Summary: "You can still hear the shots ringing out in your ears and you can barely hear the sound of Darry's voice over them, shouting, as he reassures you that everything will be okay. But even in that moment, you know it won't. Nothing will ever be okay again."

Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I don't own The Outsiders. Never have and sadly, never will. This is all just for my own enjoyment.

Friday, March 31, 1967; 5:48 p.m.

Macy Curtis

The rubber ball came back to my hand with two quick thuds. One against the wall, and then a thudding sound as it made contact with my palm. Bored, I threw it again, but this time it bounced against the wall and instead of coming right back to me, ricocheted off my backpack and lamely rolled under my bed. I groaned.

"I'm. Boooored," I muttered to the empty room.

At school that morning, Ponyboy came up to me during lunch and asked if I wanted to go to the movies with him. I agreed readily because the idea of getting out of the house sounded promising. Plus, it was a Friday, which meant little homework in most of my classes since we were taking a lot of tests. But when I got home from Orchestra practice a little after four, Ponyboy was gone and there was just a note saying he went to the library. Only that was two hours ago.

How long did it take to pick out a freaking book?

He said he'd be back in an hour, not two, and I was beginning to get impatient. If he didn't get back by six or six thirty, we would miss the movie. And waiting around for him to show up wasn't exactly my idea of an exciting Friday night.

"Darry?" I called as I walked into the kitchen, my eyes glancing around for a snack. "Has anyone seen Ponyboy since school got out?"

Darry shook his head. He had his fingers laced around the phone as if he wanted to call, but he couldn't make his body cooperate. Something in his eyes told me this wasn't right, that he shared the bad feeling I had to. The tension and worry filled our small kitchen, the emotions almost suffocating.

"Two-Bit said him and Johnny left school as soon as the bell rang and he hasn't seen them since. Soda called and he hasn't been by the DX."

I sighed, shaking my head. I knew he was bad at keeping track at time, but this was getting ridiculous. Unless Darry's intuition was right and something was actually very wrong.

"It's after six, Darry, are we sure he's just being irresponsible? I mean, what if he got jumped and Johnny ain't with 'im? It's not like he carries a blade..."

Darry glanced at the clock, his eyes glazing over with worry. "Yeah, you're right. Grab your shoes. It won't hurt to drive around for a bit. I'm sure we'll just find him with his nose in a book at the library."

How very wrong we were.

An hour later, next to a dumpster in an alley a mile away from Curly's house, Darry and I stumbled upon an image that will forever haunt me: Ponyboy, his head caked with dried and fresh blood mixed together, turning his auburn hair a sickly dark red, and sweet, kind Johnny, his body carelessly tossed into the dumpster like he wasn't even human. Like he mattered as much as the trash that surrounded him. It made me sick to think his whole life he was treated like garbage, even in death. His forehead was covered in blood from a shot between his eyes, and one in his leg, covered up by bloodied, dirty jeans. When we first laid eyes on them my heart sunk to my feet, unable to tell the difference between the living and the dead. I wasn't able to breath correctly until Darry placed a shaking hand under Ponyboy's nose, checking for signs of life. Within an instant Ponyboy was on Darry's shoulder and I was running blindly for a pay phone.

Everything became blurry as I focused on the sound of my feet hitting pavement to keep from passing out. I think I could have beat Ponyboy's track time that day with how fast I ran. It wasn't until I hung up with the police that the gravity of the situation hit me, and I leaned against the outside of the payphone cubicle, sobs escaping my lips as I struggled to remain upright with tears blurring my vision.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

Wednesday, August 30, 1967; 1:38 p.m.

Ponyboy

Four months. Twenty-nine days. Seventeen hours. Sixteen minutes.

Your leg bounces with nervous energy. You're supposed to be finishing up your first paper for your creative writing class, but you can't focus. You can't take your eyes off the clock, your body instinctively counting the seconds. Each click of the grandfather clock sounds like a bomb going off in this suffocating living room.

Your house is a war zone. And the enemy is you.

You get up to get a drink of water, hoping the cold will shock your body out of the impeding panic you can't seem to shake. You can feel Darry's eyes on you as the water collects in your cup, and you strain to hear the clicking of the clock now that the water's running.

You find yourself unable to take his stares, so you step outside for a smoke. You're over halfway done with your second pack of the day, and your empty stomach begins to revolt, but you don't care. Anything to stop the way you feel inside, the way you jump at every noise. The sound of Darry dropping a plate into the sink. The crash that makes you jump out of your skin when Soda knocked over the telephone.

Everything is quiet for just a bliss second until without warning, the silent night erupts into blind fear as gunshots ring out down the block. Unable to control it, you find yourself back there, at that rundown house on the wrong side of Tulsa, and the porch tilts underneath you as the sound of his voice overtakes your senses.

You can still hear Johnny saying in his quiet voice that it's going to be okay. The sound of his voice still haunts you. You can still feel the burning hole his death left in the pit of your stomach, clenching at your chest. You try to take deep breaths, but your lungs aren't cooperating. You can hear Darry opening the door behind you, but your too busy grabbing onto the railing for support.

You can still hear the shots ringing out in your ears and you can barely hear the sound of Darry's voice over them, shouting, as he reassures you that everything will be okay. But even in that moment, you know it won't.

Nothing will ever be okay again.

A/n: Umm, well, I don't know what this is. This isn't me saying I'm "coming back". More me saying I actually can never quit writing. Just me making sure no one expects a typical updating schedule or a ton of activity. I don't know. I guess no one will complain if I throw some chapters out every once and a while. I'll do my best to work on this when I have time, but I won't be working on writing as much as I used to be able to. Violin and school are my priorities right now.

**** This is actually a parody/continuation of my other story, Blind Eyes That See. Only Ponyboy has his memory. So, same killer, (that you will learn), Johnny is still dead, but the murderer is in jail. And the Curtis' have a sister named Macy! And Ponyboy is obviously not recovering well and we will see what happens with that. Thanks guys!

Stay Gold,

~ Alee XxX