Let it be known that JRC is on a long hiatus until I get some more muse for it. This story is one I'm rather proud of although I'm not sure many people will read it… that seems to happen a lot.

But it is based on something I'm writing as an original piece of fiction as well so I know what I'm doing for the most part. This takes place twenty years after the book just for convenience, Sodapop is dead as are Johnny and Dally, there are children and I'm not mentioning them quite as much as I might if I wanted to focus on them.

That being said I don't own anyone except the children.

Was God playing some horrible trick when they got the notice that Sodapop Patrick Curtis had died on the anniversary of the death of Jonathan Robert Cade and Dallas Anthony Winston? Anyone who valued religion would scoff at the idea but after everything he had been through he was beginning to doubt.

And his faith had been dwindling for far too long, so it didn't matter what those churchgoers thought, anyway. God had cheated them and he was wishing He would loosen up for once, stop playing games with their heads and creating this seemingly never-ending cycle of grief.

Ponyboy Michael Curtis set down the pencil and dropped his head onto the mahogany desk, wincing as his brain rattled in his skull and he felt the beginnings of a headache. His glasses slipped down his nose before dropping off completely save for the right side which was trapped by the arm that he slipped beneath his cranium to avoid getting any oil or sweat from his forehead onto the paper.

Two weeks he had to write this article and all he could come up with was a worthless piece about the dangers of tanning beds, and that was a pathetic excuse for groundbreaking news if he had ever seen one. In fact, half of his "information" was taken from books of urban legends.

However, what really put the icing on the cake was the fact that it was that time of year again. The time when he felt most depressed, lost and completely out of touch with everyone. Over the years they had all drifted apart and he would give anything to bring them back together again. But that's impossible, he reminded himself, his thoughts bitter. There would be no reunion if Johnny, Dallas and Sodapop remained deceased, and there was absolutely no way to bring them back to life.

The anniversary always brought around these thoughts.

The pattering of tiny feet reached his ears and he turned around, the rolling chair spinning with him across the wooden floors to face his daughter, who was clinging to the doorframe as if her life depended on it.

"Hey Audrey."

His five year old seemed put off by his lack of enthusiasm but none the less scampered into the room and climbed upon her father's lap, looking at him with familiar green-gray eyes set in a face that was so much like her mother's. "Mama says lunch is ready," she announced, wrapping her arms around him as much as she could. "But," Audrey took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, "you don't hafta go if you don't wanna."

The corners of his mouth twitched, curving upward in a small smile as he listened to his daughter talk about the importance of him eating lunch with them (mostly so that he could defend her when she refused to eat whatever vegetable came with the meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup).

When he returned from his thoughts he realized that Audrey was staring at him expectantly. He pushed a few strands of her blonde hair out of her face and gently nudged her so that she slid off his lap and landed on the floor with a light thud. "I'll be down in a minute," he assured her and when she looked doubtful he sighed and held out a hand, pinky extended. "Pinky swear."

Childish as it may have been, Audrey scampered out of the room and he could hear her yelling down the stairs for her mother to make another sandwich because he would, in fact, be dining with them.

Running a hand through his hair (it was already beginning to thin, at thirty four he was going bald while Darry still had a full head of hair at forty one. What was the world coming to?) he took a moment to grieve over the loss of what had once been one of his best features before he stood up and exited the room.

On his journey down the stairs he was apprehended by yet another one of his children, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her clear blue eyes scornful as she took in her father's disheveled appearance. Wrinkling her nose, she let out a soft 'hmph' and stomped up the stairs.

It was Terra, Genevieve, Bobbi, Esmeralda… whatever his twelve year old was calling herself lately (her real name was Iris but she refused to go by something so 'weird' and as a result changed her name every couple of weeks) and her rude habits that made him pause, smell his shirt and frown. Well he had been up for a while… hadn't had time to shower.

"… Iris?" He was hoping she wasn't in another one of her moods. It always resulted in hours of the phone lines being tied, and eventually lead to slamming doors and cries of 'you hate me' or 'I wish I was never born'. As much as Ponyboy hated to admit it, he could see a bit of himself in her, mostly her knack for exaggeration to the point where it was almost comical.

"It's Erin," she yelled, her voice floating down to him from her room.

Ponyboy rolled his eyes and took a few steps back up the stairs. "Are you eating with us?"

"Why don't you ask her? She's the one ruining everything."

"Don't talk about your mother like that," he yelled back, using a voice he hoped said 'I'm your authority figure now go downstairs and eat'. Luckily, he heard Iris' door open and she stomped back down the stairs, mumbling under her breath about injustice and the like, continuing even as she sat down at the table.

Living on Borrowed Time

Perhaps putting aside his article had been a bad idea after all. Ponyboy sat at the desk once more, pencil poised above the paper in an attempt to create some sort of brainstorm that could result in a decent article. This wasn't even his primary job, but his regular job (an English teacher at Will Rogers High) didn't pay quite as much as he liked, and he viewed his journalism career as more of his 'calling' than teaching a bunch of glassy-eyed students that could hardly bother reading what was assigned to them.

Shoving his glasses back up his nose he glanced at the clock, the red letters blurring for a moment until his eyes focused and he read 12:21. The radio had been turned off long ago by Maureen, who insisted that he would wake up Audrey and that he needed to come to bed, anyway.

"In a minute."

Well that minute had turned into a half an hour, which in turn had jumped to an hour which had then jumped right up to three hours, and there he was in that same position at the desk. He was tempted to reach up and pull his hair out, out of pure frustration and just to get the balding over with. Better sooner than later, Maureen always said.

Looking at the page filled with small doodles and thoughts that had been swimming around in his head he set down the pencil again and took off his glasses to wipe them off on his shirt. Maybe a walk would give him an idea. Besides, Shep needed a walk and he had been clawing at the back door since around eleven thirty.

Pushing back his chair with finality he strode out of his office and down the stairs, toward the back door where the cocker spaniel lay curled up, his eyes open and staring fixedly at the door as if it would open for him by magic.

"Shep," he cooed, bending down to scratch the top of the dog's head. Shep's stump of a tail hit the floor several times before he jumped up and placed his front two paws on Ponyboy's legs, stretching before falling back on all fours. "Wanna go for walks?" Despite his best efforts, he was never able to stop using that baby voice around the dog. It never suited him and made him feel stupid to be talking to a perfectly intelligent animal that way. "Yeah? Walks?"

The dog seemed to perk up at the word and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he searched for the red leash that would make the promise final. Sure enough, Ponyboy took the leash off of the hook by the back door and hooked it to Shep's collar before leading him through the kitchen and out the front door.

It was a clear night, stars dotting the sky and the moon shining bright. The rest of the neighborhood was asleep and the lovely silence was broken only by the occasional barking dog that had been put out in attempts by the owner at getting a good night's sleep. Shep would often bark back, snarling and then sneezing as his ears would get into his face which resulted in hair in his mouth.

Ponyboy was just about to turn around and go home when he spotted something, a small stand set up at the building site of one of the new houses. It was brightly lit, but not by electricity. Instead hundreds of candles were burning, the flames moving, growing and shrinking and casting an eerie light. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he tentatively approached the booth. For once in his life, Shep remained silent.

"Hello."

The voice was soft, high and definitely that of a female. He jumped, having not seen her until she had stepped out of the shadows. The outfit she wore was strange, a colour he wasn't able to place and her black hair in a long braid down her back. Her smile was polite, curious as she picked up a blue candle and then placed it back carefully. "Are you seeking help?"

"… uh… not really…"

The woman looked up sharply, her expression one of shock. "Well you must be if you are here." At his blank look she sighed and leaned on the counter, the casual stance looking strange with her otherwise elegant appearance. "What is your name?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm really not uh… looking for anything."

She sighed and held out a dark hand. "Aishwarya. Now you may tell me your's."

"Really, I don--"

"If you did not wish to seek help, you would not have approached the booth," Aishwarya stated matter-of-factly. "Now, tell me your name."

Feeling slightly intimidated by this strange woman he took her hand and shook it once. "Ponyboy."

Immediately her expression turned to one of intrigue. "You are Ponyboy?"

"Yes?"

There was a flurry of movement as Aishwarya jumped back and then sped around the booth, picking out a seemingly random collection of candles, all different colours and sizes, some lit and some not. "You wish to change something?"

"What?" He raised an eyebrow and took another step toward the booth.

"You feel regret, you wish to change something," Aishwarya picked up a sea green candle, the wick burnt but not lit, and sniffed it before putting it amongst the others, "you cannot change it without one other taking the place… there will always be one other."

Ponyboy was completely lost, but he found himself nodding.

Taking a crimson candle off one of the higher shelves she took a moment to count them and then approached the front of the booth again. "Time is a dangerous thing," she said seriously as she handed him the candles. "Do not go into it without knowing what it is you desire."

With that she smiled, the expression almost sympathetic as she threw down a large board that blocked the inside of the booth from view.

For a long time Ponyboy merely stood and stared, his mouth open and Shep gnawing on his shoe. "… what?" For the first time he looked at the candles in his arms, four lit and three with burnt wicks that had gone out.

Sea green, a mix of orange, yellow and pink, light blue, crimson, silver, brown and an ivory colour.

There were seven.