I do not own the Outsiders.
o-o-o
It was an autumn afternoon. The trees were turning color of brilliancy and drifting off their respective braches. The scent of the air had a sudden sharpness to it. The cool wind brushed gently through everyone's hair.
A young boy, no-older-than-six, was sitting in the rundown, rusting park. His small frame was planted in the sandbox and his hands dug a hole in the sand. His brilliant green-grey eyes shone brighter than any star and his auburn hair sucked in any sunlight that hit it, giving off a soft glow. His lips were stretched upwards in a hearty smile as he continued with his digging.
In front of the boy was another his age. He smiled as wide as the other and dug his hands into the sand. His jet black hair slightly covered his blue eyes, making him look more girlish than a boy should look.
"Like this?" He asked, momentarily halting his digging.
"Yeah! Thanks for playing with me!"
"No problem!"
The two laughed and continued to dig until the auburn-headed boy's parents walked up. "Time to go, Ponyboy!" The mother said. Ponyboy pouted, crossing his beefy arms.
"I don't wanna! I want to play with Tomas more!" Ponyboy interjected. The parents looked at each other worriedly before turning back to their youngest.
"Who's Tomas?" The father asked.
"My new friend! I've been playing with him!"
"Honey, you were playing by yourself this whole time…" The mother pointed out.
"Nu-uh! Tomas has been right-" Ponyboy turned around to point at his new friend but the friend wasn't there anymore. Nothing was left in his place. Not even a slight dent in the sand. "…There…"
"He must have been your imagination then."
Ponyboy spun around to face his parents again. "But he wasn't! He was right there! I ain't lying!"
o-o-o
Ponyboy opened his eyes, sitting upright in the bed. Beside him snore his older brother, Soda. With great stealth, Ponyboy swung his legs off the side of the plushy bed and escaped the room. He walked into the living where his eldest brother was sitting, reading a newspaper. Darry looked up.
"Mornin' Darry." Ponyboy greeted with a sheepish smile before longing on the sofa. Darry grumbled his greeting and took another sip of his coffee. Ponyboy sighed. He had hardly got much sleep that night because he was interrupted by a loud, obese lady that decided to just float through the walls of his room and annoy him, pleading for his help. That right, she floated through. That means she isn't living.
Ever since Ponyboy was little, he could see people like that lady. He could see dead people. It sounds like a gift, no? In fact, it's the opposite. It's a curse. When he was little, he couldn't tell them apart from the living and his family thought it was imaginary friends. Of course, being young, he started to believe what his parents were saying. But as time passed, and he got older, they didn't go away. That crossed out the idea of imaginary friends. Practically every day, Ponyboy sees them. Usually he can't tell if they are dead or not until he sees them face-to-face. Ponyboy could see how they had died. Sometimes it's hard though because some died from a heart attack or a stroke, or something. Either way, Ponyboy treats them like normal people and try to avoid them as much as possible.
Lately more and more of the spirits keep paying him a visit to get help so they could pass on. Which would mean he was getting more known. The requests usually were quite ridiculous. Passing a note to their loved ones, completely tasks like playing with them or reading them a story. It really depends on how they die or how old they are, really. Some of them that he passed didn't even know they were dead and started to get irritated because no one would answer them.
This time the obese woman wanted to get a message passed to her husband that lived in Nevada. Ponyboy had to refuse the offer since he wasn't traveling all the way to Nevada or sending a letter. Darry would get suspicious of his stamp uses.
Ponyboy hasn't told anyone of his sixth sense. Not even his brothers or his best friend. No one. His parents had known after they had passed away and found that he could see and talk to them. They were surprised but gave off a gentle smile, telling him to keep an eye out for his brothers before disappearing in a beautiful bright light.
Keeping this secret from everyone kills him inside. He wants to tell them, but he's afraid. He's afraid that he would be called insane, looked at differently, and laughed at. Ponyboy feels like breaking most of the time. Seeing the dead was just too much for one person to take on their own.
Darry then walked to the kitchen to start cooking breakfast. Ponyboy groaned as he leaned in deeper in the couch. Beside him a teenage girl floated up to him. Her skin was pale, hair messy and blonde. She held out her wrists which had two deep cut marks on it. There was blood all over her white dress. The girl's eyes were red as if she had been crying.
"Help me!" She cried loudly causing the boy the cringe. "HELP ME!"
With a sigh, Ponyboy stood u and walked to the bathroom, the girl right on his tail. It looks like she won't leave him alone that easily. Once Ponyboy walked in the cold bathroom, he shut the door and leaned against it. The girl floated in front of him, face full of rage.
"WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME!?"
"What do you need help on?" Ponyboy finally asked, leaning against the door, arms crossed.
"Help me send a message to my loved one…"
"Does he live in Tulsa?"
"No!"
"I can't then."
"Can you call-"
"You just need to let go. I'm sorry that I can't pass the message. But…"
Soda yawned as he walked to the bathroom from his room. He reached out for the door handle when he heard a voice from the bathroom. On closer inspection, he recognized it as Ponyboy. But why would Ponyboy be talking in the bathroom? Soda, being curious, pressed his ear to door.
"Therefor everyone would be happier if you would pass on. You're dead and it would help everyone. On the other side, you won't have to feel the pain of your slit wrists. You could just watch him from afar, living in paradise."
What is he talking about? There was a pause.
"You didn't do that…? It wasn't a suicide?"
Another pause.
"Do you know who did it?"
Another pause.
"Shouldn't you tell your parents this?"
"Oh… Sorry. Okay, I'll help. Can I have his address?"
The talking stopped and Soda heard footsteps. Sodapop rushed to the couch and dove on it just in time. The door opened and Ponyboy walked out, leaving the door opened. Soda angled his body to see who he was talking to but no one was in the bathroom. Weird.
"Hey, buddy, who were you talking too?" Soda asked.
Ponyboy had a short panic look on his face before it vanished. "What are you talking about? I wasn't talking at all." Ponyboy turned and hurried out of the room. Soda tilted his head. He might not be the smartest person, but he could tell that his brother was hiding something.
Ponyboy went to his room and to his desk, making sure to close the door behind him. He pulled out a sheet of notepaper and clicked a pen. There he scribbled a letter. After he finished he walked out of the room to get an envelope and a stamp without gaining too much attention. After he left the room, Soda walked into the room. His eyes instantly locked onto the note on the desk and he picked it up, reading it over. It might have something to do with Ponyboy's secret. And as his older brother, he takes it upon himself to find it out.
Dear Jack Shoemaker,
My name is Ponyboy Curtis and I came to inform you that your past lover, Andrea did not kill herself. I know this might sound crazy, but bear with me here: I can see the dead. Ever since I was little I could talk to the spirits. Andrea came to find me to request for my help to inform you on who killed her. You must not believe me and think I am crazy. I used to think that too. But, to prove that I am speaking with her, she told me to write down, 'The Giving Tree', whatever that means. But if you're still reading this, I will describe her killer from what she remembers. He was 6'2…
Soda decided to stop reading from them since it was just describing the murderer. Sodapop had gone white upon reading the letter. Is this letter real? It's a joke, right? It's impossible to see the dead.
"You read it?" A voice asked. Soda turned around. Ponyboy stood at the doorframe with a blank, unreadable look on his face.
"Ponyboy!" Soda cried.
"What do you think… of this all?"
"Hm?"
"What do you think of what I'm able to do? Do you think I'm insane?"
Soda was speechless. He didn't know what to think. Part of him wanted to believe his brother and the other part of him didn't believe him. Ponyboy's expression turned dark as he took the silence the wrong way and ran out of the room. Seconds later, Soda heard the front door slam shut. Steve took this time to walk in the room with a surprised look on his face.
"Where's the kid going? He ran out of the house like his life depended on it." He said to his best friend. Soda shook his head, dread coming over his heart. He went over to pick the envelope and stamp off from the ground and put it on the table.
The room turned cold and a lamp flung off the nightstand and onto the floor, splattering in pieces. Steve cursed as his attention snapped towards the lamp. "What the fuck? How did that break?"
Steve didn't know, but the fallen over lamp was all Soda needed to tell that Ponyboy had been telling the truth. "Steve, I have to go find Ponyboy. See you later?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Soda rushed out of his and Ponyboy's room in a rush. He ran through town to search for his kid brother until finally he found him swinging alone in the rusting park. Soda approached him, sitting in the swing next to him. "Hey, Pony."
"Do you think I'm a monster now? Insane? Do you think I need professional help?" Ponyboy asked. He knew he was overreacting, but how else were you supposed to act when he had been keeping the secret all his life and someone finally found out? How were you supposed to feel when one of the closest person to you might send you away and never speak to you again? He was terrified.
"No… I believe you." Ponyboy's attention snapped towards his brother.
"You do?"
"Yeah, I'll tell you the truth. I did think you were making this all up, but right after you left the lamp in our room was thrown off the nightstand. I believe you."
It was Ponyboy's turn to be speechless. "I…" Ponyboy gulped down forming saliva to clear his dry throat. "I was not expecting that answer."
Soda raised an eyebrow.
"I thought that you would hate me if you knew that your brother was different. A freak."
"You're not a freak. Sure, you're special. I bet not many can see the spirits of the dead. You are still you. You will always be the Ponyboy that I've come to love."
Tears formed in the corner of Ponyboy's green-grey eyes. "Thanks, Soda."
The two swung next to each other in nice, serene silence for a long time before curiosity once again got the best of Soda. "What do spirits look like?"
"They look like anyone else, really. You can't really tell the difference until you see them face-to-face. You can see how they die. You can see the stab wounds, the marks of being held down on the body, a gun shot, blood around the mouths, torn up bodies."
At that, Soda froze. Ponyboy had been seeing the wounds that killed the person his whole life. He saw all the blood and gore. How could his little brother not be insane after seeing that his whole life?
"That sounds horrible."
"You get used to it after a while. But I keep seeing them more and more lately. I'm getting more known to the dead, looks like… They keep pestering me to help them move on. I did almost everything they asked before, but it's getting harder now. I hate to refuse them. I want to help, but sometimes, I can't."
Soda stood up from the swing and walked to Ponyboy, placing a reassuring head on his greasy head. "It's fine. They would find a way to move on after a while. It's not your fault. You did all you could. Now come on, kid brother, shall we venture back home?"
"Yeah." Ponyboy smiled, grabbing an outstretched hand and walked back to his house, brother at side, and sun setting. For those minutes, Ponyboy felt like he wasn't alone in the world anymore, that a light had found his way in his darkness, illuminating all around.