Hi. Argghhhh- been too busy with school. I haven't even had time
to read the stories here- it been driving me nuts because I know
the stories are great here. Stupid freaking teachers… I'm sorry;
I'll continue my other story after I get over writer's block. I
have no ideas for it– because I SUCK! I wrote this story when I
had some free time, I wrote it on a whim. A really BAD story.
It's all melodramatic crap. I probably won't continue it.
"We are here today to mourn the passing… of Jonathan Cade." The minister declares in a holy solemn voice. He is holy and solemn- quiet and graceful and forgiving. He is smug and knowing. If he could -he would stick his tongue out and sneer "Nyah nyah!"
Yes. We are here today to mourn the passing of Johnny Cade. That is why Steve Randle is here. He is here to mourn the passing of Johnny Cade- The Hero. Yeah, he mourns the passing of the Hero- not that he has to, but for the hell of it he'll mourn the passing! Jonathan Cade is the Hero. Our Hero. Steve's hero. That carried your children out of the church for you. Why didn't you do it you lazy bastards? Was your back broken? Did you have burns all over you? Jonathan Cade is an inspiration. The press loves it. "Fuck you" Steve mutters under his sour breath. The press can quote Steve on that.
Steve watches you. He watches as you cry into your tissues, holding your brats that Johnny and Ponyboy rescued. Why are you crying huh? HUH? You haven't lost a thing. But you have gained a hero.
He's sorry. Steve should thank you because you of made Johnny a hero. He will be praised. He will be remembered for a year or two. Really, you are too kind
Oh yes, Steve mourns the passing all right! He mourns a whole lot of passing.
His ribs hurt. He cannot laugh. It hurts. It works. He does not want to laugh.
He wants to take the large crucifix from the church and smash the pretty stained windows by ramming the Jesus's wooden head against them. He wants strip off his tight formal clothes and chase the nuns around in his underwear. And he wants to open the lacquered coffin- and pick Johnny out of it and carry him in his arms like a star would carry a starlet in a B- movie. Johnny should have not been in that burning church. He should not be in this church ethier. When the gang leaves, Johnny will be by himself in the tiny dark little coffin, and then he'll cry- like the time they found him bloody and broken in the vacant lot and there will be no one to hold his bony shoulders. Johnny is only 16.
Steve's ribs hurt.
Steve still remembers the funeral.
Dallas had no funeral. He had his body cremated and stored in some storehouse, and then has his own neat little file in a police cabinet, which it will stay forever. He deserved no funeral for being so stupid Steve thinks. The more he thought about Dallas's death, the less it makes sense. Dallas was smart- Steve refuses to believe he would make friends with a stupid person. A smart person would not suddenly pull a gun out while the fucking POLICE were around!
But was Dallas ever really his friend?
Dallas shook when he died. Like a flopping fish. Flop. Flop. Flop. Gasp. Leaps!
His fish knees collapsed and blood sprayed. He shook and fell, blood poured. He landed and was still, blood shone. The blood looked gold in the streetlight. It looked sliver in moonlight.
Steve vomited when Dallas died. It hurt his ribs. He is not the vomiting sort. But he could not control it. He vomited and the bile and pungent sour milk smell make his eyes water. He could see Dallas lying in his blood taunting him .
"Wussy boy! Wussy boy! You a little squeamish! Huh? Huh?!" He could hear Dallas's voice echo in his ears.
He could not say anything back for once. Why couldn't he?! Why? Oh why?! He is smart, and witty. He let Dallas taunt him and he bends over, his ribs aching, staring at his colorful half digested dinner and waits for Sodapop to help him.
But Sodapop is busy helping Ponyboy who has just fainted , a fainting brother which out ranks vomiting best friend Sodapop supposes. Why didn't Dallas taunt Ponyboy? Ponyboy was the one who fainted. He was the true wussy boy. Not that it was Ponyboy's fault- he was hurt. But nethier was it his fault for vomiting.
He is angry with Dallas. He is angry with Johnny Cade- it is hard to stay angry with him but Steve can manage- he's experienced you see. Yessiree, the world owes him big time. He interrupts your regular scheduled living to bring you, his fabulous broken ribs, his new and improved temper, and his minty fresh world .His pain is good, is original- his pain is entertainment worthy. Rejoice in his pain. He'll vomit for you.
Johnny was dead. Dallas was dead. He hates that minister. He hates his father. He loves Soda Pop . He loves cars. He likes his friends (except Ponyboy whom he tolerates to the best to his ability- he's a kid.)
Only 5 remained.
Only 5 more to go.
It was all the little boy's fault
Steve life was an adventure film where the hero dies in the first scene.
But after he met the boy, Steve life had become nothing but static.
Steve sometimes visits Johnny's grave once every 3 months because it gave him a false sense of loyalty because he knows that they had left him alone in the tiny box and he can never be forgiven no matter how many times he visited. He goes alone. Soda will cry. Darryl works too much to visit. With Two-Bit, it is too awkward because there is nothing funny. He doesn't want to bring Ponyboy with him.
Johnny 's grave is next to a big fat ruddy hedge. His grave is small, minimal, and pathetic. The tombstone is a small smooth stone that reads "Jonathan Cade. RIP" It does not have the date he was born or the dare he died. It has no flowers. It is growing weeds on it. It is a leper in a city of beautiful graves with big marble tombstones with angels and crosses. But the day when he met the little boy, he visited Johnny. Yes, Johnny was still dead. He had a beer in his left jacket pocket. He was smoking camels. His pain made it necessary to smoke.
There was a new grave besides Johnny, the ugly hedge was mowed down and replaced with an uglier grave. Someone by the name of Gary Mex was buried besides Johnny. Space taking bastard.
Steve's pain increases. His pain makes him regular. His pain makes him more important then us. He allows him to be bitter and resentful of us. Agree or we don't understand and there us something horribly wrong with us.
Steve's life is a Shakespeare tragedy- with grease.
A young boy around 8 or 9 meandered to the new grave next to Johnny. As he walked, he walked like a scarecrow, awkwardly, one large stride after another. He looked like a scarecrow, his bare arms and legs long and sickly. He had a slightly protruding stomach pressing against the fabric of a long black large T-shirt stained with brown sauce and oil. His shirt nearly reached to his knees. He had dark wild brown hair. His knobby legs seemed to be held together by his black jeans that were too short for him. His nose was large and beakish. He has moderate sized lonely looking eyes that were dark and in the distance looked like 2 crevices in his face. His lips were curled in severe contempt, his upper lip thin and his lower lip much larger. He looked pale in the light, the only color on his face were from the shadows and his eyes. He wore no shoes.
He knelt down and started clawing and upturning the dirt recklessly so that it looked like a gopher had raided.
He turned his head to look at Steve then smiled pleasantly.
"Howdy." The boy said cheerfully, his lips thinned as he smiled. His forehead creased and his cheeks strained. It looks painful for him to smile . Dirt crumbled from his fingertips. Then he went back to his task of upturning the dirt.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Sorry. I can't talk to ya."
"And why the hell not?" Steve demanded.
"Cause you're a stranger. "
A stranger?! HIM?!
"I don't care what the hell you're doing. " Stranger Steve sneers.
There is silence.
"Well, I'm breakin my daddy's grave. He was a drunk no good bastard. I'm glad he's dead." The little boy said this very casually, and his eyes were beady and knowing. The look that politicians have.
Stranger Steve stared.
" My daddy was stupid. He got drunk and he wanted to cross the road and a car crashed into him. " The boy adds, in a matter of fact way.
Stranger Steve stares more.
"Wanna help me?" The boy lifts a handful of dirt.
"No." Stranger Steve wants to leave.
" Fine then." The little boy said glumly. His eyes shifted downwards and his hand fell to his lap. Dirt crumbs scattered on his jeans. For a second he sounded like Johnny, for a split second he looked like Johnny, and for a microsecond, he was Johnny.
Johnny used to stared at Steve wide eyed- watching him, almost fearfully. He didn't understand why until Johnny died. Johnny watched him fearfully- because he feared Steve. Steve understood why. His temper. Johnny hated people to get mad at him, and he hated yelling. He saw Steve as a time bomb. And because of this, they weren't as close as they could have been. Damn you temper! Oh damn you to hell!
Steve's temper makes him angry.
"Don't you have some shoes kid?" He says this more gently. Kids are so damned stupid.
"Yup. I have mighty good shoes. My mamma bought em for me."
Kids were always saying stupid things like that.
"Then why don't you wear your goddamn shoes then?"
" I don't want too 'cause I hear with the soles of my feet."
This kid was especially stupid.
"You do?" Steve says sarcastically.
" I like to hear the worms eat up his smelly ass." Enoch shouts proudly, ignorant of the sarcasm dripping from Steve's lips. He increases his volume on "ass", like a toddler shouting "Mommy! Look what I did!"
Steve chuckles even through the comment disturbed him even more then Enoch beady little eyes. Enoch was proud to show he can cuss, and can make Steve laugh. He puffs his chest out a little more and smiles broadly. Steve chuckles because of Enoch's proud shouting, and smug little stupid face. Steve wants to smack him hard because of how damned stupid he looks. If he had a little brother like that, he would lock him in a closet and bind him with duct tape, kick his toys around his room until they broke, tease him until he cried and then make him eat his own snot, and then-
"Who's grave is that?" Enoch points.
"A friend of mine."Stranger Steve answers – he does not mean to, but he sub- consciously would rather have a company of a stupid smug little kid, then his goddamn temper.
Enoch stopped digging. The boy frowned.
"I'm sorry that my daddy was buried near your friend." He said, he sounded truly sorry.
Steve blinked. He was surprised. Every time he had told somebody that Johnny was dead they said they were sorry. But why? And finally someone had told him why.
Perspiration oozed from the back of Steve's neck. Enoch had broken into his skin.
"My name's Enoch. I've lived here for 2 months. My daddy died a month ago. My mamma made me come to Tulsa. She killed my daddy. If she hadn't made us move here- he wouldn't of died. " The boy blinked back, his voice is steady, emotionless. His eyes are squinting and becoming more beady.
Perspiration oozed from Steve's temples. The boy eyes see his pain, and he's trying to compete whose pain is greater. Enoch has made a deeper incision in his flesh. The boy wants to hurt him, to worry him, to disturb him, to crawl under his skin like a insect in jungles he heard about and lay it's eggs and have his warty of- spring feed of his supple young flesh.
Steve's life is a horror movie.
"Nice meeting you Enoch." Steve lies.
"We are here today to mourn the passing… of Jonathan Cade." The minister declares in a holy solemn voice. He is holy and solemn- quiet and graceful and forgiving. He is smug and knowing. If he could -he would stick his tongue out and sneer "Nyah nyah!"
Yes. We are here today to mourn the passing of Johnny Cade. That is why Steve Randle is here. He is here to mourn the passing of Johnny Cade- The Hero. Yeah, he mourns the passing of the Hero- not that he has to, but for the hell of it he'll mourn the passing! Jonathan Cade is the Hero. Our Hero. Steve's hero. That carried your children out of the church for you. Why didn't you do it you lazy bastards? Was your back broken? Did you have burns all over you? Jonathan Cade is an inspiration. The press loves it. "Fuck you" Steve mutters under his sour breath. The press can quote Steve on that.
Steve watches you. He watches as you cry into your tissues, holding your brats that Johnny and Ponyboy rescued. Why are you crying huh? HUH? You haven't lost a thing. But you have gained a hero.
He's sorry. Steve should thank you because you of made Johnny a hero. He will be praised. He will be remembered for a year or two. Really, you are too kind
Oh yes, Steve mourns the passing all right! He mourns a whole lot of passing.
His ribs hurt. He cannot laugh. It hurts. It works. He does not want to laugh.
He wants to take the large crucifix from the church and smash the pretty stained windows by ramming the Jesus's wooden head against them. He wants strip off his tight formal clothes and chase the nuns around in his underwear. And he wants to open the lacquered coffin- and pick Johnny out of it and carry him in his arms like a star would carry a starlet in a B- movie. Johnny should have not been in that burning church. He should not be in this church ethier. When the gang leaves, Johnny will be by himself in the tiny dark little coffin, and then he'll cry- like the time they found him bloody and broken in the vacant lot and there will be no one to hold his bony shoulders. Johnny is only 16.
Steve's ribs hurt.
Steve still remembers the funeral.
Dallas had no funeral. He had his body cremated and stored in some storehouse, and then has his own neat little file in a police cabinet, which it will stay forever. He deserved no funeral for being so stupid Steve thinks. The more he thought about Dallas's death, the less it makes sense. Dallas was smart- Steve refuses to believe he would make friends with a stupid person. A smart person would not suddenly pull a gun out while the fucking POLICE were around!
But was Dallas ever really his friend?
Dallas shook when he died. Like a flopping fish. Flop. Flop. Flop. Gasp. Leaps!
His fish knees collapsed and blood sprayed. He shook and fell, blood poured. He landed and was still, blood shone. The blood looked gold in the streetlight. It looked sliver in moonlight.
Steve vomited when Dallas died. It hurt his ribs. He is not the vomiting sort. But he could not control it. He vomited and the bile and pungent sour milk smell make his eyes water. He could see Dallas lying in his blood taunting him .
"Wussy boy! Wussy boy! You a little squeamish! Huh? Huh?!" He could hear Dallas's voice echo in his ears.
He could not say anything back for once. Why couldn't he?! Why? Oh why?! He is smart, and witty. He let Dallas taunt him and he bends over, his ribs aching, staring at his colorful half digested dinner and waits for Sodapop to help him.
But Sodapop is busy helping Ponyboy who has just fainted , a fainting brother which out ranks vomiting best friend Sodapop supposes. Why didn't Dallas taunt Ponyboy? Ponyboy was the one who fainted. He was the true wussy boy. Not that it was Ponyboy's fault- he was hurt. But nethier was it his fault for vomiting.
He is angry with Dallas. He is angry with Johnny Cade- it is hard to stay angry with him but Steve can manage- he's experienced you see. Yessiree, the world owes him big time. He interrupts your regular scheduled living to bring you, his fabulous broken ribs, his new and improved temper, and his minty fresh world .His pain is good, is original- his pain is entertainment worthy. Rejoice in his pain. He'll vomit for you.
Johnny was dead. Dallas was dead. He hates that minister. He hates his father. He loves Soda Pop . He loves cars. He likes his friends (except Ponyboy whom he tolerates to the best to his ability- he's a kid.)
Only 5 remained.
Only 5 more to go.
It was all the little boy's fault
Steve life was an adventure film where the hero dies in the first scene.
But after he met the boy, Steve life had become nothing but static.
Steve sometimes visits Johnny's grave once every 3 months because it gave him a false sense of loyalty because he knows that they had left him alone in the tiny box and he can never be forgiven no matter how many times he visited. He goes alone. Soda will cry. Darryl works too much to visit. With Two-Bit, it is too awkward because there is nothing funny. He doesn't want to bring Ponyboy with him.
Johnny 's grave is next to a big fat ruddy hedge. His grave is small, minimal, and pathetic. The tombstone is a small smooth stone that reads "Jonathan Cade. RIP" It does not have the date he was born or the dare he died. It has no flowers. It is growing weeds on it. It is a leper in a city of beautiful graves with big marble tombstones with angels and crosses. But the day when he met the little boy, he visited Johnny. Yes, Johnny was still dead. He had a beer in his left jacket pocket. He was smoking camels. His pain made it necessary to smoke.
There was a new grave besides Johnny, the ugly hedge was mowed down and replaced with an uglier grave. Someone by the name of Gary Mex was buried besides Johnny. Space taking bastard.
Steve's pain increases. His pain makes him regular. His pain makes him more important then us. He allows him to be bitter and resentful of us. Agree or we don't understand and there us something horribly wrong with us.
Steve's life is a Shakespeare tragedy- with grease.
A young boy around 8 or 9 meandered to the new grave next to Johnny. As he walked, he walked like a scarecrow, awkwardly, one large stride after another. He looked like a scarecrow, his bare arms and legs long and sickly. He had a slightly protruding stomach pressing against the fabric of a long black large T-shirt stained with brown sauce and oil. His shirt nearly reached to his knees. He had dark wild brown hair. His knobby legs seemed to be held together by his black jeans that were too short for him. His nose was large and beakish. He has moderate sized lonely looking eyes that were dark and in the distance looked like 2 crevices in his face. His lips were curled in severe contempt, his upper lip thin and his lower lip much larger. He looked pale in the light, the only color on his face were from the shadows and his eyes. He wore no shoes.
He knelt down and started clawing and upturning the dirt recklessly so that it looked like a gopher had raided.
He turned his head to look at Steve then smiled pleasantly.
"Howdy." The boy said cheerfully, his lips thinned as he smiled. His forehead creased and his cheeks strained. It looks painful for him to smile . Dirt crumbled from his fingertips. Then he went back to his task of upturning the dirt.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Sorry. I can't talk to ya."
"And why the hell not?" Steve demanded.
"Cause you're a stranger. "
A stranger?! HIM?!
"I don't care what the hell you're doing. " Stranger Steve sneers.
There is silence.
"Well, I'm breakin my daddy's grave. He was a drunk no good bastard. I'm glad he's dead." The little boy said this very casually, and his eyes were beady and knowing. The look that politicians have.
Stranger Steve stared.
" My daddy was stupid. He got drunk and he wanted to cross the road and a car crashed into him. " The boy adds, in a matter of fact way.
Stranger Steve stares more.
"Wanna help me?" The boy lifts a handful of dirt.
"No." Stranger Steve wants to leave.
" Fine then." The little boy said glumly. His eyes shifted downwards and his hand fell to his lap. Dirt crumbs scattered on his jeans. For a second he sounded like Johnny, for a split second he looked like Johnny, and for a microsecond, he was Johnny.
Johnny used to stared at Steve wide eyed- watching him, almost fearfully. He didn't understand why until Johnny died. Johnny watched him fearfully- because he feared Steve. Steve understood why. His temper. Johnny hated people to get mad at him, and he hated yelling. He saw Steve as a time bomb. And because of this, they weren't as close as they could have been. Damn you temper! Oh damn you to hell!
Steve's temper makes him angry.
"Don't you have some shoes kid?" He says this more gently. Kids are so damned stupid.
"Yup. I have mighty good shoes. My mamma bought em for me."
Kids were always saying stupid things like that.
"Then why don't you wear your goddamn shoes then?"
" I don't want too 'cause I hear with the soles of my feet."
This kid was especially stupid.
"You do?" Steve says sarcastically.
" I like to hear the worms eat up his smelly ass." Enoch shouts proudly, ignorant of the sarcasm dripping from Steve's lips. He increases his volume on "ass", like a toddler shouting "Mommy! Look what I did!"
Steve chuckles even through the comment disturbed him even more then Enoch beady little eyes. Enoch was proud to show he can cuss, and can make Steve laugh. He puffs his chest out a little more and smiles broadly. Steve chuckles because of Enoch's proud shouting, and smug little stupid face. Steve wants to smack him hard because of how damned stupid he looks. If he had a little brother like that, he would lock him in a closet and bind him with duct tape, kick his toys around his room until they broke, tease him until he cried and then make him eat his own snot, and then-
"Who's grave is that?" Enoch points.
"A friend of mine."Stranger Steve answers – he does not mean to, but he sub- consciously would rather have a company of a stupid smug little kid, then his goddamn temper.
Enoch stopped digging. The boy frowned.
"I'm sorry that my daddy was buried near your friend." He said, he sounded truly sorry.
Steve blinked. He was surprised. Every time he had told somebody that Johnny was dead they said they were sorry. But why? And finally someone had told him why.
Perspiration oozed from the back of Steve's neck. Enoch had broken into his skin.
"My name's Enoch. I've lived here for 2 months. My daddy died a month ago. My mamma made me come to Tulsa. She killed my daddy. If she hadn't made us move here- he wouldn't of died. " The boy blinked back, his voice is steady, emotionless. His eyes are squinting and becoming more beady.
Perspiration oozed from Steve's temples. The boy eyes see his pain, and he's trying to compete whose pain is greater. Enoch has made a deeper incision in his flesh. The boy wants to hurt him, to worry him, to disturb him, to crawl under his skin like a insect in jungles he heard about and lay it's eggs and have his warty of- spring feed of his supple young flesh.
Steve's life is a horror movie.
"Nice meeting you Enoch." Steve lies.