Paulster (no ballster)

The day was glorious. You would've guessed that there was a clear sky if there wasn't a ceiling blocking your way. Especially with how everyone in the house seemed to have disappeared.

Sitting in the familiar spot, you waited for a use, and for the usual chaos that resumed every day. The chaos came in the form of the siblings and their two friends.

Sodapop and Steve, Ponyboy and Dally, and Darry. Just by how Darry slammed his bag on the table (which- ouch! Cant he be more sincere towards inanimate objects?), you knew he was annoyed. Sodapop and Steve were arguing, bouncing between laughing and getting ready to tussle.

Finally, the straw finally blew the moment Dally made a remark. Something about someones mother. You wouldn't know; you're a table, man.

Either way, it set both of them off, causing Darry to nearly throw Steve and Sodapop away from each other. They glared, and Steve stepped on the table for leverage. The moment he did, though, you braced for impact.

The heaviest and unbearable pain came over your splinters. It was an immense, unbearable, and sickening pain as your favorite part of glass shattered into pieces.

You came undone, splintered and shattered for everyone to stare in horror. Sodapop ran over, making sure Steve was okay, and Darry ran over. Making sure you were okay. (How sweet!)

"Moms gonna kill us," Ponyboy said.

Oh right.

"Damn Steve you broke the fucking table," Dally instantly said.

"Language!" A familiar voice called out as the door opened. Instantly, everyone's eyes widened. It wasn't their mom, but rather, their dad.

As the door opened, Darrel stood in horror. He had been the one to carry you up the steps, laughing with his wife as they set stuff down. Back then, you were new, a fresh piece of furniture, unmarked. Now, you were scarred by life, watermarked and stained like a piece of garbage, not the art you were. It reflected all in Darrels eyes, the fact you had been a gift, handed down to someone who was supposed to take care of you. Only to be shattered by their own offspring. It was ironic and painful. (Dont forget you're the table, dude. You're like, dying right now LMAO.)

"What the hell happened?" Darrel finally asked. The kids stared in shock. Their father never cussed, never rose his voice unless it was for something silly. But this, this wasn't a silly situation.

Dally was quick to point his finger, "Steve did it!"

Steve reddened, unable to deny the truthful claim. If he had lied, it would be horrible for him since everyone wasn't on his side. Even Ponyboy had moved closer to you to mourn the fact that there would be no table. This was unfixable, and you knew it yourself.

Darrel thought long and hard, looking at you sadly as he tried to pick up the pieces of glass. You were gone, destroyed by one damn kid who wanted to win a fight. Now, the only fight he was winning was against himself in beating himself up. You knew he deserved it, but, no amount of beating himself up would make the wood that naturally bonded you come back again. No, it was gone, you were gone. And even as Susan Curtis cried as she carried you out of the house with Darrel, there was nothing to do.

No amount of tears would fix the fact that you were broken from the inside out.

"Should we buy a new table?" Darrel tried to offer.

"That table was from my grandma Darrel."

…

It didn't take long before one piece of you was able to watch as Darrel hauled in another table. One with a newer furnish, and a stronger tempered glass. You were abandoned.