Author's Note: Hey guys! This is my first one-shot ever so be nice! But I do allow constructive criticism...in a nice way:)
Like A Balloon
Dallas Winston can be described as many things. Most would describe him as a greasy hoodlum. Where all he did was get drunk and start fights with other people his age. I describe him as a balloon. The first day that we met him he was sitting on Buck's rusty, old car at the DX. He was smoking a cigarette as usual, leather jacket unzipped, shoes unlaced. It wasn't until his death I saw him as this object. It wasn't until the day I saw two children bopping around a balloon around their yard, just waiting for it to pop. That balloon reminded me so much of Dally. It was as if it was waiting to pop. As if it knew it was going to. Eventually, one of the kids did pop it. I walked away after that.
Dallas had an incredibly tough life, just like a balloon does. Instead of being filled with helium, he was filled with painful memories that he never liked to reveal. Seeing endless murders in the dark, cold alleys of New York, his parents not caring if anything happened to him, going to jail at the age of ten, and finally seeing the only thing he loved...gone. I can barley recall a time in my fourteen years of living when Dally was wearing a smile, a real one. The last time he did was the night we won the rumble. That smile was instantly shattered into a million pieces when Johnny died.
Dallas had it as rough as a helium-filled balloon did. He was constantly being banged around, while others watched. Johnny's death was like a sharp needle poking a fragile, shrinking balloon. It was like those ridiculous games at carnivals where all you do is throw a dart at a bunch of colorful balloons. At the end all you do is walk away with a small stuffed animal or blow-up monkey. Instead, for me and the rest of the gang, there was no prize. Just two friends dead within the same hour. Dallas finally popped.