me

hi, this is scoobird, and i wanted to tell everyone that i have a almost-never-updated-blog; http://scoobird.blogspot.com.

oh, and here is a story...

i did it for school, based on the book the Outsiders, but it was pretty good (i think) and so...

here it is...

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It happened so fast, last night. I was so scared - sittin' in the livin' room, readin' the news – practically tremblin'. Then Pony, he just walks in the front door, like he hasn't been missin' for hours. I start yellin', making a big stink, tellin' him what I would'a done, if he hadn't come back for another hour, 'til 3 a.m.! And you know what he told me?! He said that he had been asleep, sleepin' in the same old lot where Johnny was beat up that time! Now that got me real steamed up, alright! Any Soc could have walked by, called up his buddys when he saw Pony, and made sure that he don't come home without some helps from the gang or, even, doctors! If the fuzz found out, and realized he was asleep there with no parents at home, or out looking for him, and him and Soda would be taken from me! How could I live like that? A family of five reduced to one, me, and it being all my fault! I could have saved Mom and Dad, asked them to hug us one more time or to make our lunch, anything to delay them so that car ride would not have been their last! Ok, let me get back to last night.

I guess I was a little harsh, with all that yelling, so Soda starts defending Pony. I yell at him, and, for the first time that night, Pony yells; “Don't yell at Soda,” he yells. He said something like that. Now, my mood was like an over-flowing ice-cream sundae of nastiness, and that was the cherry. I swirled around, slapping Pony so hard he fell back against the door. My hand stung. Next thing I knew, Pony was out the door. Now he's gone, and so is Johnny. He might be dead for all I know.

Oh boy, now I'm crying. Good thing Soda's dead to this world, lying on the couch, lettin' out little grunts and whimpers every few minutes. He's so fast asleep that a little puddle has formed next to his head on the pillow. If he were to open his eyes right now, seeing me watching him, crying, with this journal in my lap, we would, both, dye a slow and painful death of embarrassment.

If Pony don't come back, I don't know what I'll do. The only thing to live for would be Soda. What happens when he's old enough to live on his own? I don't know if I can survive with this responsibility on my shoulders. It's just to much...

Soda's stirring, I think he's about to wake up. I gotta put this away and strike a sleeping pose.

Darry

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