S
sel
Guest
Hi Everyone! I am new to the forum but am a longtime fan of original Dallas. This is my first attempt at FanFiction so any feedback is appreciated. Thanks and nice to meet everyone 
-Sarah
Runaway
Chapter 1
John Ross Ewing woke up to the faint sounds of an argument down the hall. He checked the alarm clock on his bedside table: 2:03 a.m. About right. He knew that within five minutes, the hushed, angry hisses coming from his parents’ room would erupt into screaming. The walls of Southfork turned most of the nightly battles into an incoherent, hateful ballad but even they couldn’t muffle the sounds of his father calling his mother a drunk and his mother’s slurred replies that he should go back to his whores.
Lately, the fighting had gotten worse. His father rarely came home at night anymore, not that his mother seemed to mind. John Ross knew better to look for her when he came home from school; she would already be deep into a fifth of vodka; her transparent facade of sobriety having fallen to the wayside again. He couldn’t take the looks of pity that Miss Ellie and Clayton, and even his Uncle Bobby gave him.
His anger rose and tears began to fall down his face. No more. He was 15 now, a man. And there certainly wasn’t much of a family left here for him. So, John Ross Ewing III got out of bed, put on faded Levi’s and filled a duffel bag. He walked down the hallway, pausing briefly at Christopher’s door. Hardening his resolve, he made his way quietly down the stairs and out the front door of Southfork.
The stars shone dimly from behind a cloudy sky and over to see the infinite stretch of darkness that was Southfork Ranch. Turning towards the illuminated drive, John Ross made his way for the highway and didn’t look back.
-Sarah
Runaway
Chapter 1
John Ross Ewing woke up to the faint sounds of an argument down the hall. He checked the alarm clock on his bedside table: 2:03 a.m. About right. He knew that within five minutes, the hushed, angry hisses coming from his parents’ room would erupt into screaming. The walls of Southfork turned most of the nightly battles into an incoherent, hateful ballad but even they couldn’t muffle the sounds of his father calling his mother a drunk and his mother’s slurred replies that he should go back to his whores.
Lately, the fighting had gotten worse. His father rarely came home at night anymore, not that his mother seemed to mind. John Ross knew better to look for her when he came home from school; she would already be deep into a fifth of vodka; her transparent facade of sobriety having fallen to the wayside again. He couldn’t take the looks of pity that Miss Ellie and Clayton, and even his Uncle Bobby gave him.
His anger rose and tears began to fall down his face. No more. He was 15 now, a man. And there certainly wasn’t much of a family left here for him. So, John Ross Ewing III got out of bed, put on faded Levi’s and filled a duffel bag. He walked down the hallway, pausing briefly at Christopher’s door. Hardening his resolve, he made his way quietly down the stairs and out the front door of Southfork.
The stars shone dimly from behind a cloudy sky and over to see the infinite stretch of darkness that was Southfork Ranch. Turning towards the illuminated drive, John Ross made his way for the highway and didn’t look back.
