The Outsiders Imagines

Dallas

Dallas Winston. The bad boy. The greaser you didn't want to mess with. Everyone was either scared of him or hated him. I, on the other hand was utterly and completely head over heels for him.

He'd been in the cooler too many times to count but that just made me like him more.

He smoked cigarettes that would leave him stinking of cancerous smoke, however to me it was intoxicating.

He carried a heater on him most of the time but never loaded which simply intrigued me.

I'd find myself staring off into space thinking about him. About why he carried an unloaded gun, why he smoked, why he was so rude, why he was so angry with the world.

Perhaps I'd think about him physically.

His lips.

His eyes.

His hair.

His nose.

That stupid little smirk of his.

People would always warn you to stay away from Dallas Winston. They'd say he's trouble. A timebomb set to explode any moment, taking out anyone near him.

"One day he'll go too far and get himself killed."

"Stupid greaser."

"His death won't be a loss but more a public service."

I was in love with Dallas Winston. Except my heart would ache because he'd never look at me, never smirk at me, never wink at me.

Guys like Dallas Winston like confident, gorgeous soc girls, like Cherry . Not quiet, schizophrenic soc girls, like me.

When I'm in a sad and depressed mood, I write sad and depressed things.

I wrote this on a whim and have absolutely no idea what it is.