The gray sky hung heavy with clouds, the sun’s usual warmth replaced by a biting chill that seeped into the small town of Tulsa. The air felt still, oppressive, as if the world itself mourned. Ponyboy sat stiffly on the edge of a wooden pew in the church, his legs barely touching the floor. His brothers, Darry and Sodapop, flanked him, their faces pale and hollow.

The church was too quiet, save for the soft murmur of condolences whispered by neighbors who didn’t quite know what to say. The weight of grief was a tangible thing, pressing against their chests as they stared at the polished caskets at the front of the room.

Darry sat rigid, his jaw clenched, trying to summon the strength to fill the shoes of the parents they had just lost. Sodapop leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his usually carefree expression shadowed with a sorrow that didn’t suit him. And Ponyboy—he sat motionless, staring at the floor, trying to process how their lives had been flipped upside down overnight.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. But life had never really been fair, had it? Not for kids like them.

As the preacher’s voice broke through the stillness, offering hollow words of comfort, Ponyboy couldn’t help but think of how much had changed in a single moment. They were on their own now, three brothers trying to hold onto each other in a world that seemed determined to take everything away.