I walked out of the movie house into the bright outside. It was a particularly normal day. It wasn't too warm or cold, and I figured that it was perfect weather for a decent walk home. I was left alone with my thoughts and recollections of the movie I had just watched, which, honestly, left me a little bitter about my looks. I wasn't a movie star like Paul Newman. I wasn't even good-looking like Soda or Darry. I had plain looks and didn't stand out at all, which I had learned to interpret as a good thing. If you didn't stand out, you didn't get hurt.
Although I must have stood out as I was walking, for I soon noticed that a red Corvair was following me at a disturbing pace. If it had been someone looking for directions, they would have done so already. My hair stood up on my neck as every possible scenario played through my head at light speed. I heard unspeakable stories of greasers who were jumped when they weren't traveling with their buddies to back them up. No Soc likes to beat on a kid that has a fair chance. They do all of their dirty work when they know that they have the advantage. Why it didn't dawn on me that I was just as vulnerable, if not more vulnerable, than any one of those greasers in those stories, I couldn't tell you. But I was scared out of my skin and quickened my pace. The car sped up a bit, and I sighed a breath of relief, thinking that they had gotten bored and were leaving me alone.
As if I could be so lucky.
I calmed down a bit, but it was short-lived, as the car took a sharp right turn and cut off the small path that would've safely taken me to my house. I stopped in my tracks and started to walk backwards as five Socs got out of their car. They had been packed in like sardines, I vaguely noted. They sighed and walked in a straight horizontal line as if it were as casual an act as going to get an oil change. I swallowed the golf ball in my throat and wondered how easily I could run away. I was no Darry. Not only was I not stronger than any of the boys facing me, but I was also outnumbered and had never been in a fight where the gang wasn't there with me. The boys looked at me, then each other. They scoffed and kicked rocks with their shoes, as if they were attempting to be friendly. Then the one in the middle smiled a scary smile that would frighten anyone.
"Hey, grease. We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."
I swallowed again, but it felt like there was sand paper in my throat. They started to laugh, and I wondered how seriously they took beating me up like I guessed that they were going to. I wondered if I could reason with them. Then I realized that there was no reasoning with five Socs who just wanted to beat up a greaser for fun. I opened my mouth to show that I wasn't afraid of them but I was and my lack of any proper words proved that. I would've probably said something stupid anyways. Darry likes to think that I don't use my head too much for a kid that could really use it.
"Need a haircut, greaser?" one of the boys asked. That's when I caught the gleam of the shiny silver blade that was flicked out of one of the boys' pockets. I licked my lips quizzically. I was a little ignorant. That I could agree with Darry on. I wasn't sure what they meant by their words and if they actually planned on lopping my hair off with a switch blade or cutting me up like cheese. Either way, I wasn't going to stick around. But I couldn't run away now, as they were making their way into a circle that prevented me to move anywhere.
Now, I could have said a lot of things. A sarcastic comeback that would've pleased Two-Bit, a smart remark that would've reflected the impression that Dally has left on me, or a smooth statement that I inherited from Sodapop. "No," I said lamely instead. I stepped away from the knife that was ever-so-present in front of my face. I was basically speaking to it. And for a second, I may have thought that I was getting away from the boys. But luck wasn't on my side, and I backed right into one of them.
I was on the dusty ground before I had time to think about it. The back of my head smarted from the impact, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. My arms were pinned on the ground, with two heavy knees leaning on to my elbows. Each boy took turns punching my face and chest, the others cheering him on. I still had full access of my legs, and used them to flail and kick and possibly save myself. At one point I kicked the boy who had been on my chest at the moment slugging me, knowing full and well where I hit when he stood up with a groan. I smirked a little.
"You think that's funny, grease?" he asked with tears in his eyes, and had one of his buddies hand him the blade. I raised myself up and backed away from the boys, but it was to no avail. One stood on my ankle and starting slugging me again, mostly in the temples. It hurt like crazy and my brain rattled. I was wondering how long it would be until I passed out, hoping that it would be before the one I kicked got a few more licks in.
Unfortunately, I didn't. My head felt like it was growing ten sizes and my arms were limp, but I still was aware of what was going on. At this point, I was too weak to fight back. So I resorted to calling for Soda, Darry, anyone. It was hoarse and pitiful, but I was close to home and figured that they would hear the commotion if not the yells. But no one came. I had a handkerchief shoved into my mouth with muffled pleas to make me be quiet. I couldn't hear too well. My hearing faded in and out with pain and confusion and fear.
The kid was now on my chest again, angrier than he was before. Before, the group of boys had no reason to beat me to a pulp, but now that I had hurt one of them, they were engulfed with adrenaline and anger. He flicked the blade open and held it to my throat. Despite the coppery wet taste in my mouth and the heavy gasps from being hit in my ribs and neck so many times, I managed to steady my breathing. He held it there awfully long. I didn't want to move quickly or anything. The blade seemed pretty sharp and would cut my throat in a heartbeat. I closed my eyes tight as he slide the cool blade over my neck. I took a deep breath and prepared for the pain I knew was going to come.
Instead, the boy quickly brought the knife away from my neck and brought it up to my forehead, where a few wisps of hair had fallen down despite the grease that was in it. I felt a sting right below my chin where I figured the blade had caught me when he moved it. I faintly acknowledged the feeling of blood trickling down my neck, but disregarding it to be the least of my problems. My thoughts swirled in and out and I was starting to lose a grip on what was happening.
I did feel the tug of my bangs, and saw the look of contentment on the Soc's face as he pulled the hair and sawed it off with the switch blade. He handed it to his friend, who tossed it to the side. My eyes were blurry with tears, and I was wondering if they were going to kill me. I knew that they were capable of it. They had a knife, they had the numerical advantage. I was curious if they had the will to actually do so. A sudden burst of adrenaline would surely do it.
The kid then starting slugging me again, and what bit of consciousness I held was slipping through my fingers. Honestly, I was glad for it. There was no use calling for the gang. I don't think I could have even if there was. I spit out the handkerchief and tried to breathe. My nose wasn't feeling too good.
I heard muffled screams above me, and could sense that they were no longer beating me up. I was hoping that the gang had noticed what was going on, but it didn't seem likely. Something about killing and trouble was being talked about, and I figured that if gang had seen what was happening, they wouldn't stop and negotiate about it.
It amazed me that I was still conscious. I wasn't glad for it, that was for sure. I wondered how long I would have to lay there until someone would come for help. Disoriented thoughts filled my head and I wished they would stop. I didn't have to wish for long though. I felt a white hot pain in my side from the blade that one could never forget, and was slowly greeted with the peacefulness of unconsciousness.
Woah. What happened? How'd ya like it? I thought that this might have been a redundant subject in the FanFiction community, but nonetheless was enthusiastic and excited to put my writing style on it. I decided to take the dialogue out of the real scene and fill in my interpretation and individuality to it. Because, let's be totally honest here. I am no S.E. Hinton. My writing doesn't even come close. I couldn't touch her writing talent with a ten-foot pole. So I didn't want to take her words and turn them into my words when, in all actuality, they would just be paraphrased and certainly plagiarized. And that would not be good. Nonetheless, I hope you liked my story. If you like it, then review. If you didn't like it, still review! I encourage all types of reviews and criticism. I believe that it helps writers grow and should never be taken negatively. I'm leaving this drabble open to being a story rather than a one-shot depending on the reception. It really depends on how many people want to read more. I had a lot of fun writing it though, and hope that you think it's interesting. Either way, I am proud of it. I am a fairly new writer to FanFiction and am writing a story called When You Were Young. It involves Sodapop and an outside character and if you're interested in reading that, too, I believe that the link can be found in my profile. Thank you so much for reading this story. It always amazes me that someone actually takes their time to ready a story of mine. It'll always have that factor.
DISCLAIMER: I am not S.E. Hinton. I do not own The Outsiders. I am just a fan who wrote a story. The dialogue of the Socs are taken directly from The Outsiders, however. The rest of the story is mine.
