Why do I keep doing this to myself? Gah. I lack confidence in my writing.
I think about it a lot.
The night Dally died. Dallas Winston, the boy with the dangerous eyes and a roguish smile. It always made me upset at first. He didn't deserve to die, he didn't get a chance to see the good in the world. He didn't get a chance to see the glow of the sunset.
He died the way hoods like him always did. Cruelly, violently, and foolishly. It was practically his destiny to go like that. It makes you real sad when you think about it. Him dying a criminal while Johnny died a hero. I don't think he minded though.
Sometimes when I watch the sunset, I wish Dally was sitting next to me. Maybe then, things would be different. Maybe the wash of the oranges and reds would change something in him. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd have the same cold heart that was waiting to be melted and fiery temper begging to be cooled down.
He would do it for Johnny though, he would watch the sunset for him. Johnnycake, the gang's pet. There was always an underlying affection Dally had for Johnny. He was the only person who could probably get the renegade greaser to do something he didn't want to. In a way, Dally needed Johnny more than Johnny needed him. I think both of them knew that, but those words were never spoken out loud. I wish he could've seen that letter. There could've been a chance Johnny could have saved him.
But then again, I think, maybe, Dally should have died. It was better for him like that, dying gallantly with a hole in his heart and tears in those hardened icy blue orbs. He wanted to die. And Dallas Winston always got what he wanted.
Maybe it was better that he died because he wouldn't have been able to live if he didn't.