Categories > Books > Outsiders > Re-Written : A Wonderful Caraciture of Intamacy
Re-Written : A Wonderful Caraciture of Intamacy
1 reviewCool ol' Dally Winston concieves a child a few months before his death.
-1Cliche
A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy
Chapter 1
Build god, Then We'll Talk
You may all think that Dallas Winston, Dally, died as gallant and dangerously mysterious as ever, but after you hear this story, you'll think he died even more gracious than and as dynamical as humanly possible.
No one knew, but a little less than three months prior to the cracked and bizarre events that took place in Tulsa, Oklahoma: Dangerous, gorgeous, and fierce Dally Winston had an unplanned one-night stand(but knowing Dally it probably was what he wanted)which turned out to be the night his baby was conceived.
On the night of July 4th, 1966: the Independence Day of our nation, Dallas Winston, blonde haired, elfish face, bizarre blue eyes of a boy, walked into a crazy party at his buddy, Buck Merrill's house. The night started off like any normal party, dancing to Elvis, having a beer blast, and casually listening to snickers going around the entire room about who was "banging" who. Any humdrum party would be just as pleasing. But Dallas... lets just say that he always knew had to add life to any place he roamed. Was he a junkie? What made him so goddamn appealing? What was it that when even the simplest topics; he always seemed to stutter something profound? Why was he so mellow one moment, then the next he seemed insane? The prescribed pills that offset the shakes, which then offset the pills, affected him to lose train of thought. What made Dallas Winston so addictive to society? Personally, he didn't need drugs, he was already a drug. He's like heroin. Dangerously addictive one minute, deadly the next. Was it his smirk, his foul mouth, his masculine beauty? Dallas Winston: A regular decorated emergency that bruises and contusions will remind you what he did when you wake. That's who Dallas Winston was. Did you ever stop to think that there might have been a time when Dally was dying inside? Was he ever afraid to show his true self to the world? Hiding in estrogen and wearing Aubergine dreams, Dally wasn't dying inside anymore. Everything Dally did was like it was laced with Nitroglycerin. He was the new cancer, and he never looked better.
As Dally glided around the room, he thought to himself as he grabbed out his flask "Time for some excitement." He walked over to the punch bowl and spiked it. Returning to his seat, he snickered every time he saw a person get a "harmless" cup of punch. He talked to some no good chumps until Dally, somehow, noticed this girl. He didn't know her, but he already wanted her. He leaned a bit toward her, telling her things like "Hey sweetheart! What's a cute chick like you doin' at a shit hole place like Buck's?" She ignored him. Unfortunately, for Dallas, she knew of him. Her friend Sylvia was sort of dating him. As he rived on to her, pulling bad pick-up lines and calling her names, she couldn't help but notice his distinctive, cocky personality. His charm, his wit, they were no match for her to defend herself. In the presence of him, she was a helpless caged rat, not begging to be set free. Dally was the thick metal bars imprisoning her, and she enjoyed him. It was as if his voice had an invisible aroma that appealed her more. She talked to him.
As the night dragged on more and more, Dally and the unknown girl, Bri, hit it off real well. They talked about Socs and money and jail and Elvis, everything in their path of mind that crossed. What happened next was so unexpected and surprising, not even semi-innocent Bri, expected something so out of character for her would happen. Dally had invited her to go upstairs so they could "talk" about stuff. She, of course, didn't resist the charm of Dallas Winston.
He offered her his hand like a sophisticated gentleman, and as she slowly fell in love with just his touch; she knew she could never have him. Could this be the terrible crash that possibly ruined everything among the people inside? Oh what a wonderful caricature of intimacy this was! As she laced her fingers with his and walked upstairs, she felt the guilt rush in. It was like a jack hammer, pressuring her, and egging on the pain. She knew this couldn't get out to Sylvia. She'd be slaughtered. This was destined to be a secret, hopefully. He opened a door, and as she walked in, the room was full of darkness. She gripped her rosary, which was tucked beneath her lingerie. She slowly walked to the bed, and took a seat. Dally did too, smirking at her. He knew what he was in for, and he was over-whelmed. Secretly, Bri was a virgin, but Dallas spoke in a soft voice to her, like she was an abused puppy. He made it sound okay, he made it sound...wonderful.
A while later, as Bri buttoned up her blouse, Dally fixed up his hair in the bathroom and that was it. No goodbyes, no kisses, no nothing. Bri knew what this was. She knew it wasn't right. She sat on the bed and cried. She had just gave herself to someone she was practically forbid to talk to. She felt dirty, slutty, and insecure. Bri, being a religious girl, was sure she was over-whelmed, not by Dallas, but by the devil himself. She wiped her eyes, fixed up her make-up, and then went downstairs. She grabbed her jacket and as she walked to the door, felt a knot in her throat. There was Dally, flirting with Angela Shepard.
A few weeks went by and Dallas just became another face in the crowd on the streets. She wasn't the same after that night. She was somehow drained from living. She was robbed of something. She couldn't piece together what. She started to notice that she was either sick or moody. Then it hit her like a big yellow bus. She was pregnant. Oh god no. Not her. She didn't know what to do. First, she decided to get it finalized by the doctor. It was still positive. She didn't know how to tell Dallas. Should she confront him, not tell him, what? She decided to confront him. She looked all over town for him, and then about a week later, she walked by the reformatory and saw him passin' his way out of the path of the cooler. This was the time.
"Dallas! Wait up!" she said.
"Oh, hey you were the good lookin' broad I bumped a while back, huh?" smirked Dally.
"The name's Bri, genius." mouthed off Bri.
"Oh yeah. So, what are you sweatin' me about doll?"
"That night...." she gulped.
"That night we...we uh...did it...well- I'm pregnant." she took a deep breath.
Dally leaned against a wall, smokin' a cigarette. He was being cooler than ever. The expression in his face didn't change. He looked more cute and dangerous than ever.
"And.....?" he said threw smoke talk.
She was mortified. That was his answer?
"And....you're the father!" she said fiercely.
She was a tuff, cute little chick, with her wheat gold hair that brushed her shoulders ever so lightly in wisps and locks of curls. Her skin was an olive color that complimented her soft, peaceful blue eyes. She had the mark of beauty that women killed for, that soft mark on her dimple. Not even the greatest Marilyn Monroe possessed such a sign of glamour. Come to think of it, she was almost like her. Her lips full and painted with color as red as deep, romantic roses. Her heart-shaped face couldn't have looked better on anyone else. She was a natural goddess of beauty.
Dally's expression didn't change. He finished off his smoke then stomped it out.
"Okay.....what'd ya want? Charity money or something?"
Dally was so attractive with his cute New York accent. He was irresistible.
"No....I just thought you should know asshole!" she was pissed. That's all he could say? Not even care!
Dally just ignored her.
"What else do you want me to say baby? You know you liked it. Don't deny it. "He stabbed at her.
"You're sweet ass... means nothing to me. You're too pure doll. Too innocent." He continued, lighting up another cancer stick.
She felt that knot swell up in her throat again. She should've listened to Sylvia. She was right about him. She quickly wiped away a tear that was about to roll down her cheek and cleared her throat.
"W-w-what do you mean, too pure?" she stammered.
"Let me put it this way honey. Build god, then we'll talk." Dally said with his eyes blazing.
"What does that mean?" thought Bri. She was in deep though for a few moments. And then it came to her. She has to be bad. Not edgy and tuff, but fierce and out of control. She had to build god before she could talk to him again. And as she stood there, jaw dropped and looking like a fool, Dally leaned over and planted a strong kiss on her. She never even attempted to shove him off. She just stood there, like a mindless rag doll. Dally pulled away, laughing.
In a low voice he laughed "See? What'd I tell ya? You're just a plastic fuck doll. That's what you are." And as fast as she could react, he walked away. Disappearing like a haunted spirit, causing mayhem throughout the world.
She tried to contain herself for a moment until it was in the clear he was gone, and she cried; cried harder than she ever did. Her chest caved in and she felt the fluids drain from her. He was right. She was just a plastic fuck doll. She was useless. She sucked it up for a minute or so longer, and then she turned around and walked back to her prison, her life. Sleeping with roaches, once again, she would have to be on her own. Confess to her parents. She was lying inside. Oh what a wonderful caricature of intimacy!
Author's Note
DEFINITELY MORE TO COME IF PEOPLE ENJOY!
Chapter 1
Build god, Then We'll Talk
You may all think that Dallas Winston, Dally, died as gallant and dangerously mysterious as ever, but after you hear this story, you'll think he died even more gracious than and as dynamical as humanly possible.
No one knew, but a little less than three months prior to the cracked and bizarre events that took place in Tulsa, Oklahoma: Dangerous, gorgeous, and fierce Dally Winston had an unplanned one-night stand(but knowing Dally it probably was what he wanted)which turned out to be the night his baby was conceived.
On the night of July 4th, 1966: the Independence Day of our nation, Dallas Winston, blonde haired, elfish face, bizarre blue eyes of a boy, walked into a crazy party at his buddy, Buck Merrill's house. The night started off like any normal party, dancing to Elvis, having a beer blast, and casually listening to snickers going around the entire room about who was "banging" who. Any humdrum party would be just as pleasing. But Dallas... lets just say that he always knew had to add life to any place he roamed. Was he a junkie? What made him so goddamn appealing? What was it that when even the simplest topics; he always seemed to stutter something profound? Why was he so mellow one moment, then the next he seemed insane? The prescribed pills that offset the shakes, which then offset the pills, affected him to lose train of thought. What made Dallas Winston so addictive to society? Personally, he didn't need drugs, he was already a drug. He's like heroin. Dangerously addictive one minute, deadly the next. Was it his smirk, his foul mouth, his masculine beauty? Dallas Winston: A regular decorated emergency that bruises and contusions will remind you what he did when you wake. That's who Dallas Winston was. Did you ever stop to think that there might have been a time when Dally was dying inside? Was he ever afraid to show his true self to the world? Hiding in estrogen and wearing Aubergine dreams, Dally wasn't dying inside anymore. Everything Dally did was like it was laced with Nitroglycerin. He was the new cancer, and he never looked better.
As Dally glided around the room, he thought to himself as he grabbed out his flask "Time for some excitement." He walked over to the punch bowl and spiked it. Returning to his seat, he snickered every time he saw a person get a "harmless" cup of punch. He talked to some no good chumps until Dally, somehow, noticed this girl. He didn't know her, but he already wanted her. He leaned a bit toward her, telling her things like "Hey sweetheart! What's a cute chick like you doin' at a shit hole place like Buck's?" She ignored him. Unfortunately, for Dallas, she knew of him. Her friend Sylvia was sort of dating him. As he rived on to her, pulling bad pick-up lines and calling her names, she couldn't help but notice his distinctive, cocky personality. His charm, his wit, they were no match for her to defend herself. In the presence of him, she was a helpless caged rat, not begging to be set free. Dally was the thick metal bars imprisoning her, and she enjoyed him. It was as if his voice had an invisible aroma that appealed her more. She talked to him.
As the night dragged on more and more, Dally and the unknown girl, Bri, hit it off real well. They talked about Socs and money and jail and Elvis, everything in their path of mind that crossed. What happened next was so unexpected and surprising, not even semi-innocent Bri, expected something so out of character for her would happen. Dally had invited her to go upstairs so they could "talk" about stuff. She, of course, didn't resist the charm of Dallas Winston.
He offered her his hand like a sophisticated gentleman, and as she slowly fell in love with just his touch; she knew she could never have him. Could this be the terrible crash that possibly ruined everything among the people inside? Oh what a wonderful caricature of intimacy this was! As she laced her fingers with his and walked upstairs, she felt the guilt rush in. It was like a jack hammer, pressuring her, and egging on the pain. She knew this couldn't get out to Sylvia. She'd be slaughtered. This was destined to be a secret, hopefully. He opened a door, and as she walked in, the room was full of darkness. She gripped her rosary, which was tucked beneath her lingerie. She slowly walked to the bed, and took a seat. Dally did too, smirking at her. He knew what he was in for, and he was over-whelmed. Secretly, Bri was a virgin, but Dallas spoke in a soft voice to her, like she was an abused puppy. He made it sound okay, he made it sound...wonderful.
A while later, as Bri buttoned up her blouse, Dally fixed up his hair in the bathroom and that was it. No goodbyes, no kisses, no nothing. Bri knew what this was. She knew it wasn't right. She sat on the bed and cried. She had just gave herself to someone she was practically forbid to talk to. She felt dirty, slutty, and insecure. Bri, being a religious girl, was sure she was over-whelmed, not by Dallas, but by the devil himself. She wiped her eyes, fixed up her make-up, and then went downstairs. She grabbed her jacket and as she walked to the door, felt a knot in her throat. There was Dally, flirting with Angela Shepard.
A few weeks went by and Dallas just became another face in the crowd on the streets. She wasn't the same after that night. She was somehow drained from living. She was robbed of something. She couldn't piece together what. She started to notice that she was either sick or moody. Then it hit her like a big yellow bus. She was pregnant. Oh god no. Not her. She didn't know what to do. First, she decided to get it finalized by the doctor. It was still positive. She didn't know how to tell Dallas. Should she confront him, not tell him, what? She decided to confront him. She looked all over town for him, and then about a week later, she walked by the reformatory and saw him passin' his way out of the path of the cooler. This was the time.
"Dallas! Wait up!" she said.
"Oh, hey you were the good lookin' broad I bumped a while back, huh?" smirked Dally.
"The name's Bri, genius." mouthed off Bri.
"Oh yeah. So, what are you sweatin' me about doll?"
"That night...." she gulped.
"That night we...we uh...did it...well- I'm pregnant." she took a deep breath.
Dally leaned against a wall, smokin' a cigarette. He was being cooler than ever. The expression in his face didn't change. He looked more cute and dangerous than ever.
"And.....?" he said threw smoke talk.
She was mortified. That was his answer?
"And....you're the father!" she said fiercely.
She was a tuff, cute little chick, with her wheat gold hair that brushed her shoulders ever so lightly in wisps and locks of curls. Her skin was an olive color that complimented her soft, peaceful blue eyes. She had the mark of beauty that women killed for, that soft mark on her dimple. Not even the greatest Marilyn Monroe possessed such a sign of glamour. Come to think of it, she was almost like her. Her lips full and painted with color as red as deep, romantic roses. Her heart-shaped face couldn't have looked better on anyone else. She was a natural goddess of beauty.
Dally's expression didn't change. He finished off his smoke then stomped it out.
"Okay.....what'd ya want? Charity money or something?"
Dally was so attractive with his cute New York accent. He was irresistible.
"No....I just thought you should know asshole!" she was pissed. That's all he could say? Not even care!
Dally just ignored her.
"What else do you want me to say baby? You know you liked it. Don't deny it. "He stabbed at her.
"You're sweet ass... means nothing to me. You're too pure doll. Too innocent." He continued, lighting up another cancer stick.
She felt that knot swell up in her throat again. She should've listened to Sylvia. She was right about him. She quickly wiped away a tear that was about to roll down her cheek and cleared her throat.
"W-w-what do you mean, too pure?" she stammered.
"Let me put it this way honey. Build god, then we'll talk." Dally said with his eyes blazing.
"What does that mean?" thought Bri. She was in deep though for a few moments. And then it came to her. She has to be bad. Not edgy and tuff, but fierce and out of control. She had to build god before she could talk to him again. And as she stood there, jaw dropped and looking like a fool, Dally leaned over and planted a strong kiss on her. She never even attempted to shove him off. She just stood there, like a mindless rag doll. Dally pulled away, laughing.
In a low voice he laughed "See? What'd I tell ya? You're just a plastic fuck doll. That's what you are." And as fast as she could react, he walked away. Disappearing like a haunted spirit, causing mayhem throughout the world.
She tried to contain herself for a moment until it was in the clear he was gone, and she cried; cried harder than she ever did. Her chest caved in and she felt the fluids drain from her. He was right. She was just a plastic fuck doll. She was useless. She sucked it up for a minute or so longer, and then she turned around and walked back to her prison, her life. Sleeping with roaches, once again, she would have to be on her own. Confess to her parents. She was lying inside. Oh what a wonderful caricature of intimacy!
Author's Note
DEFINITELY MORE TO COME IF PEOPLE ENJOY!
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