okay y'all i don't know what's up with me but i am literally a writing MACHINE for this story?
is this good? is this bad?
who knows
enjoy :)
-endless
counting hours
Maybe it's selfish that I don't want to wake up.
It sounds disgusting. I should want to be alive. I should want to watch Pony graduate high school - maybe even college. I should want to watch all of us growing older, wiser, and even more crazy. Then again, I'm not sure if Two-Bit will ever be wiser. But he'll still be the crazy son-of-a-bitch I've grown up with, so I'll take it.
I'm standing in the middle of the street, watching cars fly by. Feeling the air rush past me as they zoom through traffic, unaware of the body that stands in front of their headlights. The smell of exhaust chokes me, but it's a smell I don't think I'll ever smell again, so thank God for my dreams.
The city is an old friend. Being here, even if I'm balancing between living and dying, makes me feel lighter than ever. My feet take me to our favorite destinations, our favorite food stands, our favorite hideouts. They take me to the drive-in movie theater, where we nearly lost Pony just a few years ago. It's wild: the amount of time that passes quicker than you ever wanted it to.
My body stops at Buck's, and I'm thrown into a wall of memories. The times Steve and I would bust out of our houses and meet Dally here. The time where Two-Bit got stabbed by Dally over a pack of cigarettes, and ironically, we had to go to the same hospital I'm in. That one night where we managed to get Darry out of the house, and then had to haul him back home, drunk off of his ass. The day Pony and Johnny left, and neither Darry nor I ever expected to see them again.
I count the houses as I walk down the sidewalk. I kick rocks in my wake, hear them scatter across the pavement, but they don't move. I hear car horns still yelling at each other. I feel the grass under my bare feet. I feel the cool metal of the many fences that line our neighborhood. Our street is small, barely holding the seven houses in the small amount of land.
Standing in front of Johnny's house beings me to tears. I wonder if his family ever wishes they hadn't beaten him. I wonder if they've ever regretted letting that puppy go, only to be protected and grow into a wolf. Something tells me that, if given the chance, they would happily do it all over again. The thought makes me grimace and I throw a spit wad at their driveway.
Though my heart wants to avoid our house as much as possible, my body (literally) gets the best of me. And I'm standing in front of our small house, wondering how the hell it managed to fit five people in it at one time. How the hell it maintained the paint job despite three boys. How the hell it's still standing in the same spot, with the same paint job...
The house is bright when I walk through the front door.
Darry doesn't even wait until I've stopped the truck before he bolts. I try and grab his shirt sleeve before he opens the door, but I'm not fast enough, so he leaps out of the truck and does an army roll. He lands perfectly on his feet while I'm swerving around the fucking parking lot, trying to gain control of my own surprise. I park the truck at the back of the lot, hoping no one will a) give me a ticket, or b) hit the truck.
All these fucking cigarettes, I think to myself as I'm puffing along to try and catch up.
I crash through the front doors and find all three of them standing in a circle. Two-Bit's face is unreadable, while Pony's is terrified. They're talking quietly and shut up when I come behind Darry, shoving myself into the commotion.
I look straight at Two. "Well?"
"What the fuck happened to your hand?" Pony blurts, changing the subject. Darry hisses at the word "fuck" coming from his little brother's mouth.
Darry smiles and ruffles Pony's hair. "Just a scratch."
"Helloooo?" I wave my hands in front of everyone's line of sight. "Remember me? Totally lost?" Two-Bit snorts. I look to Darry and ask, "Do you know what's happening?"
"They won't tell me, either." Darry gives Pony a glare, as if that will prod the answer out of him.
Pony, coming to his senses, looks at Darry and then at me. His gaze losing its terrified glimmer, he murmurs, "Come on," and Darry sets the pace as we follow him back to the room.
Everything looks the same. Soda's still wrapped in one thousand bandages, his eyes are still swollen shut, his monitors are still beeping like crazy -
I squint. Beside me, Darry tips his head to the side. Two-Bit throws an arm around me while Pony grabs Darry's hand.
I lean against Two-Bit as I recognize the difference in the room. Darry can't even form a sentence, but we both know what's in front of us.
Soda's breathing on his own.