AN: The story isn't meant to go in chronological order-it's more of a character study. I thought Kimblee was a real bastard, and I decided I wanted to flesh him out a bit

Firsts

Restrictive was the law of his hometown, that nameless little border town in the outskirts of civilization. Kimblee thought it was best forgotten about. He told people he grew up in Central anyway. But he couldn't help but feel like they knew his lie, like they could hear the country accent in his controlled speech.

But he had made sure that he had erased that part of him too.

Sometimes he remembered it; the stench of farm life, where peoples lives were scripted out for them from birth. He was supposed to be a blacksmith, he was supposed to marry the tanner's daughter (what was her name anyway?), and he was supposed to have some god-awful amount of children. That just was the way of things.

But it didn't mean he had to like it.

Kimblee always smiled when he remembered the first alchemy book that had fallen into his possession. Some traveling showman had stopped in the village to show off his (what Kimblee now saw as pathetic) alchemy skills-like creating cheap jewelry from clay. The villagers loved it, ate it up, and threw hard earned pennies at him while others sniffed in derision and called him a "bad sort." Kimblee was 12, or 11, he couldn't remember. He went to every show, and saw every exchange, every cheap trick at least 30 times. Later, when the man went drinking at the local pub, Kimblee broke into his wagon and stole one of the man's books. It was just a basic primer, dogged eared and stained, but at the time, it was akin to the bible in young Zolf's eyes.

He began to draw the symbols during his classes, he thought about the laws of exchange when his father explained the proper way to forge a horseshoe. When his overbearing grandmother found the sheets of paper filed with alchemic symbols, promptly banning her grandson from having paper outside of school work ("No grandson of mine is going to be a sideshow freak!") he began to draw on his arms. In doing so, he found it was easier to perform alchemy quickly.

His first bomb was when he blew up some mice that had been caught in the rat trap. They popped like popcorn, and he decided he like the sound.

He moved on to larger creatures quickly. When he was 13 he blew up farmer Gutten's goat. When he was 15, he pretended he had no idea where all of the cows were disappearing too, or what that strange sound was in the back orchid late at night. Zolf Kimblee would have a good laugh at them all later on, as he painted the symbols necessary for explosions onto his hands.

Clap, slap, kaboom.

Later, using his father's tools, he branded his palms with the symbols. He told his grandmother he had burned his hands making farm tools.

When he was 17, people began to whisper about him and Maria-or was it Marsha? Kimblee went through the motions of 'love', dancing with her at festivals, holding her hand, kissing her in the cornfields like every other teenager in the town did with their sweetheart. They were both each other's firsts, and, according to the ways of the village, each other's only. It had already been written, in the eyes of her parents, his grandmother, his father-who had never remarried after Kimblee's mother's death, due to this unwritten code. Mary, or Mariel, or whatever her name was, had already begun sewing her wedding dress. Every time Zolf heard the whispers, he felt a panicked sensation in his gut, and his palms burned. He blew things up more and more frequently now, feeling calm only when he did so. But that too, was slowly being taken from him. He couldn't touch the farm animals now; people were starting to get suspicious. He had to catch wild game, and people still wondered aloud about the explosions that shook the woods from time to time.

Even now, he would blow up a mouse or two to ease tension, but back then, not even the bull he had stolen in desperation calmed him.

I will not be trapped! I will not be contained!

By summer of that year, people were waiting on his proposal. Johnny the baker's boy had proposed to Suzy, so wouldn't it be nice to have a double wedding? He remembered that night, pretty and warm, when he ran to he church to beg the priest to help him.

Persuade the others! He had cried, stop this!

But the old fool just smiled, and said something about cold feet. Zolf couldn't really recall how it happened, but next thing he knew after that was the church looked like the inside of a war zone, and the priest was long gone.

I've blown up a man.

Kimblee did remember that he had laughed-and for the first time in years, he felt good.

He left that night too, stealing money his father kept hidden in a lockbox in the shed, hitchhiking up to the train depot. Some old pervert that picked him up had tried to molest him, and Kimblee blew him up too. It felt just as good as the first time. The rest of the time went well enough too-he traveled for a bit, had the scars on his palms filled in with black ink, blowing up vagrants and drunks and whomever caught his fancy wherever he went, until he landed in Central and learned about the state alchemy test. He didn't care, until he learned why the state military had alchemists. With the tensions rising in Ishbal (It had being going on for about 6 years or so then), he was guaranteed his pleasure.

He passed the test his first time.

Once he wondered what happened to all those he had left in is wake, all of them back at home. He found he didn't care. He mentioned this to the muscular idiot, Armstrong, once, and was told he would someday.

Kimblee remembered that he had smiled.

"Well, there's a first time for everything."