PISTANTHROPHOBIA's first breath.

A flash of bright light cut across John's vision, each splice of light cutting like a blade to his senses. Another cut a blinding blow and that was when he opened his eyes, and found himself standing in front of a massive stone castle. Behind him a vast sea raged against the cliff side. John could taste the salt in the air as the remnants of the waves' blast landed onto his face and blew his curls in all directions. He turned back around and witnessed the sky shifting and mixing into a grey mass of an atmosphere and took notice of the castle and its eerie presence looming over him, as if it wanted to snatch him up and eat him.

"JOHN! John, over here!"

He looked across the field and spotted a brown figure barreling towards him. It was almost unnatural to see such a thing run at the pace that it was going. It got closer. And closer. And even closer. Panic overwhelmed his body. John turned to run the opposite way and then crumbled to his knees. He found that he couldn't move. His bare feet were glued to the grass. The figure was meters away and John could now see that is was a man. John fell on his butt and pulled at his feet, hoping to get them loose as the man screamed his name again and again in a booming voice. "Shit, shit, shit. Come on!"

"STAY. RIGHT. THERE," the man barked.

After pulling to the point where he could feel his joint almost separate from his ankle, John stood up with clenched fists on each side of his temple; he could at least defend himself. A loud crack ripped the sky open. John looked over his head and witnessed what he thought was a pure act of God. The dark clouds swirled into a funnel over his head, then a shower of lightning erupted around him. The bolts struck as close to John as his feet, creating sounds that resembled cannon fire. It paralyzed John where he stood; he thought if he breathed wrong, he would surely be killed by one of the bolts.

Suddenly, thick, blue matter began engulfing him. As It swallowed him into a void, terror shot him in the heart and he started clawing at it, trying to break free, but it wouldn't budge. It was useless, it was like trying to escape through a thick, twelve foot wall of rubber; he could only bend it to the outline of his hand. He inspected his surroundings while trying to calm his nerves. Blue, everywhere.

It didn't help.

A loud thump rocked the void. The man rapidly banged on the vessel. It seemed as though he wanted to...break it. When he punched it again, he pulled his hand away, steam following. John inspected the red hand print that sizzled away, then wiped the sweat from his brow. It became uncomfortably hot. Curious, he walked forward and touched the glass-like barrier and he, too, jerked his hand back, sucking on the tips of his fingers. The thing was scolding hot. This did not stop the man, however. He pressed his face against the capsule. John could audibly hear him groan as he fought the pain of the heat against his face. He kept grumbling and shouting things, but John couldn't focus on one syllable coming from his mouth. The man speaking to him was his father, or rather, he looked like him.

"John," he boomed one last time before everything started to disintegrate away. John tried to speak out this time, but found his air supply rendered of oxygen.

He couldn't breath.

He tried to suck in, but his lungs refused. He clawed at his throat and reached an arm out for the man beyond the blue barrier, but John was being pulled away from him. Blackness enclosed itself around John and the picture of the castle and the man and the God-fearing clouds; it all began to fade away. All John was left with now was a void of nothing and silence, lightning and no air to breath. He closed his eyes, forcing tears to race down his cheeks. His lungs burned, his heart cried out in pain.

This was it.

John would never see his family again. He would never see the light of day. He would never go to church or school or tend to the farm again. He would become a boy of lightning and space.

John rolled over. The thunderous contact between his rib cage and the floor caused him to gasp for air, but as soon as he did, he hacked and spit everywhere. His brothers, expressing no concern, still laid in bed listening to him as he created even more ruckus, trying to get rid of whatever was in his mouth. "Who put feathers in my mouth," croaked John. "WHO!" He was still sprawled out on the floor hoping that his invisible oppressor would appear. William groaned.

"No one stuffed feathers in your mouth, John. Your just dreaming. Go back to sleep," he begged. He wasn't dreaming. In fact he continued to cough up small remnants of the feathers. Suddenly, he heard cackling and looked off to his door. Two heads popped away. Rolling over onto his knees, he stood up and bolted out of the room. When he got down the hallway, he opened up William's old bedroom door.

John was happy at first when his father suggested that the Finches sleep in the guest quarters located some yards away from the house, but his mother had intervened and said that they had plenty of room for everyone. She made Jo-ann share a room with Ava and William was forced to give up his room to Henry and Gilbert. Already one week had passed, and yet John still couldn't handle the fact that they were even closer to him now.

John peered inside. Henry and Gilbert lay as still as statues their beds. John marched to their bedsides and each began to pull their sheets and pillows. "Did you do this!" He shoved their bodies. "Why are you just laying there? Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Henry fought against his brute force. "Look here! Obviously you can't take a joke like a normal scrub." He broke free of John. "But that's just it, though," he said as he got out of bed and circled him. "You're not normal, are you? Is he Gil?" Henry flicked John on the forehead, then looked at his younger brother for an answer. Gilbert nodded and said, "You know, I wonder what his Ma and Pa would think if we told them that we woke up with feathers in our mouths and that John, here, put them in himself." Henry gave a horrendous smile. "You wouldn't dare," John said turning in Gilbert's direction, "My family won't believe you-" .

"On the contrary, John, they would. See, your brothers and I are friends, the best pals a boy could have. And your sister and I... we're friends also." Henry placed his arm around John's shoulder's. "We're special friends; something you will never understand." John cocked his head towards Henry and looked through the black of his pupils.

"Oh. I understand. You want to get under her skirt and-" Henry smacked his lips. "Damn. You figured out my plan." The atmosphere zoomed in around John. With no time to think, he squared Henry in the gut and let his wheeze flavor the silence in the room and then started punching and yelling him, eventually knocking each other to the floor.

Temple. Ear. Jaw. John landed each of these blows on Henry before he was flipped. Hitting his head on the ground made him dizzy and gave Henry the opening to punch his nose. On top, Henry felt he couldn't be stopped. He clawed, he slapped, he punched.

"You son of a- !" John kneed up and sent Henry barreling onto the ground next to him with his arms between his legs. John got up and proceeded to kick him in the head and stomach, but before he could place another kick, Henry grabbed his ankle and tripped John backwards, causing him to land on his back. Both took a moment to catch their breaths. Gilbert, however, ran to his brother's side and helped him up, but Henry kept shoving him away. John, on his own, wobbled to his two feet, the two ready to go for round two. They launched for each other.

"JOHN, HENRY!" Gilbert looked down at his brother and John then back up to Jo-ann who was standing in the doorway with the girls standing behind her. John broke free of Henry's grasp and stood up as fast as he could. "We saw a squirrel in here." A lie born out of thin air. John almost wanted to crawl under the floorboards as soon as it left his mouth. But he couldn't just not finish it. "It tried to run away, so we both hopped on each other thinking that we got it, but it must've escaped in the midst of all our brawling. Sorry to wake you. I'll go back to bed," he quickly added. He turned to Henry. He wasn't sure what to do or how to get Henry to go along with the lie. All he wanted to do in the moment they locked eyes was knock him back down to the ground and finish what they started. He replayed the scene in his head over and over and over and over until the simmering heat in his chest reignited into a flame. If Henry didn't know any better, he could of sworn that he heard John growl. He sensed the flame behind John's eyes, so he intervened.

"Hope we got him good, say John," asked Henry, posing a painful smile. John blinked. How long had they been standing there? How long would he have to endure another minute of staring at Henry's face? Nose flared, he nodded his head. "Jesus," Jo-ann said, relieved that she didn't have to inspect the situation any longer. She grabbed the girls and sent them along to their rooms. John turned to do the same, but was grasped back by a heavy force. John, now annoyed more than anything, looked at the bruised hand on his shoulder. "Get your fucking hand off of me," he demanded, the enmity radiating off of his body. "A squirrel?"

"I only said that 'cause I don't want to hurt my sister, but you-- you and I are another day." Henry, taken aback by his words, dropped his hand to his side.

"I look forward to it," he murmured. John jerked his shoulders forward and walked off.

John was just about to pick his last egg when he noticed a bruise on his wrist. He snarled at the mark wishing he could tell Jo-ann what Henry wants to do with her, but he can't. He won't. He noticed how happy she becomes when she's near him. "Damn you, Finch," he said under his breath.

Two hours had passed and as John was finishing his last chore for the morning, his mother called everyone in for breakfast.

John could smell the leftover ham being fried away in a skillet as he opened the screen door. After washing his hands upstairs, John walked down into the dining room. Sitting already at the table were the Finches. When he saw Jo-ann sitting by Henry, he almost made a decisive turn to the front door, but swallowed the urge and let it rot in his stomach. He meandered over to the other side of the table and sat across from Henry and Jo-ann.

"Well. Good Morning to you, John. Did you sleep good last night?" John hated the nonchalance Henry exhibited. Cocky bastard. "Hope you... didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed today," Henry said, flickering his eyes towards John's bruise. He shoved his arm under the table. John pointed out the thin scratch above Henry's eyebrow the exact moment it twitched from aggravation.

"I see the lil' critter scratched a hole in you. Must've hurt pretty bad, huh?"

Henry flexed his jaw. "Really? Hadn't noticed. As a matter of fact, I think I should go back and shoot the little bastard and see where he goes from that, you know, just to be safe." He put his arm around Jo-ann, whom was trance deep into Henry's eyes. "Don't want Jo-ann, here, to get hurt." John leaped forward, both fists planted firmly in the table cloth. "Yeah, well, we'll see who wins that fight. In the meantime, I wouldn't go to sleep tonight. He might just come back an' scratch those eyes out of your head. Best keep a lookout." Henry took his arm from around Jo-ann and leaned forward onto the table. "Yeah, but what the squirrel doesn't realize is that no matter how many acorns the hunter steals from him, man ALWAYS gets the bigger stack for winter." John tsk-ed in defeat and plopped back into his seat.

"Good Morning everyone. How are you all doing so far, Finches? Did you sleep well?" Wilma entered the room with the breakfast. She went around the table setting a piece of ham on each plate, afterwards following up with the rest of the meal. Perry came down the stairs smiling at every living thing in the room. "Morning everyone. Morning, sweetheart," he said kissing Wilma. At the same time, Darla strolled in pulling along a very weary Ava. John and Henry both lowered their heads down. They knew that they were responsible for her fatigue. John looked back up at Henry for a shared look of guilt, but instead Henry rolled his eyes at him.

Wilma smiled at her. "Please sit. Everyone let us pray. Bow heads. Dear Lord, we want to thank you for... ."

After breakfast John and his brothers were told to show the boys the rest of the farm. He thought he was going to pull the curls right out of his head if his parents asked him and his brothers to be around Henry and Gilbert once more. It was official. He hated them.

"Say scrub-," said Henry. "Name's John," he corrected with venom in his voice.

"Right. What I meant was, Fanny-boy-who-was-named-after-a-toilet." Henry and Gilbert snickered and James and William both reached in for a high five. That was it. He gave up. He stormed off into the chicken coop behind the house, more upset at his brothers than Henry. "Chickens go where chickens are," he overheard. He picked up a rock by his feet and aimlessly threw it back in the direction the insult came from.

John snatched the clothed basket that sat on a shelf as soon as he walked in the coop. His first bird of choice was a brown, roan chicken. He sat the basket down by his feet and proceeded to lift the bird to check for eggs. With the clucking thing in his arm, he spotted three fresh eggs grouped closely together. He went to pick two of them in his hand, but was startled and dropped the eggs and the chicken. Standing in the doorway was Ava. She watched as John, annoyed, chased the bird down the aisle. He picked the chicken up and tried to calm it down by rubbing through its feathers. He walked back to the nest it belonged and sat the bird carefully in it, then he scraped the mess of yolk and shell with his foot into one yellow, liquid pile. John took in a deep breath before placing his hands on his hips and looked at Ava. "Yes?" She giggled.

"Do need any help with those eggs," she asked.

"Uh, no. Actually I was just finishing up. Last chore of the day"

"I saw a swing out by that really big tree. Is it yours?" John peeked out of the coop and leaned to his left to spot the 110 year-old oak tree that grew some hundreds of feet away. "That old thing? I think my mother told me that it belonged to Grandpa Buford." Ava crossed her arms behind her waist and leaned on her toes. "Can we go swing on it?" John raised his eyebrows. A few more moments of eye contact pressured him into taking off his gloves and walking Ava out of the noisy chicken coop and down the front yard to the swing.

The tree was roughly taller than the house if one were to eye it right. It provided a tremendous amount of shade in a radius expanding to about five feet. The roots were barely gouging out of the ground. The swing itself was held up by two stiff ropes and the seat was a thick, blackened slab of wood. John politely gestured for Ava to sit on it. When she did sit down, he gave her a small push. The sudden force into the air caused Ava to grin a little.

Ava slowed the swing with her small feet, drawing up dirt onto her shoes. She swayed on it while John leaned up against the ancient plant. "John, can I ask you a very important question?"

Ava got off of the swing then walked around and sat on the opposite side of it to face him. All the while, John focused on her petite figure and small she actually was compared to her brothers. "I was wondering if you'd liked to be my bestest friend. I'm asking now so that when we do move out of your house, you won't forget about me." John froze. "It can't happen unless you say yes-- do you... I mean, will you say yes?" John only half heard what she said. He stood there and stared at her. "John?"

"No!"

"No?"

"Yes! I mean yes."

Ava smiled, finally regaining John's focus. John snatched her hand into his and dragged her further down the driveway. "I know what we can do!" Ava hadn't had time to think. The sudden contact of John's hand in hers robbed her into a state of shock, and yet she was still being pulled to the end of the driveway. "I know a creek where we can catch fish. I can show you how to catch them, if you'd like. It'll be fun!" Cutting off from the driveway was part of the old rotten fence William still had to fix and paint as one of his chores. John removed a little board and slid it upwards, turning the "x" design of the fence into a rectangular shape. He allowed Ava to go first, but she just stood there with bewildered eyes. "Ava? You coming?" She shook her head no. "Oh, no. I can't," she said with eyes swimming in horror and her mind resurfacing a dreadful memory. She ran, as if being chased by an unseen and malicious force. John stood there for a moment before chasing her, still wondering about what had just actually happened.

When she was near the edge of the house, Henry stopped her before she could run any further. She looked up at him with teary red eyes. "Ava, what's wrong," he said while holding her chin up and inspecting her face. "The trees," she said after blinking away her tears.

Right after she said that, John, clearly out of breath and gasping for air, neared the two, eventually residing to his hands on his knees for a resting place. "Ava! What happened? What's wrong," he asked between breaths. Henry glared into John's eyes. Suddenly, he seemed taller. "What the hell did you do to her," he said through clenched teeth. John, now bewildered by Henry's question, looked to him. "I didn't do anything. She ran off." His defensive tone pissed Henry off more. the situation couldn't have gotten any worse if it weren't for Ava sobbing because of the shouting between her older brother and her friend. Henry didn't believe him. "You're a damn lie! What. Did. You. Do. To. Her," he snapped, poking John in the chest after every word.

"I didn't do anything!"John pushed Henry off of him, causing him to almost fall back on his heels. He clenched and unclenched his fists fists like a mad drunk in a bar fight.Henry's vision darkened and John became the crisp target. He inhaled and heavily exhaled like he hadn't breathed oxygen for the first time.

He avenged towards John.

In the background, Gilbert watched Henry threw a packed right hook to John's temple. Without a second to spare John's body hit the ground so hard that the aftershock in the soil reached his sister some yards away. "John? Henry!" Jo-ann clambered to her feet and rushed to John who laid body sprawled out. She dropped to his side. "What did you do?" Henry, never taking his disgusted eyes off of John, answered, "He was hurting Ava. I didn't know how to stop him. The only thing I saw fit was to hit him... for the sake of my sister." He cuddled Ava into his side so that she could believe his story. Jo-ann studied her little brother, somewhat buying into Henry's lie. The look of disgust traveled over to her now. She stood up. "Why would he do something like to her?" Henry shrugged his shoulders. "No! it was the trees," Ava exclaimed to them both. Henry hushed her and sent her to stand by Gilbert. "What she meant was he was beating her with a stick. A boy's game that was deemed to rough for her. I saw him chase her up this way with that stick in his hands. At first, I tried to tell him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. So I hit him."

John gasped with a sudden rush of adrenaline to his body. He stumbled to his feet with a blood shot left eye and grunted a few times. Henry and Jo-ann stared at him as if he were a wild animal. "Henry! I'm gonna-"

"What are you gonna do," he interrupted, "Hurt my sister even more?"

"What," John shouted still dizzy from the throbbing pain in his head.

"Clearly, you've done enough." Henry stepped closer to John and faked a concerned voice. "What kinda person hits a little girl?"

"But I would never. Ava, she's my best friend," pleaded John, searching for her.

"On the contrary John, you're the opposite and you WILL stay away from my sister!" John shook his head to try and make the world stop spinning and make sense of what was happening. He scrunched his eyebrows together in anger and confusion and-- "FUCK YOU," he shouted into oblivion. Henry's eyes bulged out, Jo-ann spun around, and Wilma halted upon exiting the house. Why was everyone quiet all of a sudden? He followed their gazes. Dallying in his turn, he met the eyes of death staring intensely at him. John stumbled over to his mother. "Ma... I didn't mean--YAK!" Wilma yanked his ear down to her height. "GO. GET. THE. PADDLE," she screamed into his eardrum. "No dinner. No dessert. You go straight to bed, do you hear me? I'm going to go tell your father what you said." She dropped his ear and turned to go inside. "Ma, no," John begged as he reached for his mother's hand. "I've heard enough nonsense from you," she whispered loudly,"You should think about the things you say to others... especially our guests." She yanked her hand out of his grip and continued,"I can't believe you'd say that poor, sweet Henry." She commenced to walking, but was pulled back again. "Ma, he ain't sweet," John exclaimed with all seriousness in his voice and blood shot eyes. "Let go of me." He let her hand slide out of his and with that, was left in a cloud of blinding pain and humiliation. He looked back down at the yard, at Henry, Ava, and Jo-ann, who all stared at him with bewildered eyes. He ran to escape the suffocating air.

John laid on his back staring into the emptiness of the night. Ohio hadn't seen stars since the decline of the summer months. The only thing that lit up the sky was the diamond white moon. It lit up John's green and gray speckled eyes that were puffy and tear-streaked. His bottom had hurt from the puddling that his father had given him an hour earlier. Every wriggling movement sent a sharp pain up his spine, but it wasn't the paddling that John was upset about, it was the fact that it was his first time being punished like that. He'd never been... struck before. The sheer terror he felt as he waited for the board to make contract with him was nearly unbearable, but not so much as the look of disappointment on his father's face. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing a few more disobedient tears to run down the side of his face. Behind him, the screen door screeched open.

He didn't want to do it. Wasn't the paddling enough? John thought about running away the instant Ruth-Ann told him that he had to go and apologize to the Finches for what he did. Once they got to the dining room, she placed him front and center of the threshold. "Ahem." Everyone turned around and focused their shameful glares at John.

Everyone towered him suddenly. The room became smaller. John could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. He started shaking. When he tried to finally say something, his legs became warm. He looked down at the puddle around his feet, then back up to everyone, who gasped at the sight. Then, everything went black and the last thing he heard was his mother shouting his name.

A hazy frame of white appeared before John. He blinked several times, trying to gauge his surroundings. He lifted up, only to feel a stabbing pain in his head. He felt for where the sharp pain was coming from and a large lump formed between his fingers. Attempted to lift himself again, but he slugged back into place. Oh, his bed, and that was the ceiling he was staring at. It all made sense once the memory of this evening's excursion floated back into his mind like a feather in the wind. He pulled the covers off of him and placed his bare feet onto the cold wooden floor. Grumbling, he shuffled into the long narrow hallway, facing darkness. He dragged his way down into the kitchen. He went into the fridge looking for something cold to put on his head. He found that something just as soon as he dropped it. Someone stood in front of him. When they turned on the knob to the kitchen light, John tensed up. It was Henry. "What are you doing up," spat Henry. Ignoring him, John proceeded to put the cold milk bottle against his head. Henry harrumphed, then walked to the cabinets in search of a cup. When he found one, he filled it with water from the sink. He took a long sip while him and John glowered at each other. "What you did at dinner was... embarrassing. I have to say, to piss on yourself and then faint afterwards definitely questions what's between your legs, don't you think?" John slammed the bottle onto the counter. Henry stepped forward. "Oh, don't even get me started on what you said to me earlier."

"What do you want from me?"

"Oh? You're feisty, aren't you? Go on. Tell me exactly what you said to me earlier. Do it-- do it-- DO IT GODDAMMIT!" John grabbed the cutting board knife from the counter and charged towards Henry. He grabbed his shirt and held the knife directly across his throat. "You're not gonna make me say it."

"And you're pathetic," he retaliated. John pressed the knife deeper into his skin. "Are you sure I'm the pathetic one?"

"You know, if you're going to threaten someone's life, at least have the will to do it."

"Oh it's there. You're just too blind to recognize promise where promises are due." John let go of him. He placed the knife behind him. He walked back around the counter, took the milk bottle, and dragged his feet back to the end of the hallway to his bedroom.

Henry rubbed his chest. He stared at the knife John held to his throat, reliving the moment he shoved the cold steel against his veins. It was too close for his comfort.