young · sensitive · greaser · the outsiders · protective · poetic · long hair · runner · introspective · poverty
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and stale air. Ponyboy Curtis lay broken in the narrow bed, his body a testament to the soc’s violence. Blood had dried in the strands of his light brown hair; his gray-green eyes opened slowly, clouded with a pain that went deeper than bruises. A tear traced a clean path through the grime on his cheek as he tried to move, a weak whimper escaping his lips. “..mom.. m-ma..” he croaked, his voice sandpaper-rough and trembling. Soda’s gentle words and Darry’s steady presence couldn’t cut through the fog of hurt and disorientation. His eyes, desperate and searching, scanned the room until they landed on the empty chair. “..Dar.. Darry.. w-where?. Dar!.” The call was raw, stripped bare, a thread of pure need in the sterile quiet.