He had always admired the rain. He used to stand by the windowsill, his wide eyes glued outdoors; where he'd see the drops fall from the sky, their departures ending once they hit a surface. He had always admired how the rain could show emotion. Sometimes the rain would fall harshly onto the surfaces, showing no mercy. Other times, the rain would be delicate; softly landing. Sometimes it'd be a light drizzle. Other times it'd be a downpour. It'd rain when he was happy. It'd rain when he was sad. It seemed like it'd always rain. To him, the rain was his savior.

On a bad day, he'd sit in the lot all by himself and stare up at the sky, his body drenched from the water droplets. His brothers always wondered why he did such a thing; the young Greaser couldn't really explain why either. So it was a mystery for everyone he supposed.

Yet, the rain was unreliable. He learned that the day Johnny and Dally died. There was no rain. Only desolate clouds. Leaving Ponyboy Curtis to weep alone.

Leaving his body to become fueled with despair and hatred. And nothing else. His dreams left his mind, his head was no longer in the clouds. He just kept falling, and falling.

Like a drop of rain, with no surface to hit and be comforted with.

Oh, how despicable.

Oh, how pathetic.

Damn you.