~~And No-One Else~~
The door to the room was shut when Ponyboy Curtis went back there. He smelled something, a sour yet sickeningly sweet smell that he couldn't quite place. He thought Darry was asleep, so he walked down the hallway to his own room that he shared with his brother, Sodapop. He turned the handle of his door and walked into the messy room. Dried up pizza crusts lay on top of soiled clothes, empty cigarette packages littered the floor. The air in the room was musty, spoiled with cigarette smoke and lighter fluid.
Pony lay down on his bed, letting the soft mattress message his sore back. He closed his eyes for a moment a thought, as he always found himself doing, about Johnny and Dally. He remembered Dally smiling as his blood spilled across the road, he remembered Darry's blank stare as he hurried everyone home and started demanding order. Pony opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. They had a ceiling fan once, but a couple weeks ago he tried to swing on it and it broke. Darry, surprisingly, hadn't been furious with him, he just told him to not do it again and then went back to his room.
'His room.' Pony thought. He was now thinking about that smell, that odor that made his hair stand on end, made his lips quiver and his stomach churn. He had smelled it before, he just couldn't remember when.
The answer struck him almost three hours later as he and Soda lay sleeping in their bed. He was dreaming, once again, of Dally and his death. He threw Soda's hand away from him, almost like it was contaminated with a contagious disease and ran down the hallway to the door, Darry's room.
"What the hell is your problem Ponyboy?" he heard Soda yell. A half-naked Curtis came walking down the hallway but stopped dead in his tracks when he smelled it. Obviously his mind was working faster than Pony's for as soon as his face contorted he ran to the door. It was locked. Both boys knew that they had to get in the room, had to rush into it and find out where Darry was, find out if he was just sleeping. Soda rushed at the door and it flew open, but as soon as he walked into the room his legs quivered and he looked away.
The walls were red. They had been cream and solid, but now they dripped in greeting. The sweet smell overtook them again as the musty air surrounded the hallway from the room where it was trapped. Claw marks on the headboard showed pain and anguish in every mark, some deeper than the others. The bed was stained the color of red with their brother, Darry, in the middle. Soda walked up to Darry and sat him up. Blood crusted around him and stuck to him as he sat up, leaving the only white part of the sheets behind. Marks on Darry's arm and muscled stomach showed depression. The smile on his face showed contorted happiness. The razor that had fallen from the dead man's hand had rusted with Darry's tears. Soda called for Pony, but when no answer came, he looked back to see his baby brother on the floor, breathing hard, his fall from the faint making him hit his head on the side of the bed.
The sirens blared and the police officers questioned both of the brothers carefully. Did he seem happy? Did he ever cry? Did he ever seek help? Soda, who was now the oldest, the caretaker of the house and family, didn't know how to answer these questions. He shook his head no to every question and just tried to get the image of his dead brother out of his head. A tall, lanky police officer with greasy hair and far too much cologne came up to him and told him that they would be provided a hotel to stay in for the next 3 days as cleaning crews cleaned up the blood.
The hotel was cold, as most are, and empty yet so many people were there. The indoor pool gave off a chlorine smell, but to Soda any smell was better than blood. He looked at Pony who was watching the small TV and eating a chicken sandwich from room service. Soda looked at the little chill bumps that kept appearing on his skin, the bumps that would never leave him. He closed his eyes and relaxed his mind to think about what lay ahead. He was the sole benefactor now; he was the one who had to take care of Ponyboy. He couldn't do this by himself, but he knew he had to. He knew that no matter what he did, Ponyboy was in his care and he had to do it right.
That night, Soda couldn't sleep; he was still haunted by the sight of the red walls dripping their horrible hello. He walked into the bathroom and as soon as the door closed, the vent and light clicked on. He looked at himself in the mirror, he was pale, paler than usual. He stared at himself for a while and then his eye caught a little gleam of light on the counter. He looked towards it and saw that it was the sharp razor Pony had used for shaving his almost non-existent facial hair. 'This is what Darry found to be so helpful?' he asked himself. He picked up the object. It was cool in his heated skin. He put the sharp end to his thumb and smiled. He couldn't understand why Darry would inflict pain on himself; he just didn't get it. Ponyboy coughed suddenly and in the near silence, Soda jumped. He listened for Pony to settle down and sleep again. He put down the razor, but he noted that it changed somehow. It was different; there was a tiny speck of red on it. He looked at his thumb and noticed that he must have accidentally cut himself when he jumped. It didn't even hurt. He looked at his blood and he was slightly reassured by it. Soda picked up the razor again and this time put it to the palm of his hand. After a quick mental fight, he counted to ten, and when he got to one, made a semi-deep slice. After a second or two, blood started to pour down his hand. He smiled and put away the razor. He had control over something now.
~~Ok, once again, please read and review!!!! ~~
The door to the room was shut when Ponyboy Curtis went back there. He smelled something, a sour yet sickeningly sweet smell that he couldn't quite place. He thought Darry was asleep, so he walked down the hallway to his own room that he shared with his brother, Sodapop. He turned the handle of his door and walked into the messy room. Dried up pizza crusts lay on top of soiled clothes, empty cigarette packages littered the floor. The air in the room was musty, spoiled with cigarette smoke and lighter fluid.
Pony lay down on his bed, letting the soft mattress message his sore back. He closed his eyes for a moment a thought, as he always found himself doing, about Johnny and Dally. He remembered Dally smiling as his blood spilled across the road, he remembered Darry's blank stare as he hurried everyone home and started demanding order. Pony opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. They had a ceiling fan once, but a couple weeks ago he tried to swing on it and it broke. Darry, surprisingly, hadn't been furious with him, he just told him to not do it again and then went back to his room.
'His room.' Pony thought. He was now thinking about that smell, that odor that made his hair stand on end, made his lips quiver and his stomach churn. He had smelled it before, he just couldn't remember when.
The answer struck him almost three hours later as he and Soda lay sleeping in their bed. He was dreaming, once again, of Dally and his death. He threw Soda's hand away from him, almost like it was contaminated with a contagious disease and ran down the hallway to the door, Darry's room.
"What the hell is your problem Ponyboy?" he heard Soda yell. A half-naked Curtis came walking down the hallway but stopped dead in his tracks when he smelled it. Obviously his mind was working faster than Pony's for as soon as his face contorted he ran to the door. It was locked. Both boys knew that they had to get in the room, had to rush into it and find out where Darry was, find out if he was just sleeping. Soda rushed at the door and it flew open, but as soon as he walked into the room his legs quivered and he looked away.
The walls were red. They had been cream and solid, but now they dripped in greeting. The sweet smell overtook them again as the musty air surrounded the hallway from the room where it was trapped. Claw marks on the headboard showed pain and anguish in every mark, some deeper than the others. The bed was stained the color of red with their brother, Darry, in the middle. Soda walked up to Darry and sat him up. Blood crusted around him and stuck to him as he sat up, leaving the only white part of the sheets behind. Marks on Darry's arm and muscled stomach showed depression. The smile on his face showed contorted happiness. The razor that had fallen from the dead man's hand had rusted with Darry's tears. Soda called for Pony, but when no answer came, he looked back to see his baby brother on the floor, breathing hard, his fall from the faint making him hit his head on the side of the bed.
The sirens blared and the police officers questioned both of the brothers carefully. Did he seem happy? Did he ever cry? Did he ever seek help? Soda, who was now the oldest, the caretaker of the house and family, didn't know how to answer these questions. He shook his head no to every question and just tried to get the image of his dead brother out of his head. A tall, lanky police officer with greasy hair and far too much cologne came up to him and told him that they would be provided a hotel to stay in for the next 3 days as cleaning crews cleaned up the blood.
The hotel was cold, as most are, and empty yet so many people were there. The indoor pool gave off a chlorine smell, but to Soda any smell was better than blood. He looked at Pony who was watching the small TV and eating a chicken sandwich from room service. Soda looked at the little chill bumps that kept appearing on his skin, the bumps that would never leave him. He closed his eyes and relaxed his mind to think about what lay ahead. He was the sole benefactor now; he was the one who had to take care of Ponyboy. He couldn't do this by himself, but he knew he had to. He knew that no matter what he did, Ponyboy was in his care and he had to do it right.
That night, Soda couldn't sleep; he was still haunted by the sight of the red walls dripping their horrible hello. He walked into the bathroom and as soon as the door closed, the vent and light clicked on. He looked at himself in the mirror, he was pale, paler than usual. He stared at himself for a while and then his eye caught a little gleam of light on the counter. He looked towards it and saw that it was the sharp razor Pony had used for shaving his almost non-existent facial hair. 'This is what Darry found to be so helpful?' he asked himself. He picked up the object. It was cool in his heated skin. He put the sharp end to his thumb and smiled. He couldn't understand why Darry would inflict pain on himself; he just didn't get it. Ponyboy coughed suddenly and in the near silence, Soda jumped. He listened for Pony to settle down and sleep again. He put down the razor, but he noted that it changed somehow. It was different; there was a tiny speck of red on it. He looked at his thumb and noticed that he must have accidentally cut himself when he jumped. It didn't even hurt. He looked at his blood and he was slightly reassured by it. Soda picked up the razor again and this time put it to the palm of his hand. After a quick mental fight, he counted to ten, and when he got to one, made a semi-deep slice. After a second or two, blood started to pour down his hand. He smiled and put away the razor. He had control over something now.
~~Ok, once again, please read and review!!!! ~~