A/N: I've got the first few chapters planned out for this, since I've had this idea in my head for four months, but after that, it depends on the inspiration level.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.
God damn it, why couldn't I just die already?
It was worse than death, watching everything through this fog, barely clinging to life. I was certain of it. It was like the lights were on, but nobody was home. And to make matters even worse, I couldn't feel anything below the middle of my back. I was someone who has spent their entire life running, who has run as an escape, because I knew that when things got too crazy, I could hop up and bolt. To be confined this way, well, it's not a good feeling. I yearned every moment to be able to move, to stand, to fight- yes, fight. The rest of them were out there in the thick of it all, with that heady mix of terror and elation that made you feel like you were flying rushing in their blood. They weren't lying near death in a cold hospital room. They hadn't lost the will to live. They were free.
But I wasn't. I was the one retreating into his own mind, the only safe place left, to keep from losing it. But I thought it was a long-lost battle, although part of it was probably the medication they were giving me. Hazy and insane, my dreams never changed, assuming I could get to sleep, of course. In this sense, my dreams were really no different than when I was awake.
And I couldn't shake the feeling it was entirely my fault. I took a desperate gamble saving those kids, and I had lost. It was devastating.
I was also angry. For all that life is, shouldn't there be some sort of saving grace? If I could take a life, I could save a life- and if I could save a life, would this life save me? Shouldn't it, after all…?
But it didn't. This was real. It was really happening. It was no use being scared, because I was going to find out what happens when you die. In the end, isn't it really the unknown we fear when our thoughts turn to death? And the people that do know- well, I don't think they're going to tell us any time soon.
When I said "Fighting's no good," I wasn't sure exactly what I meant. I could've meant the gang fights and switchblades and violence that was a sad part of reality. Or I could've meant it was no use fighting this personal battle of mine. We all die, it's a fact of life. But there's nothing romantic about death, no matter what Shakespeare thought. My world had become nothing but pain now, and I was tired of living in it.
If I couldn't fight it... maybe it was time to face it, with confidence.
Maybe I was meant to know, so young, what it is to die.
My name is Johnny Cade.
And I am not afraid.
A/N2: This was a lot longer in my head. But then again, so is everything I write. I have a lot of trouble getting something to a thousand words, so I usually just try to be funny to take up space- kind of like what I'm doing right now. I will try to make next chapters longer, I promise.
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P.S.: A "Project PULL" update.