A/N: This was my first fic! I finally got around to fixing it. I don't own The Outsiders! And.. Review! I don't care if you read this in 2009, review anyways! I want to read it.
As I lay here in the mud, feeling the cold penetrate me to depths I didn't know existed, I'm trying to think of other things but it's hard to ignore the fact that I'm dying. I hate this war. I didn't sign up because I shouldn't be here. Why are we fighting anyways? I still don't understand, even after being through all the training I've been through. We're people. Greasers are tough alright, but I don't have it in me to kill, I never did. How did I get in this position anyways? Oh yeah, the bastards drafted me.
Darry came into the house as usual, carrying the mail. He put it on the counter and started looking through it. I was sitting on the couch, watching Mickey Mouse with Two-Bit when Darry approached me, holding a brown envelope.
"What did you do?" he asked me. I was confused, it was just a letter. I got mail all the time. Then, I saw the military stamp on the upper right corner.
"Nothing…" I replied, ripping open the envelope. I thought it must be a mistake; I didn't have anything to do with the military. I couldn't believe it when at the top it said "Dear Mr. Sodapop Curtis." I read the letter twice before letting it fall to the ground. "Shit," I said, putting me head in my hands. "Shit."
"What is it?" Darry asked me. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't answer for several minutes; I just sat there with my head in my hands, slowly rocking back and forth. "I've been drafted," I managed to say.
I don't know if this is what I should be thinking about now that I'm dying; I've never been this close to death before. Should I be thinking happy thoughts? What happy thoughts? I'm a Greaser, I've had so many deaths in my life I couldn't count them on both hands if I tried. I would think about the good times with the gang, but it would open another wound, I miss everyone so much. I would give anything to be with the gang right now, they don't realize I'm laying here, dying for a cause I don't even understand.
The gunfire is still going as strong as I was before I got hit. I don't think anyone realizes I'm dying here. In a few hours, someone will find me and only know who I am by my nametags. How many other people are there out there, laying in the mud, dying? It can't be only me.
Oh god help me, I don't want to die.
I don't know what happened within the next few minutes. I only know Two-Bit picked up the letter, then passed it to Darry who read it to himself, then placed it on the coffee table. I wanted to rip it up, act like I never got it, but I kept my head in my hands.
Darry sat down beside me and placed an arm around my shoulder.
"It'll be alright Soda," he said to me. "With all the tests you have to go through, you probably won't have to go anyways." I remember the uncertainty and worry in his voice. "You'll be okay." He kept his arm on my shoulder and was quiet for a minute and I could feel his breath on my arm. I felt Two-Bit get off the couch. I wished he would stay, but I couldn't say anything because if I had opened my mouth I would have started crying.
The next thing I remember is hugging Darry, wishing Ponyboy was there, crying my eyes out. I remember wondering why I had never noticed how strong Darry was before, as I felt his hands on my back.
"They're going to make me go, you know it. I'm old enough now, there's nothing really wrong with me. I'm going to leave on you too. I'm going to die on you."
I had been right, I'm dying on them. I wouldn't mind so much if I was here by choice, of if I knew what I was fighting for. I don't care about what I haven't done in my life; I've lived it the way I want it to be, except for this damn war. This wasn't my choice, and now I'm dying because of it.
As stupid as it seems, the thing I miss most about home is love. Here, there is none, but back home it was always there, from everyone. You don't realize how much something like that means until it's gone. Here, there is no love. People only feel hatred, violent hatred and I can't stand it. I've always liked fighting, but not like this. They're just people we're killing, fighting for their own cause. They don't want to die anymore than I do. If I could feel loved just one more time before I die, I'd die happy. That's my final wish, I hope to god I can feel love just one more time.
As a man to my right about 100 feet away starts screaming, I realize it's not going to happen. I'm going to die here, in this mud filled trench, bleeding and not about to move, not knowing anyone around me.
The next memory I can clearly remember is when Steve and Ponyboy found out. They'd been getting along a lot better since Dally and Johnny had died. Maybe when I die, Darry and Pony will stop fighting all together. Not likely though, after a few day's I'll be forgotten, only to be remembered momentarily when someone walks by the DX.
Ponyboy had came home from school, his usual chipper self. He hadn't been quite the same since Johnny had died, but he'd gotten a lot better. I was sitting at the kitchen table with my head on my arms. Two-Bit was standing beside me, rubbing my back in a circular motion, talking to me. More like talking at me, I didn't feel like talking. Darry had been out, delivering something to his work or something of the sort. He hadn't wanted to leave me, but I had told him I would be okay.
Ponyboy had sat down across the table from me. I didn't see him, just heard him. He asked me what was wrong.
He'd always been honest with me about his problems, so I told him straight up. He wasn't a kid anymore, he could take it. "I've been drafted. I leave Friday for tests, and if I pass I'm gone next Monday." I had only lifted my head enough to see him. I don't remember how he reacted.
Later that night, Steve had came in, waving a brown envelope. "Any of you…?" he asked. I glanced up, but didn't bother to acknowledge his presence. I hadn't moved since I had told Ponyboy. Only when Steve sat beside me did I realize it meant he was going.
"You too, eh Sodapop?" he said to me. I had no idea how he could be so cheery. I nodded.
"Anyone but you," he said. I gave him a confused look. "I'm going too, but I can take it. What do I have to stay for? Minimum wage and an abusive dad? You though, you're different. Pony looks up to you, Darry supports you, you hold your family together. Full time worker, you've got the looks, you've got the girls. You love life too much to go. They had to pick you though."
How could he have been happy about it? No matter how bad home life is, it's better than laying here in the mud, slowly drowning in your own blood and not being able to do anything about it. He had been right though, anyone could have taken it but me. Not Ponyboy, but he didn't have to worry about it. He wasn't old enough. But me, I love like too much, or at least I had before all this happened.
I wonder if this is what it was like for Johnny to die? Did he keep thinking of everything that led up to that point? Maybe he spent his last day blaming people for what had happened that. Not likely though, it was unlike Johnny to hate. What happened to him is what's happening to me though, I'm laying here, knowing that I'm dying and I can't do anything about it. The only difference is that he was in a hospital, not laying with his back in the mud.
Someone else is screaming now, closer this time; maybe 20 feet away. Why aren't I screaming? Damnit, this hurts, I'm dying too. Why are they screaming yet I'm laying here, in pain, remembering what it was like before this? Maybe I'm stronger than them, maybe I have nothing to scream about. They're screaming because they got hit, if I was screaming it would be because I don't want to die.
It's becoming harder to breathe the longer I hay here. I can feel my lungs slowly filling with blood, and it's becoming a lot harder to stay awake. The gunfire is a lot slower now, I hadn't noticed.
I remember the tests, trying to fail them. I did everything wrong, I'm sure I failed my eye exam. How could they pass me on that? Damnit, no matter what I did they passed me. I didn't want to go.
I remember going home on Sunday to say my goodbyes. I went to church with Ponyboy, and Steve came along. It wasn't like the last time, there were no jokes. I was praying for my life and safety in whatever was to come, and the safety of everyone around me. As we were leaving, Ponyboy gave me a cross necklace.
Dinner that night was the hardest thing I've ever been through. I thought it would be the last meal I would ever have with the gang, and now I know I was right. I couldn't eat though, I wasn't able to hold anything down. This was the last time we'd all be together. I could hardly fake a smile. I shed a lot of tears that night.
I remember the training that took place over the next week, I remember it vividly. I've never been through anything so horrible. We were taught to fire a gun, kill someone with our bare hands, but worst of all we were taught to hate. That part never really got through to me, I'm laying here dying at the hands of one of them, and I don't hate them. Not even whoever it was who fired the gun who's bullets are now in me. I don't hate them. They showed us photographs of what we might have to do to people; photographs of dead mutilated bodies. Some people might find it cool, I found it disgusting. As much as I hate to admit it, I've done that to more than one person now. Maybe only in self defense, but if I could take back anything I've done in my life that would be it.
The gunfire has stopped, but I know it's too late for me. I can taste the blood, even though there is none in my mouth.
I head a familiar voice calling my name. I can't place it until the person jumps into the trench with me and pulls me into a sitting position by my shoulders.
"Soda..." he sees the three bullet wounds in me. One has punctured my lung, one is on resting against my spine, and I'm not quite sure where the other one is. He doesn't know seem to know what to say.
"Hey Steve." I'm surprised I can speak, I thought I lost that ability a while ago. My voice is hoarse and strained though, and I wish I could hear my old voice again.
"Uh, the paramedics are on their way over here…"
"That's a big word," I tell him. I try to smile, but it's far too hard now. Every word feels like it's bringing me closer to my death. "It's too late now."
"No man, you'll be okay," he says, sounding like he's trying to convince himself of it more than me.
"No, it's too late…" It was too late the second I got shot. Speaking is causing pain worse than anything I've ever felt. "Buddy… tell the gang… tell them I love them all, you included… tell them I love them, but I don't want them to cry. Once I'm gone it'll… it'll be better. This is killing me, man… tell them that." I know I've got only a few minutes left, speaking is getting harder and harder, the bloodstain getting larger. "Oh god." I feel my tears running down my cheeks. "I don't want to die, Steve, why… tell them… I couldn't have made it this long without them. I never told them how much they all meant to me, Steve.. You neither… You guys are all the world to me.. I don't know what I would have done all these times without you guys.. You've all helped me so much, I should have said…" I can hear Steve crying. "I'm not ready… tell Darry I'm sorry for all the times I worried him, tell him I'm sorry for smoking…" It hurts me so bad to do it, but I take off my cross necklace. "Take it Steve… tell Ponyboy I gave it to you… when this is over and you go home.. it's his." I feel myself being pulled into a hug. I'm surprised, this is exactly what I prayed for not less than five minutes ago. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Steve… tell everyone I love them, and did until the very end.. Make sure you tell Two-Bit, too… he needs to know… tell him there's more to life than beer." The longer Steve hugs me the more the fear seems to disappear. "And you Steve, just stay yourself. Don't hate everything, there's beauty in the world where you least expect it. Tell them all I love them…"
I can hear Steve crying, but he says "I will."
He's still hugging me, but I find I'm not afraid of dying anymore. God answered my prayer, and I felt love for one last time. That's what I wanted before I die, and now I'm content. "It's okay Steve, I'm alright," I tell him as I draw my last breath.