A/N: This is my first story. I've been writing fanfiction for like, a long time, but have no got around to posting anything. Hopefully everyone will like this, and enjoy what I sacrificed my algebra grade for!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. It all belongs to the honorable and much loved S.E. Hinton.
And on to the story:
Will run… Running… Ran. Run away. That's all I could think of. Leave behind the pain, the death. Leave Johnny behind. Run. The wind was cold. It stung my face. Or was that the tears on my wounded face? The tears I had forgotten I could cry.
I ran harder. My side hurt. My legs screamed out in protest for me to stop. If I stopped, I would be screaming. I quickened my pace until I thought my legs could carry me no faster. Maybe I could leave the leg-cramp pain behind, like I was trying to leave Johnny behind…
My gait slipped as I felt my calf tighten ever more. A bigger cramp. The pain made me stop short. I fell, and let out a scream of agony as the muscles twitched and contracted.
I screamed so that I thought I would wake everyone in the city up. I screamed out not just from the cramps, not just from the powerful side-stitching, but from the pain in my head. Not the hangover-headache kind, but the part that kept repeating "He's dead. He's dead." After years of feeling nothing at all, or at least trying to, this hurt like hell.
I lay there for God-only-knows-how-long. Finally I rose shakily to my feet and choked out my last guttural sob. I started to walk home. My side still hurt, and so did my leg.
About half the way home I stopped at a store. I needed some smokes. I stared at the magazine rack. "Johnny likes this one. Maybe if—No! Damn it, Dallas! He's DEAD!" I screamed myself mentally. I ripped the magazine down the middle.
"Hey! You can't do that! You gotta pay for that!" the clerk said. I stared at him for a cold calculating moment. I robbed him. I broke. "Maybe if I was in the cooler," the thought struck me, "I'd be so concentrated on somethin' else I'd forget him."
I started to run again, and as I left the door to loud "crack" s rang out into the cold November air. I felt hot, searing pain erupt in my leg. "Not the damned cramps again." I muttered.
My adrenaline was running high. I ran until I saw a pay phone and called Darry. Steve picked up. I asked to talk to Darry, and told him the whole tale. "Meet me in the lot." I said. He agreed, and I ran some more. I was getting so tired!
Police cars were behind me. I could hear the sirens, but in the thin air I didn't know how far they might be. I tripped and fell in the lot, and stood up. And idea had stuck me. I saw the gang too late to change that idea.
I pulled the empty gun from my waistband and raised it in the air. I just couldn't—no, didn't want to—take it anymore. I heard six or seven loud "crack" s and the impact of the bullets turned me around I saw the stricken face of Ponyboy. "God, he shouldn't have to see this." I thought, as my body started to sink to the cold pavement.
