Johnny
That damn football. How does it always manage to get lost?
It's a really nice spring day, and I'm bored. Ponyboy is at the DX station with Steve and Sodapop, Darry is at work, Two-Bit and Dally are who knows where. I guess, maybe, I could go to the station, but there's a lot of girls down there. I'm a little nervous around strangers.
So I'm looking for the football in the lot next to Pony's house. We were just playing with it yesterday, and instead of hanging around my house, I aim to practice a little bit. It's gonna be harder than it sounds, though, because I can't find the ball. Maybe I left it in the field across the street, or the Curtis' have it. Whatever, I'm walking over to look for it the field.
It doesn't look like it's over here, but this field sure does need to be mowed.
Crunch. Oh, no. There's a blue Mustang pulling up by the lot, and it looks like there's about four Socs in it. I'm looking around for a pop bottle or something, but there's nothing. So, I'm running.
I don't make it ten feet before one of the Socs catches up. He kicks me in the back of the knees, hard, and I'm now on the ground. I stand up, though, and sneer at them- they're all caught up by now, and I'm surrounded. If they're gonna hurt me, or even scare me, I'll never let them know it.
I spit at the ground at their feet. "You know you're not supposed to be here. This is Greaser territory." The Soc with the dark hair and rings just laughs and takes a swig of his beer. Shit, they're all drunk. "Okay, Greaser, then this is what we're gonna do about that." His friends grab my arms and pin them behind my back- I'm struggling to get out, kicking at them and swearing with every other breath I take, but it's not doing the best job. They've got three guys holding me.
Wham. He slugs me in the face; I can feel my skin splitting. "Okay, Greaser, so here's what we're gonna do." Punch in the stomach. "We're gonna give you a little taste now," he punches my face again, I'm bleeding, "and later, maybe, we'll do it again." He punches me in the stomach. Ooph. "And next time, maybe we'll get your friends, too." No, not my friends, is all I can think. I'm fighting back harder now; I've gotta warn the gang. He stops talking for a while, to keep punching me in the face. His rings are cutting me to ribbons; eventually I subside and stop struggling quite as much. "You should be thanking us, Greaser, because we could do a lot worse."
Mustering up what feels like the last of my strength, I spit in his face. "No, the worst you could do is kill me, asshole." And you're killing me now, I think. But I'm not about to tell him that.
Smiling slightly, he takes a huge gulp of his beer. "Well, now we're going to." I freeze. And start kicking and punching and screaming soon after that.
Someone swears. "Shut him up, shut him up!" they hiss. I guess someone took out a knife and handed it to the ginger with the rings, because he stabs me in the face. I'm bleeding everywhere, on my jacket, in the grass. Everywhere.
They rip off my jacket- "Let him freeze!"- and drag me into the lot next to the Curtis'. They kick me a couple more times for good measure, and laugh as they lumber away.
I could die, I realize. I lose consciousness.