The Outsiders Butterfly Effect

By: Secret Dancer

(Johnny's Death)

Dally looked at him for a second, then put the knife back in his pocket. We both went into Johnny's room, standing there for a second, getting our breath back in heavy gulps. It was awful quiet. I looked at Johnny. He was still, and for a moment I thought in agony: He's dead already. We're too late.

Dally swallowed, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.

"Johnnycake?" he said in a hoarse voice. "Johnny?"

Johnny stirred weakly, then opened his eyes. "hey," he managed softly.

"We won," Dally panted. "We beat the Socs. We stomped them-chased them outa our territory."

Johnny didn't even try to grin at him. "Useless… fighting's no good…." He was awful white.

Dally licked his lips nervously. "They're still writing editorials about you in the paper, For being a hero and all." He was talking too fast and too calmly. " Yeah, they're calling you a hero now and heroizin' all the greasers. We're all proud of you, buddy."

Johnny's eyes glowed. Dally was proud of him. That was all Johnny had ever wanted,

"Ponyboy."

I barely heard him. I came closer and leaned over to hear what he was going to say.

" Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold…" The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.

You read about people looking peacefully asleep when they're dead, but they don't. Johnny just looked dead. Like a candle with the flame gone. I tried to say something, but I couldn't make a sound.

Dally swallowed and reached over to push Johnny's hair back. "Never could keep his hair back… that's what you get for tryin' to help people, you little punk, that's what you get…"

Whirling suddenly, he slammed back against the wall. His face contracted in agony, and sweat streamed down his face,

"Damnit Johnny…" he begged, slamming one fist against the wall, hammering it to make it obey his will. "Oh, damnit, Johnny, don't die, please don't die…"

He suddenly bolted through the door and down the hall.

(Dally's Death)

We reached the vacant lot just as Dally came in, running as hard as he could, from the opposite direction. The wail of a siren grew louder and then a police car pulled up across the street from the lot. Doors slammed as the policemen leaped out. Dally had reached the circle of light under the streetlamp, and skidding to a halt, he turned and jerked a black object from his waistband. I remembered his voice : I been carryin' a heater. It ain't loaded, but it sure does help a bluff.

It was only yesterday that Dally had told Johnny and me that. But yesterday was years ago. A lifetime ago.

Dally raised the gun, and I thought: You blasted fool. They don't know you're bluffing. And even as the policemen's guns spit fire into the night I knew that was what Dally wanted. He was jerked half around by the impact of bullets, then slowly crumpled with a look of grim triumph on his face. He was dead before he hit the ground. But I knew that was what he wanted, even as I begged silently-Please, not him…not him and Johnny both- I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted.

(After events)

And then I remembered. Dallas and Johnny were dead. Don't think of them, I thought. (Don't remember how Johnny was your buddy, don't remember that he didn't want to die. Don't think of Dally breaking up in the hospital, crumpling under the street light. Try to think that Johnny is better off now, try to remember that Dally would have ended up like that sooner or later. Best of all don't think. Blank your mind. Don't remember. Don't remember.)

It's been a few days after their deaths and I felt this broken feeling inside. Everything tasted like baloney and I didn't really eat much though Darry and Soda made me. I felt sick all the time and I didn't want to do anything. I felt numb, so numb, and underneath the numbness I felt pain. Numbness and pain all the time and I just wanted it to end. While Darry and Soda were out work I found it. The tool that would make me feel again. Razor Blade.

I found the sharp tool in our dad's old toolbox that Darry had stored away after our parents died. It's funny how one small object could affect one's life forever. Now I had a problem, how to hide the scars from Darry and Soda. I thought the best way to hide them was to wear long sleeve shirts more often. Then I started it, I started feeling again, after all, what's more pain when you've already felt so much?

I pulled the object across my wrist and watched as my blood collected from the small lines. I did it again, watching as more scarlet color dripped down my skin. It hurt I'll admit, but it wasn't as much as the pain of losing Dally and Johnny. I got tears as I thought of them and a new pain formed and I released it again forming deeper cuts and watching as blood oozed to the floor, it was darker. That's enough Pony. I told myself but this felt kind of good. I managed to stop and then I went and cleaned the cuts, putting hydrogen peroxide on them and it stung but a good pain. What have I become?

I changed into a long sleeved shirt to cover my new found obsession. If Johnny or Dally were watching me now they would be trying to make me stop. If any of our gang were watching they'd make me stop. This was my fight now, a fight against myself and the memories contained within me. I wanted to pull out the blade again but I knew I shouldn't overdo it.

When Darry and Soda got home I was trying to act like I was fine. Apparently they bought it. I was quiet and then I slipped up. Blood showed through my sleeve and Darry noticed.

"Pony, what's on your sleeve?" Darry asked casually.

"Nothing." I lied but then Soda lifted my sleeve while I was distracted.

"P-ponyboy?" Soda asked his eyes wide. He and Darry were staring at the scars on my forearm. I gulped.

"Ponyboy, what's wrong?" Darry stammered astonished.

"Nothing Darry."

"Nothing isn't good enough. Why are you cutting yourself Pony?" Darry asked again and his eyes getting moist. I refused to speak.

"The hearing is in two days Pony, what will they think when they see this? You and Soda'll get put in a boys home. Then what? Pony answer." Darry said tears spilling from his eyes I once thought hated me. Soda was crying to and I realized I was as well.

"I-I thought…. I thought." But my voice broke and I couldn't finish.

"Pony, hurting yourself isn't the answer. We'll get through this, like we did when mom and dad died. You don't think I hurt then or Soda? We could have done this too but we didn't, we had to stay strong. Ponyboy, we don't want to lose you. There were too many lives lost in our lives Soda and me don't want to add yours to the mix."

"I-I'm sorry. I-it jus hurts…so much." I cried and then Darry hugged me and I sobbed harder into his shoulder.

"Cutting yourself will hurt more Pony." Soda spoke up his voice shaking like a rocking chair.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking guys, honest. You're right Darry, I don't think."

"I'm wrong, you do think, just not the same as us Pony." Darry said and then wiped his tears. Soda wiped his and I wiped mine.

"No more hurting?" Soda asked.

"No more hurting." I said handing the blade the Darry who would put it somewhere I'd never get to it.

I still hurt though I just didn't inflict it upon myself anymore. Sometimes at night when Soda was asleep I'd run my hand down my scars and think of all the people in my life who died. Watching Johnny die and Dally get shot down. The bullets in the air in that night I'll never forget. Sure they died but I'll honor their memory. Stay gold Pony….Stay gold. Johnny's last words and then I found Gone with the Wind and the note inside. I made a pact to myself never to cut myself again after that. If only Dally would have seen the note, maybe he wouldn't have died. Maybe if I'd never fallen asleep in that lot none of this would be happening. Maybe, somebody needs to hear our story and prevent this from happening again. A story of a handsome man, a trouble teen, and a boy so lost in this world that it took another boy to show him the colors of the world before his last moments came. A story that begins like this: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house I had only two things on my mind : Paul Newman and a ride home…

A/N: I hope you liked. I wrote this as an assignment in class. No I'm not suicidal. And if you wished for something nicer then look to the next chapter, it's the same thing just not as violent.