Disclaimer: I don't own the outsiders or any of the characters S.E. Hinton does. I only own Macie and her parent(s). By the way this is a Sodapop Curtis love storaayyyyy(: For Greasiergirlie :3 Enjoy!

Macie's point of view.

He's dead. Gone. Lost. Fallen. Deprived. Of life that is. He's 6 feet under, plunging through our deep dark secrets that are hidden for a reason. Down to the devils workshop to experiment. To determine his afterlife. My father isn't worthy of his presence. Or any ones presence. Although, he didn't deserve to die that way.

*****************Flash Back***************************

"DAAAAADDDDDD?" I shouted. I got my last report card for the year and I was finally done with my junior year of high school. I'll be spending my last year of high school looking at colleges out of state. That's all my dad ever wanted of me. If I didn't meet his standards, all hell would break lose. It made me independent and disciplined in a cruel sick manner.

"Dad..?" I scampered across the dark, mahogany wood floor until I reached his bedroom door. It had fine crafted, vintage, French handles with these gorgeous symbols engraved into them. Compared to the other side of Tulsa, we were rich. My mother doesn't have a job though. She just sits at home and spends all my fathers money. I never have liked my mother, never will either.

There I saw it, my father lying dead on his bed. With a gun shot wound to his head and blood pouring out.

"Dad...?" I croaked. Barley managing a whisper with out bawling my eyes out right into his chest. His cheep cologne didn't match the putrid scent of blood. His blood.

*********************End of Flashback********************

The scent of his blood wouldn't be that lovely. Don't ask me how I know, I'm his daughter, I know everything. Now I'm stuck living with my mother. Wait, scratch that. My mother has no job and can barley manage to keep 20 dollars with out spending it all. I'm 17 almost 18 in July. I'll be moving out of my fine house to a shady little cot. On the other side of town. I'll be lucky if I don't get robbed in my sleep. How horrible.

There goes my father, six feet under. Clawing against the coffin trying to escape. His souls slowly going through that horrid transformation. That makes it into one of the devils minions. The ones that creep into your house and watch your every move. Waiting for the right time to attack. Catching you at your weakest. Then killing his prey with a single swipe to the neck. Nothing a new "greaser" girl can't handle.

I have two boxes and a small suitcase. This is my new life. This and that shady cot on the corner of murder and robbery. My dad was my rock. My money source. I have no job. I have no stable source of income. The hell am I supposed to do? I guess I'll have to get out of my house first and find a job. A decent one too. What to wear, what to wear. Skirt? No. Short skirt? Yes ma'am. Tight, long sleeved, crimson red, low cut V-neck? I think yes.

My looks aren't any thing special. Big brown curls with piercing gray eyes. Like storm clouds waiting for something secure to hover over, before it drenched the poor city and the helpless people lost in the pain it releases. Giving it all to someone else to handle. Who knows nothing about it. Just like my mother. Thank the hard to believe lord I look nothing like that traitor. After I move out, that pansy isn't getting any of money. Nada. Zilch. What's mine is mine and no one else's. Greedy right? Not if you had my child hood. With memories that keep lurking at the back of your mind, nipping at every fresh thought and converting them into rancid nerves.

The environment around me was quickly changing. Tall buildings with nicely dressed people giving me horrible looks. To, shady houses and men with bad postures. If greasers are known for there fights, they should know that the slouchier the posture, the easier it is to get stabbed. It's something my old music teacher in grade school taught me. Some pointless ramble about your diaphragm. Must I remind her that we were in music class, not health?

And there it was. A rusty metal gate waiting for my entrance. No way am I touching that thing. I took the point of my hells and kicked the door open, trying to get to the door with out dropping any of the boxes. Or my suitcase.

This is the house? All it was, was a ripped up couch with a coffee table. There was a small kitchen area with worn out pots and pants of to one side. The walls needed a serious paint job and the bathroom probably had roaches. I found my way to my bedroom, which wasn't so hard considering the fact that it was the only bedroom in the house. My bed was off to one corner and only consisted of a mattress with springs sticking out of it. Home Sweet Home.

First things first. I need to find a job. Wait no, before that. Time to fluff my hair. It's bouncy enough, I guess. A spritz of hairspray wont hurt a bit. Two boxes and one suitcase full of survival tools. Wheres the hairspray. Shit. 4:23. Gray storm clouds were settling over head and let out a low rumble. I better go find a job before it starts to rain.

The guys kept looking meaner, and tougher as I kept getting farther and farther into town. They looked like they could kill. In front of me I saw a huge fight going on with a bunch of greasers surrounding them. To the right I saw a sign that said, "DIO". Dio? What kind of name is that. Looks decent enough.

A/N: Oh hey there! Well this is the first chapter and I'll be updating again on Tuesday. I don't know if you read my other story, Embers, but I got bored of it so I made some crappy ending and ended it. This is a different case! I kind of like the character I made up so I might spend some more time working on this. Oh and the "dio" is just the dingo. Just clearing things up. ~Stay Pretty.