A/N: WARNINGS: References to "creepy ginger kids", making jokes about ADHD (I'm allowed since I have it), drug references, possible future passing references to slash in a humourous context (there will be no sex scenes), abuse of legal drugs (namely the Pill), Curtis-bashing, Justin Beiber-bashing, thinly veiled jokes about the financial crisis (I'm allowed since I lost a house).
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Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away (unless you perchance live in Oklahoma City; if you do, kindly relocate yourself to Alaska so the rest of us may read this story) there lived a kindly king and a gentle queen in Castle Tulsa. Unless of course you're referring to the day a certain misbehaving child broke the family portrait by trying to ride his brother's pony through the halls. Then the king was not kindly and the queen not gentle, and the poor boy's faith in humanity was forever shattered.
All stories of child abuse aside (except for this one, which does contain an alarming amount of child abuse), there once lived a kindly king and a gentle queen. They had three sons. The eldest they named Darrel, and they raised him well, as he would one day have to take over the throne and rule Tulsa with an iron fist – whoops, I mean steady hand. Once they had the first son, the parents knew their lineage was secure forever, and so had no problems becoming addicted to drugs and, in the middle of a frenzy of cocaine, managed to accidentally tell their chief advisor their son's name was Sodapop instead of ordering a cool beverage, which is what they had been trying to tell him. One must partake in a cool beverage after giving birth, you see.
Their youngest son was conceived and born in an entirely different fashion. You see, the queen decided she did not want any more children, as the last two had been supreme disappointments, and so she overdosed on the contraceptive pill. Fortunately her cocaine addiction saved her life; she had by now such a high resistance to drugs that she was not killed by the drastic overdose, but simply became infertile for life.
She was quite happy at this development, for though Darrel was strong of body and would rule with a – ahem – steady hand, he was supremely intellectually challenged and could not say more than two syllables, so his name became Darry; it was simpler for him to remember. As for her younger son, well he seemed to have a rather nasty case of ADHD which made him, if possible, even stupider than the last one. He was also incredibly vain; the only thing he ever managed to concentrate on was a mirror.
However, the queen's heart was weary. If only she had the perfect son she could love with all her heart! Oh, what she wouldn't give for a child who could read!
Many years passed (though in fact, it was only two) and the queen's need became more dire. It was as she was repairing the king's robe at the window (Sodapop had set it aflame with a flamethrower made from Axe deodorant and a candle) that she sighed, and said to herself her heart's desire.
She gasped as she pricked her finger, and a drop of blood fell onto the scrapyard under her window (Tulsa was not as wealthy a kingdom as neighbouring Canadia).
That drop of blood must have been a magic charm, for soon after a friend's ecstasy pill cured the queen of infertilism (not that that is a word, nor possible) and the queen fell pregnant. Nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Unfortunately, the queen was still high on ecstasy and so was her king, and so they decided to name their child a name that would hopefully encourage him to consider a career in superheroism, or, if he preferred, professional Dungeons and Dragons: Ponyboy, Defender of the Alliance.
It was both a joyous and a tragic night for the kingdom of Tulsa, for sadly, after naming her baby, the queen discovered she had actually given birth to a creepy ginger kid. "Oh, my!" she cried, and died on the spot.
The king decided it was not fair that he should have to raise an imbecile, a pyromaniac with ADHD and a creepy ginger kid while his wife could enjoy eternal rest, and so he allowed Sodapop to play target practice on him. He died tragically from a javelin to the heart.
Darry was too stupid to consider suicide and so decided to raise the two boys alone, for he was noble of mind, er, very deep down, even though he was merely seven.
As the years passed, Darry retained the mind of a five year old and ruled the kingdom as a figurehead. Little did the subjects know that it was actually Sodapop who was ruling the kingdom, whispering poisonous words to the king's brain and demanding he do what was told of him. Sodapop was slipping further and further into the grips of evil. He found torturing cats and setting houses on fire was no longer of interest to him, and so, unbeknownst to the others, he began to partake in Magicke Moste Fowle.
In contrast to his stupid older brother and his evil middle brother, Ponyboy was growing more good and pure by the day. Much to Sodapop's chagrin, his creepy ginger kid looks were slowly vanishing and giving way to soft, auburn hair that tumbled down his head in much the same way that squirrels do not lay eggs. He was polite and soft spoken, never taking advantage of King Darry's stupidity, but always aiding him to select who he would prefer to torture prisoners with: Jesse McCartney or Justin Beiber. Ponyboy always kindly showed him that Justin Beiber was the more torturous of the pair.
Sodapop watched his brother grow with festering jealousy. He was the more beautiful. He should be the one to select which torture methods to use, not Ponyboy. Sodapop's morning ritual (trying to score a date with himself in the mirror) was plagued with more and more doubts, that is until he made an Astonishing Discovery.
Two-Bit, the Mirror of Everlasting Truth.
He had to have it.
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A/N: Written during an exam and later refined. (I finished very early).