Sorrowful Remembrance; Chapter One.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

This is my first fic, so don't be too harsh. And thank you to my grammar editor, LindseyBee.

Reviews are welcomed.

I walked around the park trying to take in what had happened. My parents were dead and I had hardly escaped the same fate. I couldn't remember the face of the killer—holding the gun to my parent's skulls. He shot them venomously—uncaringly, without a single regret. I looked at my tear stained face in the fountain that was near a small park just at the thought of it.

I walked around in the frosted air wondering how far I had run and how much I wanted to forget about tonight. The night that I, Friday Singer was now alone, for the first time being without my overprotective parents. For the first time I didn't want to be. At least not this way; not dead. I let one tear fall from my hazel eyes. As I watched a blue Mustang creep over the street nearby, I noticed them stop abruptly. I saw two muscular guys stumble out and clumsily come over to me; they were drunk. I thought frantically, wondering if I should stand my ground and see what they wanted, or run off fearfully. I chose the latter in the end, though I still question if that had been the right decision.

I stayed as they walked closer. "Oh, look a little greaser girl!" he shouted, obviously referring to me. I wondered what a greaser was. I didn't even know where I was, let alone the slang of my destination!

"What's a greaser?" I asked, and there was laughter from the guys. It annoyed me 'cause they weren't answering my question. "Can you answer my damn question!?" I yelled, which was a mistake because I was pinned to the ground with a switchblade pressed against the soft skin on my neck. I shrieked as the blade dug in, drawing blood.

"Shut her up!" one of them yelled, and the next thing I knew a rock was clashing with my skull, knocking me into unconsciousness.

I woke up in a strange place; I saw a neon DX sign hanging up, the 'X' flickering on and off obnoxiously. It took my brain a second, but I finally heard the sound of two guys' voices speaking worriedly. "She lost a lot of blood. Goddamn it, I hate them soc's," one of them growled. I think he was trying to whisper, but it didn't seem like he knew the definition—so every word he spoke was audible to my ears.

"How dare they attack a girl greaser on our side of town? I can't wait till we smash their heads in during the next rumble." The same boy was still speaking, and he shrieked excitedly after completing his sentence.

I tried getting up, but a pained moan clawed at my throat so, I lied back down. The couch made a creaking noise—and suddenly the two guys were rushing over to my aid. "Oh…good, you're awake. We thought you were a goner!" the shorter one croaked. He seemed to be about eighteen-ish. He acted as though he knew me; maybe he did know me. I couldn't remember anything!

"I guess I wasn't," I said, grinning slightly. "Where am I? And where are my mom and dad?" Questions flooded my mind. Then I remembered the most important, to me anyways, "What's a greaser?" The two boy's exchanged awkward, confused glances at my question.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The one that was taller asked; his voice was velvety and soft—soothing, even. "Where are ya from?"

"I-I don't know," I stammered. I wondered who they were; the taller one looked like a movie star. The other looked like he was a fighter. I tried getting up again; I managed but then I felt myself slipping into numbness. The last I heard was something about me having to go to the hospital. I would have protested but I couldn't find my voice.

At the hospital the doctors said that I only had a minor concussion and that I would be fine once I got home. "What's your name, sweetie?" the nurse questioned. I replied Friday Singer. She looked up the name and her face dropped into a frown. "It says here that your parents died from a gunshot near your house. That makes you an…orphan, dear." Her voice was full of sorrowful remembrance—which brought all my memories tumbling back. My parents had been killed…I was alone, trapped in this unforgiving world all by my lonesome, a thirteen-year-old girl…. All I wanted to do was cry and run—which is what I did. I ran straight out of the hospital, not staring back, despite the shouts from the nurse's and doctors. I just wanted someone to talk to—seeing as I didn't know anyone from around here, I headed straight to the DX, longing for the voices of those two older boys' once more. As soon as I arrived, I quietly opened the door to the garage of the gas station.

"Steve, can you get me a wrench?!" I heard from the other room. I knew it was the taller one because of his voice.

"Sure thing, Pepsi-Cola!" the other boy, who I had identified as "Steve", yelled back, and then appeared in the room I was in. He seemed startled at first, but then he smirked and asked me if I was allowed out of the hospital already. I guess he noticed my face fall into a frown, 'cause he asked me what happened. I said that I had no place to live, but I didn't tell him exactly what happened. "Oh…" Steve made a sort of bitterly sympathetic face, but was interrupted before he could speak anymore.

"Did you get me a wrench yet?" I heard the other guy; I doubted that his real name was Pepsi-Cola.

"No, we have a visitor, Sodapop," Steve called to the other room. I heard footsteps echo from behind the door, and this "Soda" character entered the room. He looked at me with sorrow in his eyes, and I realized right away he knew my secret; the hospital had obviously called him.

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