brilliantly illuminated stars. It was a warm, pleasant night in the middle of June. Alphonse and I laid side by side in a stretch of field overgrown with wildflowers, where we would watch the skies in hopes of spotting a shooting star to make a wish upon. Most of the time we would only see constellations and rename them something a bit more relevant to fit our twisted tastes. I glanced over at my little friend and noticed he was not focused on the sky, but on me. 

“You are not going to see any stars looking at me, Leofstan!” I snickered and nudged him. This seemed to break him from his train of thought. In the moonlight I noticed a slight blush. 

“I have just been wondering something. From… from what happened to you today,” he said softly. I released a sigh at the mention. Earlier that day was the first time he had ever witnessed one of my un-deaths, and this was a rather gruesome one involving a crushed skull. It was so severely traumatizing for him that he fell into an epileptic episode in response. We had spent all afternoon discussing this ability of mine so that he might better understand my confusing condition. Seemed he still had questions. 

“I am not sure what else I can tell you about this. I do not know anything more. Honestly, I am still trying to figure it out myself,” I relinquished. 

“I was only wondering… what does it feel like… to die?” 

His voice was so small and nervous. He had never spoken to me nervously before - he had always exhibited such confidence, which was one of the many reasons I adored him so. What he saw that day had drastically affected him.

“Leofstan… you realize I do not actually die when this happens?” 

He nodded.

“You say this, but your head! Peter, no one could possibly survive that!” he stated hoarsely. I could tell he was on the verge of tears yet again. I grabbed his hand closest to me between us to calm him down.

“I am telling you - I am well! You need not worry about me! No matter my injury, I will always wake up. No need for tears,” I replied hastily and used my other hand to wipe away the stray tear that escaped down his cheek. 

“Still, you told me you died before, right?” he asked with a sniffle.

“Yes… I have.” 

“What did it feel like?” he asked. I turned my sight back up to the sky while still gripping his little hand. 

“It… felt good,” I whispered, not sure how else to describe such a feeling at the time. I was only a boy of thirteen - how else does one that age explain such things?

“How?” he pressed, his tone changing to fascination.

“I… I do not know, Leofstan! It just feels good. When you are being killed, it feels like you are being carried away from the pain,” I muttered, beginning to feel embarrassed. 

“You never told me how it happened.”

“I know.” 

“Do you not trust me?” 

“Of course I do! I just feel no need in talking about it,” I sighed again. I trusted him with my entire heart, but discussing my death was still a rather fresh, tender wound.

“Peter. Please. I need to know,” he pleaded.

“Why?” I demanded with a huff and faced him again. Once more, he was crying.

“So I will not be so terribly afraid next time this happens to you!”

“Alphonse…”

“Please tell me. I will never question you about it again! Just please tell me…” he begged between heart-wrenching sobs that alarmed me more than anything. I flipped to my side hastily and placed my hands to his face.

“You must calm yourself or you may have another fit! Remember what Frank said - emotions can cause them! Do you promise to calm down? I will tell you if you do,” I soothingly tried. He nodded and sniffled again. After a few moments, the sobs and tears ceased. So, as promised, I took a shaky breath and began. 

“I was impaled by a knife, right above my hip here. I got into an argument with someone I thought was my friend, and he responded by stabbing me. I… I knew my father would certainly put him to death if it was discovered that he had injured me, so I tried to hide it and patch it myself. But I continued bleeding, and… and I began to die from the loss. My actual death happened when my brother decided to force his disgusting hand into my wound and rip me apart. My mother came, but she was too late to save me. And… I died. And it felt good to let go.” I whispered this as Alphonse listened intently. 

“What was Heaven like?” He whispered, as well. 

“I did not go to Heaven,” I said, looking back to the sky almost by instinct. 

“Did - did you go to Hell?” he breathed with surprise, which caused me to laugh.

“No. I did not go to Hell, either.”

“Well, where did you go?” he asked in a thoroughly confused voice. As if there was no other option.

“I went to a tree,” I decided to tell him the truth, unsure how he would take it. I glanced at him in time to watch a brow raise.

“A tree?” 

“Yes. A tree. A very tall tree in the middle of a field where nothing is growing for as far as the eye can see. The ground is covered in darkness. And I woke up at the top of the tree with the branches grown to wrap around my body. At first I could not move, but after a while I started gaining strength. But this was also a problem because when I would move, the branches would break. And if they broke… well, I would fall down into the darkness. It was quite frightening…” I explained. 

“That does sound frightening! Peter, are you sure you were not in Hell?” he asked worriedly. 

“I am certain. In fact, I know that I did not leave my body when I died. This tree is inside me,” I said. At that point, I knew I had confused him greatly.

“How can you die and not leave your body? And how can there be a tree inside you? You are not making sense, Peter!” he said exasperatedly. This caused a mix of embarrassment and annoyance to spike within myself. 

“I am trying to tell you - I do not know! I know nothing about why I am this way! I am only telling you what I do know. So, apologies if this is confusing to you because I am just as puzzled, Alphonse!” I snapped at him and sat up. 

“I am sorry! I did not mean to upset you… I am only trying to understand! Please, Peter - do not leave!” He sat up and wrapped his arms around my middle. 

“I am being devoured by bugs, and I know you are, too. Let us go back to the barn now. The stars are not as bright after all…” I grumbled and pulled away from him to stand. He sighed, but he stood, as well. Together we walked through the grass and the delicate flowers which lacked the strength to withstand our footsteps. 

“Are you angry with me? Truly, I am only trying to understand you. You fascinate me… please do not be angry at me,” he asked in a hurt voice.

“I am not angry at you. I am angry at… myself.”

However, this wasn’t true. I had no resentment with myself at this point - only of the thing inside of me that provided little to no explanation as to what I was. This was where my true anger resided. But I very well couldn’t tell this to Alphonse, and it was not a lie in the mere fact that the thing dwelling within me was also a part of myself. 

~