Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

Sunday, September 5th, 1967

There really wasn't much I could say about what had occurred in the past year. It was a mystery as to how I got through it all, but eventually I pulled through. I think what baffled me the most was that I had pushed away anyone that wanted to get close to me. But at the same time, it didn't surprise me. I had been that way my whole life, and it's hard to think that I will ever change.

Recently, I have learned that in life, people come and go. Whether you try with all of your will to hold onto them, or if you simply just let them slip away. You have to fight like hell to make sure you're still alive after you're heart breaks, or you make a decision that will effect everyone. Maybe it was a lie you told, and you're afraid to fess up and tell the truth. Or maybe it was something you did, that shook everyone you care about, and you made no effort to fix it.

As corny as it sounds, I wished that none of 1966 had ever happened. It was one of the worst years I have ever lived, and to think that I was actually happy before now. That was optimistic bullshit. I wasn't happy, I was miserable. Ever since the incident, I didn't remember how to be happy, or what it was like to really have a good time and let loose.

My mom gave up on me. She still allows me stay in the house, but if I come home late, or even at all, she doesn't talk to me. She used to give me long lectures on how I had to 'smarten up' and 'take responsibility for once'. Now that I think back, I have many regrets that I am ashamed of. Things that I would, still, do anything to fix them.

My dad quit trying to communicate with me. After he left my mom, my kid brother and I, he had somehow found a way to contact me. During those times, he started to get to close to me. So, without even knowing it, I pushed him away to the point where he left again. I haven't heard a word from him yet, and I don't think I will for a long time. But it was my own fault that I pushed him away, whether I liked it or not.

I walked into the police station, looking around. It was all black and grey, as if I was in some sort of old movie. The ground was grey, the walls were a smokey grey, and the doors were black. I could faintly hear the talking of the officers - probably disciplining a juvenile delinquent - but I was here for one reason, and one reason only.

"Can I help you?" an officer said, coming up from behind me. He tipped his hat as I looked over my shoulder.

"I was just wondering," I looked down at my hands. "Do you know who Steve Randle is?"

The officer shifted a bit in his position, hardening up his face. "Are you a family member?"

I shook my head. "A good friend of his. I'd like to see him, if that's okay."

The officer studied my face, as if trying to figure out why I would want to do such a thing. I think he was considering not letting me, but he didn't say a word for a few moments. I thought police were supposed to be hard and cruel? Well, at least that's what Dally told me. This officer's face looked gentle and sympathetic, an expression I haven't seen in a long time.

"I suppose," he said alas.

I sighed in relief, as he told me to follow him. The only noise I heard was coming from the steps of our feet, the beat sounding off track. He opened the door to a large room that was big and empty. The ground was cement, and it was narrow with plain grey walls. There was a rectangular table in the very back and two brown-rusted chairs tucked beneath it. He pointed to the back, where I was told to sit down. I was hesitant on going, but I eventually did go.

The seats were the kind of chairs that you could fold together. I sat in the chair closest to the wall, and looked out the window. It was covered in bars, but through it all, I could see the city. The buildings, the factories, the cars, the houses, the schools, everything. It would have been a nice view if it wasn't from here.

I was in a daze, until someone took a seat in front of me. My eyes darted to the figure, who looked completely different. His hair was no longer greased or in complicated swirls. He had lost weight, but he still looked like he could whip anyone that entered his path. All of his life he had that same bitter look, but for the first time, I was scared. I wasn't sure if I was scared for myself, or for him. His pupils were large and black with a faint dark blue ring around them. His eyes looked worn out. They had faint circles under them, as if he hadn't slept in days.

I bit my lip and studied him as the officer did me. What the hell had happened to him? He looked like a complete stranger. He looked real rotten and beat up. Like a broken record, maybe. He didn't say a word, he just cleared his throat and looked at a spot on the table. I followed his gaze, but saw nothing. I looked across at him; he looked like the entire universe was on the one spot.

"Steve?" I asked softly, disbelievingly. I didn't want to believe what had happened to him, how he turned out after these years. Maybe he had been doomed all along, I just hadn't noticed it. The only person that would've had the slightest bit of notion was Sodapop, and I doubted he had been aware of it.

His dull, worn out eyes looked at me. I thought about how happy and delightful he used to be, on his good days at least. Ignoring the fact of how rude he could be, he was always a good person. Deep down inside, just like we all are. He didn't say a word, he just sat there looking at me with a hard face. I looked down at my hands again, wishing I had something to fidget with. "What?" he finally said.

By his tone, I looked up and across at him again. He didn't sound bitter like I expected, he didn't sound betrayed like he should have.

He sounded as if he had no faith in anything anymore.

A/N: Good enough for a prologue? Review