Chapter 1

The first rays of sun came through the slits in the blinds and wandered across John's face. His face twitched, his eyes opened and a confusion washed over him like the sun did. His mom usually woke him up for school by now, and agitated he waltzed over to her room to find her still in bed. John's mom had tears running down her face and he knew something was terribly awry.
"Your dad's dead, John." she said in between sobs, and held her arms open to him. John let out a blood curdling shriek as he reached for the nearest thing to him, a toy sword from one of his action figures which he repeatedly stabbed the cardboard box on the heater, howling now.
"Tell me you're kidding. Please tell me." John felt his breath leave him as he had the first of many panic attacks. "Why" was the only word he could muster for the next fifteen minutes as he fell into his mother's arms, sobbing together. The cries had woken up his sister, who repeated John's reaction after she understood what was going on.
Hearing the commotion, John's aunt who had been waiting downstairs to help when the news broke to the children entered the room, a helpless and knowing look upon her face. John brushed past her, denying the hug and nearly leapt down the steps to search the house. This couldn't be true, he thought, and he rushed down into the basement where his dad had been sleeping the last couple months due to his back pain. The bed was unmade, all of the stuff was there, but he was not. John went into the back room that his dad never let him in, into the gun closet and saw that it had already been cleaned out. With that avenue gone, he sunk to his knees and sobbed more into his hands. "Why?" the question came as if posed to no one at all but every one at once. Why him, he thought, why me? A dream he had had months before of his dad's funeral pyre flashed back into his mind, did he know this was going to happen? John again rummaged through the forbidden closet, finding only a compound bow which could do him no good. John cried every ounce of fluid in his body until he could physically cry no more.
After he had finished, John climbed back up to the main floor and into the arms of his aunts.
"Honey, I'm so, so, so sorry. I really don't know what to say." his aunt tried.
John looked up at her with an entirely blank expression. "Don't worry about it." His directness caught her off guard.
"If you need ANYTHING at all, just ask."
"Ok." John turned his blank expression around the room, staring at walls he had looked at a million times before as if in a foreign country. Everything had changed. He walked to the porch and into the sun light, noticing how beautiful of a day it was. It was almost never sunny in Pennsylvania, but today there wasn't a cloud in the sky. John started to laugh, a couple ha-yucks at first that turned into a full blown stomach clenching riot. It must be a joke. John turned to go inside and was met with his aunt at the door.
"Are you alright honey? I heard you making noise."
"Of course, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." A smile flashed across John's face as he felt with every fiber of his being what a cruel joke life was. All of the stories he had been told until this point about the fairness of life, about how if you worked hard and were a good person good things would happen to you became crystal clear as to their naivety. John turned away from his aunt and sunk into the front porch swing, pushing off and started the teeter tottering swing. The swing creaked as old metal does, back and forth, back and forth. John stared up at the cloudless sky and tried to wrap his head around what had happened to him. His whole world felt like glass shattered from a window, seeing through to outside unobstructed. John's aunt tried unsuccessfully to start a conversation with him, and when she saw it was to no avail retreated back into the house.
John swang on the swing for what seemed like an eternity, his stare blank and unmoving, fixed upon the well across the street. A familiar car rolled up carrying his best friend and his mom. John smiled and waved as if nothing had changed and greeted Tim as he always did. "What's up doc?"
Tim was confused, but figuring this to be better than it could have been waved and greeted John back. "Not much dude, how ya doing?"
"Same old, living life." Tim's mom seemed concerned, but proffered a basket of her famous gobs. "I made you these. I'm sorry John."
"Don't be sorry, it happens ya know." John said off hand, taking the gobs and tearing into the first one hungrily. "Thank you sooo much for these, Tim always talks about how they're the best and I have to say he's right."
Tim's mom cracked a sad smile, patted John on the head and headed into his house to see John's mom.
"How're you holding up?" Tim asked tentatively after a couple minutes of silent gob eating.
"Bout as good as I can be I guess, I'm not sure it's really set in yet."
"I can't imagine dude."
"No, I guess you can't." John said pensively. "I hope you don't have to."
The two boys sat in silence for a while longer, the only noise coming from the continued shrieks of John's sister from inside. "I wish she'd shut up, crying about it won't do no good." John fumed.
Tim shifted uncomfortably, "I'm sure it's helping her."
John frowned at Tim's suggestion and went back to eating his gob. "Well it ain't helping me. You know I'm the man of the house now, right?"
"John, you're eleven, you're not a man yet."
"Maybe you're not, but I am now. I have no choice. I gotta provide and be strong, me crying won't help my mom or sister, and they're gonna need more help than anything after this."
Tim wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't. They listened as the slight breeze rustled the leaves of the bushes near the house, both deeply lost in thought. Tim's mom came out and asked if he was ready to go, and a rush of gratitude washed over Tim. "Sure mom, whenever you're ready." Tim hugged John goodbye as they promised to get together to hang out again soon and Tim walk-ran to the car. John watched as their SUV slowly pulled away, and was grateful himself to be left alone again.