Kinda short, yes, but something I thought of while watching a video on YouTube. Uh, the idea belongs to Joe Bereta, not me.
Slowly and painfully, a man staggered into the large room. Pews lined the room and there was a slight rise at the end of the room. Stained-glass windows barely let the light of mid-day enter the old church. After a second of looking around, his eyes laid on the statue of Jesus hanging on the wooden cross–the Crucifix. It was hanging over an arched doorway. There was a table with two candles on the risen up floor. Staggering once more, he made his voyage down the seemingly endless aisle, leading to the Crucifix. His right ankle was twisted and he was limping. He was staggering something awful, swaying down the aisle as he went, clutching his injured arm. As he went, his body was bent over, his injured hand resting on his stomach while his other hand was caressing it. White-blond hair fell over his eyes and shielded the wound over his eye. It was a small cut over and a small cut under his eye. Blood stained his bottom lip and he was moaning. He was a few steps away from the stairs that lead to the rise in the floor when he fell and sprawled out on his stomach. Letting out another grunt, he crawled himself up the stairs. Once up the third and final step, he perched himself on his knees and released his injured arm. Using his right arm, he tapped his fore and middle fingers to his forehead, moved them down and touched the middle of the chest, moved his fingers and touched his left shoulder, then his right. Clapping his hands in front of him, he bowed his head and prayed.
--x-X-x--
About thirty years old, he was walking down the sidewalk of downtown Tulsa. In his right hand was a cigarette–a Kool. He wore a blue jacket, open, a white tee shirt, a pair of faded blue jeans, and black tennis shoes. He stopped at the street corner, took the final drag from the Kool before stomping it into the snow. Then he continued on his route to the Dingo. As he passed an alley, he froze and stared blankly down it.
Kneeling the in snow was a guy with the mouth of a gun pressed to his forehead. On his face was utter fear and terror. The man holding the gun stared at his victim. Then he looked down at the main sidewalk where Dallas stood, watching and waiting. Tears welled up in the victims eyes as he gasped, "P-please... no...", but the man looked back at him and stared him dead on. There was a crack and the victim fell backwards, dead. The man slid the gun in his jacket and adjusted the sunglasses over his eyes and fixed his beanie. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a pair of black leather gloves, and gray slacks. Then, without missing a beat, he took off towards Dallas. In response, he turned and rushed down the way he came, full speed. At a moment like this, he wished he had Ponyboy's speed. His head turned and he watched as the man followed, just as fast. Turning his head back to he could see where he was going, he tried his best to speed up.
Dallas rounded the corner and trotted through the snow, the murderer hot on his trail. The kept down the road for a while. When he turned another corner, he found the guy right on his heels. As he reached out to grab him, he yelled, "Get back here, fucker!", but Dallas took him by the shoulders, spun him around, and threw him on the ground. Then he hopped over the guy and continued down the road. The snow was slick and he slipped and fell. When he got back up, the guy was back on his feet, chasing Dallas once again. Somehow, Dally missed traffic crossing the road. He was in front of the murderer so the traffic held him up. Dally rounded the corner, disappearing from the guys view. Once the guy was across the street and approaching the corner, Dally picked up a wooden sign and once he was at the corner, he hit the man with the sign, knocking him down. He picked up the pace again, running away from the murderer. But to his misfortune, the guy was hot on his tail again, and gaining. Dally started the cross the street when the man grabbed onto him. What they didn't see was the car approaching them until it hit them. Dally and the man fell, both knocking out.
When Dally stirred, he found himself alive and saw the murderer was 'dead'. Staggering, he got himself to his feet and looked around a little until his eyes laid upon the church and he sighed. Limping, he made his way to the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to the entrance of the church. He looked back before leaning on the railing and pulling himself to the doors. He grasped the handle and shot another look back. Then, he entered the church. He staggered into the room and limped down the aisle. He sprawled onto his stomach and crawled up the stairs to the Crucifix. On the top step, he pressed his fore and middle fingers to his forehead, to his chest, to his left shoulder, and to his right. Then he clamped his hands together and prayed.
--x-X-x--
'Thank God I'm alive...'
Dally looked up at the Crucifix, only to feel the cold steel of a gun against the back of his head.
"Die, fucker," rang a shrill voice behind Dally. He closed his eyes and waited for the worse.
There was a crack and a thud. The murderer turned around and walked out of the church, muttering, "Someone ought to clean that bloody mess... this is God's place.
Review please. Poor Dally.