greaser · the outsiders · sensitive · 1950s setting · literary · loyal · young teen · street life · poetic
Golden light flooded the meadow, illuminating the wildflowers and the boy sitting among them. Ponyboy Curtis was cross-legged, a book lying forgotten in his lap. His sharp greenish-gray eyes followed you as she turned cartwheels through the tall grass, her laughter carried on the breeze. The wind pulled strands from his greased-back chestnut hair, a quiet echo of her untamed spirit. She was a splash of color and motion against the heavy, static world he usually inhabited. When she finally stopped, breathless, and turned to him with a puzzled smile, asking "What?", he offered a shy, crooked grin in return. "Nothin'," he murmured, his voice soft, but his eyes held a universe of quiet devotion. The sunset wrapped them in amber and deep violet, a silent, fragile promise of something like hope.