Hey guys! This is my first story up on here, so please give me a chance and read it. I've been reading stories on here for a while (I reviewed them as Alicia) and I was inspired by a lot of the stories on here so I decided to write my own. I am open to anything you want to say about my story . Like it, hate it, whatever, but remember to tell me why, constructive criticism please!
Oh yeah and, I don't own any of the characters on here except for the girl, they all belong to SE Hinton…
He sighed as his fatigued figure collapsed to the curb. Greaser. He was just a greaser, nothing to it. Dirty jeans, a grimy shirt, his whole presence was just nasty. His hair was a thick black mass of slimy and slithery fat. To the folks passing by that's all he was, or maybe not even that. He was just as see through as the numerous holes in his disheveled clothing. His face was hidden as he turned his head down to his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. His slim fingers fished out a single cigarette and guided it toward the match he had struck.
Cigarettes were just perfect for greasers. Toxic, damaging, poisonous. The smoke curled and twisted, the smoke had a filthy aura. Alcohol was the poison of choice for the ritzy socs. Alcohol was slick, fluent, smooth. On the surface it was. But beneath it could be just as damaging as cigarettes.
Because his faced was concealed, his story could not be seen. The long, thick scar that trailed from his temple all the way down past his cheekbone. His story was a harsh one, one that people had no idea of as they walked past him in street, or in the halls of school. He could hear the screams, the arguing ringing in his ears as if it were second nature to him. The scars were a testament to the bodily harm he had endured time after time. But worse than that were the mental lesions. They were the least noticeable of all, but the most painful. Rejection. Fear. Worthlessness. It could be seen in his eyes, but what did the people passing on the street care? He was invisible, he didn't have a story.
Pony tried to concentrate on his novel, but couldn't for the commotion that continued a few houses down from his own. He could feel that pang in his body again, that feeling. What was it? Oh yeah. It was a pang of something…maybe hurt? A bit of anger? He didn't really know, he couldn't figure it out. Whatever emotion it was, it was for his friend that was in the middle of that chaos. He and his brothers were pretty much used to hearing the yelling and the screaming, but that didn't make it any easier. Pony's eyes rose from the novel to one of his brothers Soda. Soda's acute brown eyes matched the temperament of Pony's. They were bothered by it, but continued as if nothing was going on. Just ignore the problem and maybe it could go away. There was nothing they could do anyway.
A few minutes passed before they heard the slamming of their front door. Darry, Pony, and Soda looked up to see Johnny.
"Can I stay here for tonight?" he questioned, his faint voice almost inaudible. Soda got up and patted him on the shoulder with a forced smile on his zealous face.
"Hey buddy of course you can," he answered soothingly.
"Pony it's time for bed," Darry ordered as he himself rose up from the chair to prepare for bed. "You can sleep on the sofa Johnny," he said with an unusually compassionate tone. Soda continued to sit on the floor in front of the television, and Darry rotated his head until he was face to face with Soda. "That goes for you too," Darry said with a slight grin on his face. Pony and Soda didn't usually follow orders so easily, but this night was different. Johnny was the gang's pet.
Okay ya'll there is more to come (well, if you were even interested to make it down this far LOL), I already have a lot of it written so if you review I'll post soon.