Status: Completed.
Flaming Youth.
Fearless.
A few hours later, I decided to head out to take a walk. It was around eleven o'clock or so. I loved the feeling of the night air of my skin.
I pulled out a cancer stick, stuck it in my mouth and lit it. I had adapted this habit ever since I was younger, my mother usually let me.
I missed my mom, she was gone...on business trips and she barely was home. I missed my dad too...but especially, I missed my brother.
When we moved to the West side of town, my brother Andrew, rebelled against the Soc lifestyle. He claimed he still was a Greaser. I followed in his footsteps for a while, before I met Cherry. Then my life change.
Andrew decided to leave because he fought too much with Socs. He decided to hitchhike to California.
I occasionally get postcards and letters from him, telling me he's safe and in California, but I miss him so much. I was basically raised by him when my parents were Socs.
I thought back to that, and a few tears poured down my face. Why did things have to change so much?
I was in a dark street, filled with a lot of Socs, and mean ones too. These were the ones who often fought with Andrew, and no one usually messed with him. He was 6'2", weighed 160 which was all muscle, and packed a good punch.
But these Socs were tough and mean, I was starting to get scared. People kept looking at me like I was some kind of precious gem...or a piece of meat. I couldn't tell the difference.
I walked down this dark alley, stupid idea, but no one was around. Finally I made it on a deserted street, or so I thought. A nice '63 Chrysler Imperial drove up to me, I was afraid. I knew whose car that was.
It was Evan's car, the meanest, baddest Soc, who would pick a fight with anyone, even Dally...His gang makes Randy and Bob look like a bunch of girls. I patted my back pocket for my balisword. It was a pretty tuff knife. The blade measured 17 inches long. No one had ever seen a blade like that since Andrew was around, and guess what, I inherited from him.
I still remember what he told me when he gave the knife to me...
"This is yours now, you take good care of it, and use it only if you need it. It'll help you out big time one day."
I hope it would, 'cause Evan stepped out of the car.
"Hey there, white trash." He spat out at me.
"Evan." I said coldly.
"Ya know, I don't usually feel bad for Greasers, but this ain't yer turf."
"It is, I live here." I said and motioned towards the West side of town.
"Howcome ya hangin' with the Greasers then, darlin'?" He asked, smirking slightly.
"I never said I wasn't a Greaser."
"Bitch, yer just lookin' for trouble, ain'tcha?" He asked, coming closer.
I opened the knife and he backed away.
"Leave me alone, or I'll use it." I warned.
He took out his 9 inch switchblade.
"Darlin', I suggest you leave or else I'll use my too."
His was nothing compared to mine.
He came at me, swinging it around, he managed to slice a few places on my body, which burned heavily. Finally, he pinned me to the ground, about to slit my throat. I cried but I remembered my knife. I pointed it to his stomach and he tensed up.
Then I heard a voice,
"You get your dirty hands off her."
I knew that voice from anywhere. It was the famous Dallas Winston.
"Oh yeah, Winston, what are ya gonna do about it?" Evan asked, motioning to his gang to leave.
"I'll beat the crap out of you, if you don't." Dally warned.
Evan got scared, despite all this, he was chicken shit. He got closer to my throat, as a warning to Dally, when he leaned in more and my balisword plunged into his stomach.
His eyes opened up in shock, and the mini sword just kept going deeper as he kept slowly falling down on me.
I scrambled to get up from underneath him, watching as he died. Oh my gosh, I killed him...I can't believe I killed someone.
I turned to Dally, tears in my eyes and sobbed. What did I do? I was a criminal. Oh my god, I'd go to jail forever.
Dally walked up to me, and wrapped his arms around me.
"Rylee, we gotta dispose of this, and run away." He said. I nodded and we began to pick up the body.
"Wait here, I'll go get my car." I said and rushed off to my house.
I got there in 5 minutes flat, and rushed to get into my 1958 Plymouth Fury. It was my parents' but they let me have it when I turned 16. I sped off into the night, to where Dallas was waiting.
He managed to find a sheet, in which he covered the body with.
"Put him in the trunk." I said, gagging slightly. Dally did as he was told, and was about to chuck my knife somewhere.
"Don't! That's all I have to remember Andrew by." I said. He looked at my blade, wiped it clean of the blood and passed it to me.
We both got in the car, drove to the nearest lake and dumped the body. First we burned all his clothes, and his face a bit so they wouldn't recognize him. Then we just let him down in the water.
When we got back in the car, I was breathing in short gasps. Dally put his arm around me and I leaned into him.
"Dally, I killed him..." I said, and starting crying again.
"He was askin' for it." Dally said, trying to reassure.
"Dallas...don't you hate me?" I asked.
"I was only mad because you were with Sodapop, I could never hate you. I regret saying those words to you...I love you, Rylee. With all my heart." He said and kissed me softly.
"I love you too, Dallas."
We drove off, to the nearest little town near Tulsa, hoping to find a hotel.
I pulled out a cancer stick, stuck it in my mouth and lit it. I had adapted this habit ever since I was younger, my mother usually let me.
I missed my mom, she was gone...on business trips and she barely was home. I missed my dad too...but especially, I missed my brother.
When we moved to the West side of town, my brother Andrew, rebelled against the Soc lifestyle. He claimed he still was a Greaser. I followed in his footsteps for a while, before I met Cherry. Then my life change.
Andrew decided to leave because he fought too much with Socs. He decided to hitchhike to California.
I occasionally get postcards and letters from him, telling me he's safe and in California, but I miss him so much. I was basically raised by him when my parents were Socs.
I thought back to that, and a few tears poured down my face. Why did things have to change so much?
I was in a dark street, filled with a lot of Socs, and mean ones too. These were the ones who often fought with Andrew, and no one usually messed with him. He was 6'2", weighed 160 which was all muscle, and packed a good punch.
But these Socs were tough and mean, I was starting to get scared. People kept looking at me like I was some kind of precious gem...or a piece of meat. I couldn't tell the difference.
I walked down this dark alley, stupid idea, but no one was around. Finally I made it on a deserted street, or so I thought. A nice '63 Chrysler Imperial drove up to me, I was afraid. I knew whose car that was.
It was Evan's car, the meanest, baddest Soc, who would pick a fight with anyone, even Dally...His gang makes Randy and Bob look like a bunch of girls. I patted my back pocket for my balisword. It was a pretty tuff knife. The blade measured 17 inches long. No one had ever seen a blade like that since Andrew was around, and guess what, I inherited from him.
I still remember what he told me when he gave the knife to me...
"This is yours now, you take good care of it, and use it only if you need it. It'll help you out big time one day."
I hope it would, 'cause Evan stepped out of the car.
"Hey there, white trash." He spat out at me.
"Evan." I said coldly.
"Ya know, I don't usually feel bad for Greasers, but this ain't yer turf."
"It is, I live here." I said and motioned towards the West side of town.
"Howcome ya hangin' with the Greasers then, darlin'?" He asked, smirking slightly.
"I never said I wasn't a Greaser."
"Bitch, yer just lookin' for trouble, ain'tcha?" He asked, coming closer.
I opened the knife and he backed away.
"Leave me alone, or I'll use it." I warned.
He took out his 9 inch switchblade.
"Darlin', I suggest you leave or else I'll use my too."
His was nothing compared to mine.
He came at me, swinging it around, he managed to slice a few places on my body, which burned heavily. Finally, he pinned me to the ground, about to slit my throat. I cried but I remembered my knife. I pointed it to his stomach and he tensed up.
Then I heard a voice,
"You get your dirty hands off her."
I knew that voice from anywhere. It was the famous Dallas Winston.
"Oh yeah, Winston, what are ya gonna do about it?" Evan asked, motioning to his gang to leave.
"I'll beat the crap out of you, if you don't." Dally warned.
Evan got scared, despite all this, he was chicken shit. He got closer to my throat, as a warning to Dally, when he leaned in more and my balisword plunged into his stomach.
His eyes opened up in shock, and the mini sword just kept going deeper as he kept slowly falling down on me.
I scrambled to get up from underneath him, watching as he died. Oh my gosh, I killed him...I can't believe I killed someone.
I turned to Dally, tears in my eyes and sobbed. What did I do? I was a criminal. Oh my god, I'd go to jail forever.
Dally walked up to me, and wrapped his arms around me.
"Rylee, we gotta dispose of this, and run away." He said. I nodded and we began to pick up the body.
"Wait here, I'll go get my car." I said and rushed off to my house.
I got there in 5 minutes flat, and rushed to get into my 1958 Plymouth Fury. It was my parents' but they let me have it when I turned 16. I sped off into the night, to where Dallas was waiting.
He managed to find a sheet, in which he covered the body with.
"Put him in the trunk." I said, gagging slightly. Dally did as he was told, and was about to chuck my knife somewhere.
"Don't! That's all I have to remember Andrew by." I said. He looked at my blade, wiped it clean of the blood and passed it to me.
We both got in the car, drove to the nearest lake and dumped the body. First we burned all his clothes, and his face a bit so they wouldn't recognize him. Then we just let him down in the water.
When we got back in the car, I was breathing in short gasps. Dally put his arm around me and I leaned into him.
"Dally, I killed him..." I said, and starting crying again.
"He was askin' for it." Dally said, trying to reassure.
"Dallas...don't you hate me?" I asked.
"I was only mad because you were with Sodapop, I could never hate you. I regret saying those words to you...I love you, Rylee. With all my heart." He said and kissed me softly.
"I love you too, Dallas."
We drove off, to the nearest little town near Tulsa, hoping to find a hotel.