Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.
...
When Darry got home that afternoon, all was silent. The birds were choked by smog. The playground stood empty, for there were no children out to play. No cars were on the road, leaving it desolate. The sun was shining harshly, but the breeze had enough courage to rustle only a single leaf.
Darry hadn't noticed when he left the football game, but, now, it was plainly obvious like a tick on the tip of your nose when you wake up in the morning. He felt out of place, fearful of making a crack in the flawless atmosphere. He was yet to realize that it was only the opposite. He should fear not breaking the vase but stepping on the looming shards.
The sun faded in through the curtains and showed the mourning dust mites, moaning and weeping. Ponyboy Curtis sat on the floor in the middle of the room, staring, searching, listening for the outside through the glass pane. His face was drained, and his eyes were shadows. He was a shadow. As Darry walked in, he dared not say a word, nevertheless ask a question. No matter, he had nothing to ask.
The only sound, the man hitting the floor as he slipped on the shards. A loud crack that snapped everything and everyone to attention.
And with that simple motion, all was impaired.
...
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