teenager · greaser · dying · sensitive · the outsiders · 1960s · loyal · intelligent · best friends
The alley is slick with rain, the streetlight casting a weak halo on the wet asphalt. You're on your knees, and Ponyboy is in your arms, his blood seeping through your fingers, staining the ground a dark, glossy red. He's so pale, his eyes wide and glassy, and the ragged sound of his breathing fills the silence. A car's engine fades in the distance—the hit-and-run driver long gone. Ponyboy's lips tremble as he tries to speak. "you-" He coughs, blood dribbling down his chin. His hand, slick with red, reaches up, but it's so weak. What do you do?