Something that I've whipped up very quickly.
But this has a meaning behind it - it's somewhat based off; or more inspired from true events. I've seen plenty of people write these sort of foster home fanfictions, but I think we all need to take a moment to recognize that this sort of thing happens in real life all the time. A few months ago, me and my younger brother were at a fair in a corn maze. We lost my mom in the maze, but we weren't too worried. We found her helping a young boy - around 10 - out of the maze. He was sobbing, telling her that he had lost his foster mother in the maze and was scared. He had been separated from his brother, who was in another foster home far away. He had no idea if he would ever see him again.
So please, as you read this don't think of it as an event that only occurs in fiction. Because it is very real, and could be happening closer than you think.
Please enjoy.
)()()(
Don't think. Don't think.
Close your mind and don't think at all.
Silence.
Yes, you want silence.
The boy's name is Ponyboy Curtis. He sits in his new bedroom in his new home.
Home? More like house.
Just a house that will never, ever be anything more than a house to him.
Never.
This isn't home. Soda is at home. And Soda sure as hell ain't here.
Soda would hate it here, in fact.
That's like a punch to Ponyboy's gut. Where is Soda anyways?
Does he hate his new house too?
Or worse. Does he love it?
Does he like it more than home?
And what about Darry?
What is Darry feeling right now?
He must be beating himself up. Because that's the way Darry is. To Darry, everything is his fault.
It's not. It's mine.
Or maybe Darry's loving it.
The freedom of being young. Not having two brothers to look after.
No no no.
Ponyboy wishes so hard that he'd never done it.
But what's done is done. Consequences dealt and faced with.
He realizes that he's thinking again.
Don't think.
It does no good.
You can't change it.
But the thoughts keep on rolling in.
Where is Soda right now?
Is it five PM for Soda like it's five PM for him?
He knows that back in Tulsa, it's only four PM.
Maybe Darry's starting dinner.
It's weird, thinking of Darry at home. All alone.
Making dinner for a party of one.
And what about the gang?
Do they still come over to watch football on Sundays?
He doubts it. Too many memories.
Pony hates that word. Memory. Because as of right now, everything before the present moment has been reduced to a memory.
And that's all it ever will be.
The rumbles. Two-Bit's jokes. Arguing with Steve.
All gone. All memories.
He'd give anything for an argument with Steve right now if it meant he could be back home.
He'd give anything if his family could be whole again.
He'd gladly let Darry crack him across the face.
Hard.
Ten times.
Whatever it takes.
Shut up. You're thinking again.
You can't do that too yourself.
It ain't good for your health.
Darry'd want you healthy.
Soda'd want you healthy.
Even if they can't see you.
Or write.
Or talk.
Or say, "Hiya, buddy."
Or, "You really need to start using your head, kid."
They'd want you healthy.
So stop.
Stop thinking.
"Dinner is ready."
Ponyboy falls back onto the bed, shutting his eyes tight.
He hates dinner the most.
Because it's never chocolate cake.
And nobody is up milling around the kitchen eating off paper plates with their hands.
And nobody randomly starts humming a song.
And nobody joins in.
Pony takes one last look around his new bedroom.
It's been his bedroom for a week.
He hasn't unpacked his bag though.
Because that would be a sign of settling in. Giving in.
He's not staying.
Someday he'll make it back home.
)()()(
I'm sorry for sort of a depressing story with a depressing meaning behind it - I'll hopefully be back in the future with a more upbeat one.
In the meantime, please review.