A/N: This is an actual story based off the song "Holiday" by Green Day, in response to Pretty Vacant 79's challenge. My first fanfiction! Enjoy.

Prolouge: Armageddon Flame

The bell screeched loudly, interrupting Mrs. Ghram's lecture on the War for Independence. "Remember!" She shouted over the hussle of footsteps and chattering teenagers, including mine. "Read through the next section! Study your notes!" I've always appreciated Mrs. Ghram, even if she was old and hard of hearing. She always tried to teach us best.

I thrushed all my unvaluable books into my locker and slam the door shut. My pace slowed from the walk downstairs as I neared the door, but Two-Bit grabbed my arm anyway. "Hey, Pony!" He shouted cheerfully. "Long time no see!"

I grinned at his cocky smirk. "No time for chit-chat. Big test tomorrow." I told him.

"Ain't that the truth?" He mumbled. "Better brush up on your fightin' skills too. Fight with Tim and co. tomorrow."

I tried to remember what for, but ended up asking Two-Bit.

"Steve slashed his tires last week when he was drunk, 'member?" I nodded, and I did remember.

Steve was really high that day. He had just pulled an April Fool's joke on Two-Bit by stealing all his beers and drinking some of them, which ended up making Steve so drunk that he walked backwards down the street until he came to Tim's house, where he prompty let the air out of his tires oh-so generously.

"Yeah. I remember."

"Good. Tomorrow at seven. See you then. I'm skipin' tomorrow."

I shook my head. Typical Two-Bit.

It was then that I realized I had no other way of getting home, so I walked. I walked until I reached the edge of the lot, where we'd be fighting Tim and his gang the next day. One of the members was already there, brusing up on his lighting skills. He was rubbing two sticks together furiously.

I shook my head. Use your switchblade, I thought. He must've not had one, though. I suddenly felt bad for the guy as rain came pouring down in buckets, almost immediately forming puddles of murky rainwater and mud. The guy gets up furiously and storms off, wraping his thin jacket around him tightly, obviously shivering.

I remembered what Mrs. Ghram was telling us in class about the war. Like the beginning, the Boston Tea Party. I remembered her saying that the men dressed up like Indians and threw the tea crates overboard.

It's kind of like us. I mean, by the next day, there'd be a flame in the lot where we'd fight. Not just the flame to mark the battle field, but a roaring fire of merciless beatings, conjured by none other than Steve and Tim.

Steve has been taking Dally's place recently. Maybe he's trying to keep Dally's mischief up for the fun, maybe it's for Dallas, so that he can see Steve do the stuff he used to. I remember a line from a book I read, "The best thing we can do for the dead, is to do their share of living with a smile." Maybe that's why I was so moved by Johnny's letter. Maybe that's why I try to do the best I can-for him. But I couldn't think any longer. I had to get home.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.

-Attia R.