The Outsiders Imagines の小説・ストーリー

"Theda will continue to live in the abandoned room outside the packhouse." Then as the murmurs and whispers of the pack members filled the hall, my thoughts raced. I had expected a fight for justice, a chance to prove her father's innocence, and now I found myself branded as an outcast. Amidst the pain and despair I was feeling, a flicker of determination ignited within me.

The interference of the brothers to claim me as their own and publicly, had only widened the gap between my status as a low life and them. Out in the corridors, I walked on ignoring whispers and judgmental glances. The lingering trace of humiliation clung to me like an invisible cloth. A peasant among wolves, a freak in their eyes – the names seemed endless, and I couldn’t escape the suffocating awareness of their hate towards me. As I reached the field outside, a quiet spot away from the prying eyes, I found solace on an isolated bench. The gentle breeze blew my hair softly, and in the distance, two students swung on swings, their laughter carried away by the wind.

Even if he didn't receive this much affection from his own family, he was fine with that, as long as these boys continued to think of him as their role model. He pointed out some stars to the boys, showing them two of the brightest in the sky, and they listened with rapt attention. When they returned downstairs, the boys were surprised to see a large tent in the garden. It immediately captured their attention as they wondered how it had appeared so quickly. The excitement on their faces at the thought of spending the night outside in the tent made Sinjin feel very proud of himself. "Are we sleeping outside?" They inquired excitedly. "Yeah," Sinjin nodded. "Is that okay with both of you?"

I was both excited to prove myself and terrified that it would go south again. But Nathan had been right: it would take time. Someday, perhaps people would learn that I wasn’t an evil witch like the Elders had made me out to be. I was just Olivia, a normal girl with a fate spinning out of control. The streets, normally quiet at this hour, were alive with hustle and bustle. I could see the tops of tents peeking over the buildings, the distant sound of chatter filling the morning. The air still smelled like smoke and soot from the fire, but it also smelled like hope. And soup.

How long ago was that? Two homeless looking men stand beside a graffiti ridden dumpster, left behind boxes are stacked in front of it along with scattered trash. It’s the only thing in this alley and it looks realistic. Even the used condom on the ground helps with the aesthetic. Carden and Oliver stiffen beside me, groping for weapons I know they have hidden somewhere. I quickly step forward to cover up their untrustworthy actions. They’re quickly becoming a liability. Please don’t let these idiots get us killed.

For a moment, the only sound was the distant sea, a low and constant hymn. Plans are easy to form. The execution is where men get impatient and die. I allowed myself one small indulgence of imagination: the image of Frank bound, handcuffed at the warehouse, his voice thin as paper under interrogation. The thought made the muscles at my throat tighten. It is important to visualize what you want. It makes the steps toward it less like stabs and more like a crafted path.

The sun hangs low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and fire. I stand at the edge of the rogue camp, watching sixty outcasts prepare for a battle most of them won't survive. They check weapons, tighten armor, say quiet goodbyes to friends who might become corpses by nightfall. Nobody questions why they're risking their lives for a pack that would kill them on sight. Maybe because outcasts understand better than anyone what it means to fight for something bigger than themselves.

In her hands, she held a very beat-up copy of ‘Of Mice and Men. “Oh, Harriet! Thank you!” I squeezed my best friend before clutching the book to my chest. She grinned at me before she turned back to run back to where Matt was. I found my feet leading me back towards the creek. Away from the burned buildings, away from the chard remains of the carnival, and away from the dead. The thought of the packhouse was suffocating on a carefree regular day. Now there was over three times the amount of people shoved in there. For some reason, I felt like the creek was where I should be, like something in my gut was pulling me there.

In the summer he bailed hay for local farmers and walked up and down Route 79 outside town, collecting cans and bottles and scrap metal. Jesse always looked dirty and ragged; his clothes rumpled and stained, as if he slept in them and never changed or washed them. Her classmates swore he smelled like sour milk and cow shit. She had no idea if that was true, but she didn’t want to find out, so she glanced down Allen to make sure no one was coming and crossed the street, leaving the pizza joint and the awful Jesse Kretch behind, thinking again about Bob and how Adam Stillman would never talk to her again.

“Help lift this, boys” The four of us pushed with all of our might, trying to move the large timber board from itś slot. With one final push it cleared the top of the off the slot, dropping it to the ground, Johna pushed the gate open. As howls rang out in the distance, we ran as fast as we could, the edge of the forest within sight, the open space between the gate and the forest offered no protection. We were vulnerable and exposed, easy targets for the Greysteels loyal to my father. “WHERE IS MY PRIZE”? Atticus screamed as my pace quickened and he was jolted up and down on my shoulders. “Ouch Leki, stop it hurts “he cried out as my hands tightened around his ankles.