Fear Awakened [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

004

They continued their walk in relative silence. Jonathan had never been one for unnecessarily filling the silence and Jane, thankfully, did not press him to make any effort at smalltalk.

He begrudgingly agreed to meet her the next morning so that they might walk together on the way to school, his logical mind reasoning that there was safety in numbers and also no real way to stop her from waiting on him.

She lived approximately one street away from him, and so they split amicably when his house came into view.

Unfortunately for him, it was far from the end of his thoughts regarding her.

Jonathan was entirely unsure what to make of Jane, the girl who had seemingly aligned herself as an ally on his side of the daily war.

It was perplexing that she would do so with no real provocation. She was willingly choosing to give up good social standing in order to make some sort of a moral point that she had no obligation to make. He had certainly given her no hard proof that he was a good person, only that he was a victim.

Did she identify with that, did it resonate with her? He couldn't say. He knew as little about her as she did about him, and yet, she'd managed to cement herself in his thoughts as he dragged his feet, delaying the moment when he would have to walk through the front door of his home.

We don't need friends, he spoke up suddenly. The small smile that had worked its way onto Jonathan's face faded quickly as that voice bubbled up from inside like thick, viscous black ink surrounding his brain.

But she seems nice enough, he argued pathetically with the voice. And we've never had a real friend.

They all seem nice. Wait and see, Johnny. Wait and see.

He shook off the chills that the voice brought on, taking a deep breath as he climbed the three stairs to his front door. He had to focus, having no extra energy to devote to a literal internal argument if he was to keep his guard up.

Everyday was a constant battle in his home life, his Great Grandmother wasting no opportunity to remind him of the sins he carried with him, nor passing up any opportunity to punish him for those imagined transgressions.

"Who was that girl you were walking with?" he was immediately bombarded by the question from the old woman, who had clearly been awaiting his arrival at the window.

"A friend from school, Grandmother," he answered, his eyes cast elsewhere and his voice as monotone as possible to avoid being accused of using a cross tone with his elder.

"Is that why you're smiling, because of this friend?" she spat, as though the notion itself was disgusting. Her beady, dark eyes peered out him from her leathery, wrinkled face.

It was disgusting just to look at her, Jonathan's stomach rolling as she came closer to inspect him. She effectively rid his face of the smile he had not known was there.

"Impure thoughts, Jonathan. The same impure thoughts that led your father away from the righteous path and away from this family," she hissed in his face, close enough that droplets of spittle hit his cheek.

He did not flinch, refused to flinch, either then or in the long lecture that followed.

He was privy to hearing, for the thousandth time, how his father had left his mother before he was born due to his spiritual weakness, the same spiritual weakness that was inside Jonathan.

If he let her, Grandmother warned him, that harlot would corrupt his soul and lead him into eternal damnation.

She quoted passages from the Bible, including several he was quite certain she was making up as she went along. Senility was coming on fast and hard for the wretched hag.

During his designated lecture time, he endured three slaps to the face for what she interpreted as defisnce. One of these left him with a split in his lower lip, caused by one of the gaudy gold rings the decrepit woman wore on her bony, arthritic fingers.

And still, he did not flinch.

Very good, Johnnyboy. Do not give her our fear, the hiss came from inside, giving him the strength so as to weather her storm without so much as a grunt of discontent.

He was still and unmoving through the onslaught of her abuse, willing his mind to take him elsewhere, anywhere but his current reality.

He was unsure how long she had been done when he came back around to conciousness, standing alone in the center of the living room. Apparently, if not given the satisfaction of seeing his fear, she was capable of tiring easily.

That information he would file away for later, when it would again become useful. For now, he had more than enough to reflect on.

With Grandmother's shriek and His growl in this ear, he was left cold and dismayed as he pondered a number of things.

Most pressing and oft repeated in his thoughts, whether or not befriending Jane was worth the strife it was obviously to cause the both of them.