This is a one shot I needed to write.
Ponyboy Curtis walked down the street. Carrying her in his arms. Why? Why did she do it? He thought desperately how could she? That didn't matter she was dead, gone, there was nothing he could do. He remembered her smile.
"Your so funny Pony, and a little dumb! The way you cock your head when something is funny!"
Her anger, how much she hated him.
"Pony I hate him, hate him, he is vicious and cruel." She sobbed. "I can't live like this not this way!"
How beautiful she had been her long bubble gum pink hair that fell in waves down her back, her clear blue eyes. The way she had moved when she was dancing, dancing the thing she loved most, besides him.
She twirled in her light blue leotard. Her eyes bright and happy, the happiest he had ever seen them. The other dancers were awkward, stiff, unable to move with the grace she possessed. She twirled and dipped into a graceful curtsey, strands of pink hair coming loose. She stopped and smiled, at every one, but he knew, he knew the smile was for him and him alone.
He thought of her sadness when her mother left her alone with him.
"She loved me, she told me that every night, how could she how could she leave me with him?" bitter tears fell down her face. He held her as she sobbed, as she sobbed till he thought his heart would break. Her hair matted with her blood, the beating she had taken from him, the man who was supposed to care.
I should have noticed he thought wildly her eyes were dimming, a little glow left them each day, she tired, she stopped eating, stopped hoping, She clung to him
"I should have known!" He screamed the tears falling. Her rainbow had faded, disappeared, so slowly, so subtly, he didn't care he should have realized what was coming. He stumbled but righted himself. Her beautiful body was so fragile. He had loved her, she had love him. That should have saved her, but it hadn't. It hadn't stopped her. He looked away. The streets of Tulsa were bear. He remembered how he had found her.
The gun shot rang off, breaking the silence, and his heart, he ran to her. He held her in his arms as she took her last breaths, the gun in her hand. "I did it for you, I did it for me, I did it for us." She had whispered as she died. It ended she was gone.
Years after, he was well past twenty he went to the small graveyard where she had been buried. He walked there and looked. He had paid for it, the gravestone,
Grace Adams
1948-1962
The rainbow in my life, sweet and bitter, my bubblegum drop.