Chapter One- Dally's Sunset
A/N: Hello all! Ok, this is my first actual fanfiction. I had one other story, but it wasn't really great, and wasn't really a fanfic. Well, please R/R. I've written CH. 2 already, but I just need to type it up. I type as fast as turtle walks. as in I TYPE VERY SLOW. Well, read on and stuff. tell me if it sounds interesting or which direction you'd like to see the story go or if it sounds too slow or something. well, I've talked long enough, read on.
Ponyboy laid Johnny's letter down, and almost immediately feelings of sorrow, hope, and well being flooded over him. 'The letter,' he thought, 'It said to tell Dally.' Considering Dally was locked up at the moment, Ponyboy didn't plan on telling him about sunsets and good soon. But, for some reason, a sense of urgency crept over Ponyboy, making him reread the letter over and over. 'I still have a lot of time to make myself what I want, but does Dally?' Ponyboy asked himself as he reached the end of the letter. Dally was heading on a downwards spiral, and with Johnny's passing, he couldn't be doing much better. A soft rap on the door broke into Ponyboy's thoughts. "Pony, you in there?" a deep voice beckoned.
Pony drew a deep breath to calm himself, and, after a few seconds of silence, spoke up. "Yeah, I'm here. Come on in," Pony said while quickly slipping the letter back into Gone With The Wind.
Darry's head popped in the room. "How you doin', Pony?" he asked quietly.
Pony was tired of being tough, of being a greaser. Johnny had told him not to be bugged, but it was hard. "I'm sick of it," Pony complained, "Sick and tired. I don't. it just."
Pony was flooded once again with Johnny's words, 'Tell Dally.'
Darry walked over and sat carefully on Pony and Soda's bed. "You just what?"
Ponyboy hesitated. Throughout the whole ordeal, Darry had been pretty understanding, more understanding, than Pony thought he'd be. However, Pony still found it difficult to talk to Darry. "I. I just." he stammered, "I've gotta talk to Dal."
Darry's eyes closed for a minute as if to avoid Pony's pleading stare. Dally was in the slammer, and visiting people in there was like teaching a cat to drive: impossible. Darry gazed at Ponyboy, who was staring at his hands and, in turn, avoiding Darry's eyes. "Pony, they won't let us see old Dallas."
The painful reminder caused Pony to bury his head in his hands and sigh deeply. All of a sudden, Darry's strong hands rested gently on Pony's shoulders. He looked up, and Darry towered over Pony, smiling hopefully. "I'll see if we can get in soon."
Meanwhile, Dallas paced in his cell, biting his lip. Every few minutes, he'd glance out the window but saw nothing except for the same old sky, same old clouds. Dally ran a hand nervously through his hair. He felt like a caged lion. The greaser didn't know what he was looking for or expecting, but every time he looked out the window and saw nothing, Dally got angrier. In time, Dally slumped onto the floor. His fingers slowly rubbing his temples, Dally remembered why he was locked up in the first place. Slowly, he sighed and hoped a guy from the gang would call or visit. Soon. Dal needed someone to talk to before long, because if he thought his explosion after Johnny's death was bad, he was terribly mistaken.
A/N: Hello all! Ok, this is my first actual fanfiction. I had one other story, but it wasn't really great, and wasn't really a fanfic. Well, please R/R. I've written CH. 2 already, but I just need to type it up. I type as fast as turtle walks. as in I TYPE VERY SLOW. Well, read on and stuff. tell me if it sounds interesting or which direction you'd like to see the story go or if it sounds too slow or something. well, I've talked long enough, read on.
Ponyboy laid Johnny's letter down, and almost immediately feelings of sorrow, hope, and well being flooded over him. 'The letter,' he thought, 'It said to tell Dally.' Considering Dally was locked up at the moment, Ponyboy didn't plan on telling him about sunsets and good soon. But, for some reason, a sense of urgency crept over Ponyboy, making him reread the letter over and over. 'I still have a lot of time to make myself what I want, but does Dally?' Ponyboy asked himself as he reached the end of the letter. Dally was heading on a downwards spiral, and with Johnny's passing, he couldn't be doing much better. A soft rap on the door broke into Ponyboy's thoughts. "Pony, you in there?" a deep voice beckoned.
Pony drew a deep breath to calm himself, and, after a few seconds of silence, spoke up. "Yeah, I'm here. Come on in," Pony said while quickly slipping the letter back into Gone With The Wind.
Darry's head popped in the room. "How you doin', Pony?" he asked quietly.
Pony was tired of being tough, of being a greaser. Johnny had told him not to be bugged, but it was hard. "I'm sick of it," Pony complained, "Sick and tired. I don't. it just."
Pony was flooded once again with Johnny's words, 'Tell Dally.'
Darry walked over and sat carefully on Pony and Soda's bed. "You just what?"
Ponyboy hesitated. Throughout the whole ordeal, Darry had been pretty understanding, more understanding, than Pony thought he'd be. However, Pony still found it difficult to talk to Darry. "I. I just." he stammered, "I've gotta talk to Dal."
Darry's eyes closed for a minute as if to avoid Pony's pleading stare. Dally was in the slammer, and visiting people in there was like teaching a cat to drive: impossible. Darry gazed at Ponyboy, who was staring at his hands and, in turn, avoiding Darry's eyes. "Pony, they won't let us see old Dallas."
The painful reminder caused Pony to bury his head in his hands and sigh deeply. All of a sudden, Darry's strong hands rested gently on Pony's shoulders. He looked up, and Darry towered over Pony, smiling hopefully. "I'll see if we can get in soon."
Meanwhile, Dallas paced in his cell, biting his lip. Every few minutes, he'd glance out the window but saw nothing except for the same old sky, same old clouds. Dally ran a hand nervously through his hair. He felt like a caged lion. The greaser didn't know what he was looking for or expecting, but every time he looked out the window and saw nothing, Dally got angrier. In time, Dally slumped onto the floor. His fingers slowly rubbing his temples, Dally remembered why he was locked up in the first place. Slowly, he sighed and hoped a guy from the gang would call or visit. Soon. Dal needed someone to talk to before long, because if he thought his explosion after Johnny's death was bad, he was terribly mistaken.