Blah. The topic was 'strawberries', and I came up with this. Takes place after the movie. Right. This is an icky story. Reviews are still adored, however.

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The mild summer air beat down against loose blades of the underfoot; sun engaged in a game of hide and seek with the clouds, casting frecklesof light her way every so often.

Strawberries were a fruit Winry had preferred to most others for as long as she could remember, past the months of waiting, to the juvenile days of childhood when Ed and Al had showed her such a patch where the vermilion growths sprouted.

And sometimes under the careful watch of sparrows flitting overhead she would gather them, washing first then dressing them in milk and sugar, gazing off in reminiscence at the small enclosed domain with an absent smile.

She had rejected Ed as a husband at a young age, when the spontaneous proposals and the arguments concerning them were not rare. Had she known they would be separated and promises forgotten, it was hard to recall.

His silhouette swam in her conscious, taunting her sanity and those dreamlike states on the days she could sleep.

The heavens were flooded with orange clouds, red flecks matching the colors of the berries, for the birds had abandoned her, her bowl long empty mind a seed or sprinkle of sugar.

Ed was no longer here, but the patch would continue to preserve his essence.

And she believed he would continue to live on beyond the gate and come home someday, but until then she would do what she did best.

She would wait.