The Outsiders: Randy's Little Sister

Chapter 1: Me

I screwed up. Screwed up real bad. Real, real bad. I should have let them do it. It would have made everything so much easier.
It started with darkness. Every good intro starts with darkness but this was an exception.

There were Greasers; lots of them, and they were all crying. Their faces red with rage, cursing at men in blue uniforms. The fuzz. There was gun shot, it made my ears ring; ring for a real long time.

It changed; changed so fast. I was in a hospital room. Walls of pale blue, with three boys. All teens but only two were crying. One was much older, but he was acting just as heartbroken as the other. A boy, burnt to a crisp, brown and white with blisters.

Next there were sirens and a big crash. Orange and red. Smoke choking me as I tried so hard to breathe. Flames licking out of boarded up windows; screams of children. I ran but didn't get anywhere, instead there was a train whistle getting louder and louder, closer and closer. Party music filled my ears after. Drunks staggering, clinking glasses, creaks from the stairs.

Then I was outside. In the cold thin air. A park with red splotches on the green grass. Shouts for help, people cursing and drunk laughter. The smell of English  leather was familiar though. Smelt of home. Smelt of me. I looked up from my shoes, my eyes meeting with a dark haired boy, who was lying on the grass, hands shaking, clutching a bloody blade.

There was a shout. A helpless shout from a voice I recognised. A voice I am always hearing. A voice, like my own, similar but so much scarier. Deep and drunk, but tough and rich.

Randy.

Now another voice, scared and helpless. Frightened and vulnerable. His muffled screams were silenced by the darkness of the water that he was being pushed under.

A sudden rush of guilt fell over me, but I never understood why. I felt uncomfortable in this situation and I never want to be in it again.

************

I groaned and shifted slightly at the slow but violent shakes from a hand on my shoulder. "Stop," I moaned quietly. I felt the pillow case stick to my face as I tried to move. My eyes ached and my face felt red and hot.

"Zola." There was someone standing over me. "Zola," he repeated.

It was the same deep and rich voice, complementing the same smell of English leather. "Don't call me that." I snapped, opening my eyes, but I wasn't quite sure why I was so angry at this voice calling my name. I hated it. Zola. It was a weird name. No one else was called Zola and anyway it was a name my Mum and Dad gave me and I would prefer to forget them and everything they said or called me.

"Oh." Randy stopped and sighed deeply. "Zoe, you were shouting loudly and crying. Weeping even." He paused to form a sentence quickly in his mind. "And you were, you were...." but he couldn't get his word out quick enough. He touched my forehead. "Temperature normal," he said to no one in particular.

I closed my eyes again, I was still tired but I knew, even if I tried hard, I would never get back to sleep. They flickered open again and I smiled at Randy to reassure him so he didn't look so worried.

"Are you ok?" He still looked really worried and his voice was shaking.

"Randy, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." To be real honest, I wasn't fine. I was terrified and the nightmare was spinning around my mind. I felt out of breath; like I had to gasp for breath but I made sure I breathed normally so as not to panic Randy.