A.N. I do not own The Outsiders, all rights belong to S.E. Hinton. Rewritten from right after the fire.
White lights, fake images of sunshine flashing, worried voices, snapping in ears, glimpses of fingers poking and prodding; dull pounding pain throughout it all….
Chapter Seven
I awoke in a panic, surrounded by white with people dressed in scrubs buzzing around me. My fingers, itching for the comfort of my blade, attempt to slide into my pocket, to ease around the familiar shape, to know that I have a weapon if I need it.
But it's not there.
Nor is my pocket, just bare leg.
It comes rushing back to me, the past, the fire, the blaze, the pain stabbing itself in my arm, the noise of the hospital.
Johnny.
I fall back into sleep.