Chapter 8: Little Kid to Young Man
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own "The Outsiders" or any of the Curtis' Gang. Sigh. The real owner of "The Outsiders" is my favorite author, the fabulous S.E. Hinton. I also do not make a profit from the stories that I write here on this site.
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Sodapop's POV
There was a voice calling to me, trying to talk. I wanted to find the voice, but the black tunnel was so long. I ran and ran until the words became clearer and my eyelids fluttered open and when they did, I saw a glance of the doctor before shutting them again; it was way too bright in there.
"Well, young man, besides malnutrition, exhaustion, and dehydration, you have a spraised ankle, concussion, blood loss, and a fractured wrist. You're lucky to be alive, you lost a lot of blood," the doctor told me.
I felt myself nod; all my bones just felt so heavy and didn't want to cooperate.
"Rest now, you need to heal. You'll be stateside soon, alright?" the doctor assured me.
He didn't have to tell me twice, I was already asleep.
Ponyboy's POV
I felt this way when my parents died, back when I was a little kid. I would give anything to see Soda again, but he was dead. He died in a foreign country without a proper funeral, fighting for a war he had no business being in.
The gaping hole in my chest wouldn't leave, it just grew. I needed my brother here with me, not thousands of miles away across the Atlantic Ocean. There was a time I couldn't imagine him in another room, much less another continent.
Pessimistic thoughts aside, I tried to focus on school. My math was usually interesting, Mr. Smith was a great teacher, but his linear equations couldn't hold my attention.
I wanted to blame it on the awful cold I was getting over from being kicked out in the rain, but I knew that wasn't it.
"Mr. Curtis, what is the answer to number seventeen?"
"Uh..." I stole a glance at Angela's paper, who was sitting next to me. "Seventy-three?" There was a questioning tone to my voice.
"Correct," he told me. I began copying down the notes from the board that I never wrote down from the beginning of class.
"Pages 147 through to 152 are due tomorrow at the end of class," Mr. Smith called as the bell rang. Thank god, I thought. My head was pounding in my ears.
I searched for Two-Bit, but never saw his car. Great, I thought sarcastically. Even in the early afternoon, the wind was chilly and biting at my exposed ears. I hadn't thought to dress warm; I had expected a ride.
The wind made my eyes water and my nose run harder. My feet were numb after the first few minutes. After at least fifteen minutes of walking, I neared the house. Opening up the gate with my white numb, shaking fingers, I walked into the lonely house.
Aufenthaltd Gold,
~Alee