DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Outsiders. I am not pretending to. The other thing I own is Sarabeth.
The sky was a dull, lifeless gray, the type of gray that is too light to storm, but just dark enough plaster your face with a frown.
Sarabeth had the "dull gray" frown to a science. Her mousy, brown hair blended in with all the other girls'. Her clothes, though not name brand, were in decent shape. She was every sense of the word average. But her eyes, her eyes, they said otherwise.
Something behind those eyes told a different story. They talked of hardships and failure. Of hopelessness and defeat. Those eyes, said more than she ever would.
Walking home from school, Sarabeth held her books so tight against her chest, her knuckles turned white. She always seemed to hold onto things a little too tight, whether it was her school books or past memories, Sarabeth had a hard time letting things go.
Her dark drown eyes were focused on the pavement as she reached her neighborhood. She was lower-middle class, or more commonly referred to as a greaser. She was a nice looking girl, not too tough or intimidating, but no doubt about it, she was a greaser. Her hair was always slicked back in a tight ponytail and a small scowl was always etched on her lips. But social class never bothered Sarabeth. No, she had more important things to worry about.
Looking up, she found she was on Washington Ave. Two blocks to go, she sighed, locking her gaze on the concrete once more.
She could see her house on the horizon, and she picked up her pace, happy to be home from a hard day of school. Her house was old, and like most of the houses in her neighborhood, broken-down. Though most didn't realize it, the seemingly gray house was actually a vibrant shade of white... or at least it was. Years or wear and tear tired the old house into a dull gray, sucking the life out of it. Parts of the roof shingles were missing, and most of the shutters were gone, but Sarabeth and her mother didn't care. It was their home.
Feeling the first few shots of drizzle, Sarabeth quickly skipped up the steps. She opened the door and swiftly shut and locked the door behind her.
"Mom?" She asked walking into the kitchen, dropping her books onto the table. Doing a quick search of the house, she discovered a note her mother had left.
Sarabeth,
Last minute change in schedule. Working late.
Mom.
"Great," she groaned, walking into the living room. Walking past the coffee table, her calf caught the corner, causing her to lose her balance and fall to the floor.
"Shit!" She yelled, as she looked at her leg to see the damage. A small, yet noticeable bruise was forming. She tenderly touched it, and winced at the throbing.
Alone and in pain, Sarabeth moved herself onto the couch to start her homework.
She always had more important things to worry about.
Yay. New story. I am extremely sorry for the epically lame start. I'm trying so hard not to make this charater a Mary Sue.
Well, anyways... Reviews are appreciated, constructive critism is appreciated, but flames, or other harsh comments are not. Thank you!
And I would really, really love a beta. That would be lovely.
:)
-Alaina