Yea, this's my Lit Homework but I'm not sure whether it's any good or not. My parents are rubbish at reviewing (my dad anyway) and my sister hasn't really read the book so could you helpful peeps out there just read and review and tell me if it's any good? Do you think I've caught Johnny's POV okay-ish?
Dear Journal,
Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. I killed a man. I took up a knife and just stabbed him in the gut. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't been holding its blood stained hilt, red and fresh. Fresh with his blood. Bob's blood. I feel my stomach flop around uselessly. I can't sleep. Oh god, I still can't get over it. I. KILLED. SOMEONE. I can't go to anyone else. Dally'd just give me a proud smile and ruffle my greased up hair saying something sentimental (to him maybe) like,' Good for ya' kid,' and I don't want to talk about to anyone else in the gang. There is Ponyboy, though, but he's just as terrified as me, maybe even more. He's just been murmuring to himself in his sleep the whole of this train ride saying things like ,"How could you Johnny?" or, "No, Johnny, don't!" or (my favourite) ,"Glory, Johnny, you've killed him."
Yeah, that doesn't make me feel so hot.
But I probably deserve it anyway. Bob didn't deserve getting killed. Sure he was an ass, a real mean one at that, and sure he was a drunk, but he was young, had a family, alive.
And now I've gone and killed him.
I wonder whether he had a brother, or a sister, whether his parents were like mine, drunk and abusive, or loving like Ponyboy's once were. Guess I'll never find out.
God, I hate myself.
…
The train's slowing. I can hear the conductor shouting something over the wind. Well, that's our stop. Better wake Ponyboy.
And god, are my legs numb.
-Johnny Cade.
Dear Journal,
I guess I'm back. Me and Ponyboy's been staying up at this abandoned church that Dally'd pointed out to us before we'd gone into hiding and I amofficially a frozen popsicle. It's sub zero temperature, and I'm shaking. My hands are cold and I think the frigid air's trying to chew my ears off. Thankfully, Ponyboy's not sleep-talking tonight, and he's now just lying on his side in the only non-dilipated corner there is in this rotting place. His newly bleached hair shines white in the dark and just a little part of me, a part that shall stay unnamed for its own safety, is inwardly relieved that I didn't have to dye my own hair. Only cut it. (My poor hair…) Wait- Come to think of it, he's trembling too.
Golly, Darry's gonna kill me for not taking care of his little bro. Maybe I should just shift-
There, for the record, I'm now huddled next to Ponyboy and have an arm slung over his neck. Thank goodness he's stopped shivering and I figure this is an improvement from before, what with me and him freezing on opposite sides of the church. Maybe now we cold freeze together.
Haha. Not funny.
Anyway, I'm trying to sleep but the combined efforts of the frigid cold air, the cold hard floor and the fear of seeing Bob again in my dreams are keeping me awake.
That's right. I had a nightmare. Again. This time was no better. I dreamt that I hadn't been on time during that time at the park and that Ponyboy'd been killed then Bob had come after with those rings of his. Always his rings…
Golly, now I'm the one shivering again. And this time not just because of the cold.
It feels like everywhere I turn I can see Bob. Bob's silhouette huddled under the apricot tree just outside, Bob's shadow coming through the window complete with those huge rings decorating his large, stubby fingers, Bob lying on the ground, eyes open, a red pool blossoming under his unmoving body.
Wait, no. I'll just cancel those out. Seeing those words on paper make it seem more real.
Golly, why'd I have to go and scare myself again. I'll never be able to sleep again. Ever.
-Johnny Cade
Dear Journal,
Turns out I did manage to sleep after all and, for once, I didn't dream of Bob, or his rings, or anything about the park, in fact. I think that's a good omen. Who knows, Dally'd said that we'd needed to stay under the radar for at least a week and, officially, a week's come and gone. Besides, we're short on supplies. While I'm writin' this, I'm also watching Ponyboy from across the room. He's starin' at his reflection in the mirror. Frowning, with that small crease between his brows that always appears when he's bothered about something or other. I'm guessin' it's his hair. I mean, I don't know what's his problem. Being blonde's not so bad. Sure he looks like an idiot and totally unrelated to Soda anymore because of it, but wasn't that the point? To disguise ourselves so no one would recognize us? I mean, I'm not glad that I can't dye my hair blonde, I have a reason! I'm too dark-skinned and could never pass of as one anyway.
Setting aside the Ponyboy problem, I'm getting listless. I want to go out, I want to meet civilization again. I want to live. I've almost been tempted to pick up Gone with the Wind just to have something to do, but I'm not that desperate. Yet.
Seriously, there's nothing to do here except for sleep and read.
And those two don't appeal to me at all.
Sleeping, for the obvious reasons. And reading, because I've never picked up a book in my life and I ain't gonna start now.
Sigh…
…
…
UGH! Never mind! I give. I'll read that stinkin' book. I've now grabbed Gone with the Wind and Ponyboy's staring at me weirdly. Whatever.
…
…
Hey, this thing's pretty good, actually.
…
…
…
…
…
…
Yeah, I think I'll finish this thing first after all. It's a pretty nice book.
-Johnny Cade
Dear Journal,
I am sick. Sick and tired of all this BALONEY! Glory, if I have to see another baloney bit in the next thousand years, it'll be too soon.
Me and Ponyboy'd already eaten our candy bars the first two days so there isn't anything else to it 'cept for that darn stuff. Yeah, I know: wasn't really a smart thing to do. But we couldn't help it! Ponyboy's like a closet pepsi addict and I just tend to eat whatever that's available. The result: Two starving boys who's been forced to eat baloney for the past five days and now can't look at the stuff without puking.
To sum it all up: We're stuck at an abandoned, dilipated church, with the fuzz on our tail, and chowing down on baloney bits with a quickly dwindling supply of food.
Real smart.
Glory, I can't concentrate on Ponyboy's book anymore. I'm so hungry…
…
…
…
Alright, I give up. I've snapped the book shut with a bang and I'm now lying on the ground with a grumbling stomach.
The sunlight burns my eyes and I feel like dying.
God, take me now.
Wait, I can hear something. A long whistle that starts out low then ends with a high note.
It can't be- Ponyboy's half-asleep and he ain't gonna need to be whistling at this time of day. It ain't possibly be me. I blink. Then blink again.
My eyes have widened to the size of saucers.
It can't be.
Dally?
-Johnny Cade
Dear Journal,
Yeah, sorry about the abrupt ending but you won't believe this.
Dally's here!
He's here! In Windrixville! In the old church! With me and Ponyboy!
We've been spending the past hour just chattin' up random stuff and I've sorta' been clingy but you can't blame me; we've been stuck in this stinkin' place with no human contact cept' with each other and I've been craving for it. It's just a bonus that it's Dally.
I still can't believe it! Dally's here! In Windrixville! With me!
-Johnny Cade
Dear Journal,
Kay, I've gotta make this quick. Dally and Ponyboy are waiting for me but I've taken a faux toilet break to write a quick entry. Dally's brought us a round the town the past few hours cuz' he thought we'd look different enough for people not to recognize us and he'd given the fuzz a false lead so, in short, we're safe for the moment.
Me and Ponyboy have been able to get a taste of civilization again and have renewed our supplies and eaten our fair share of food.
Thank god for Dally being here.
The rest of the gang wouldn't have been as cool if it'd been anyone but him.
Anyway, Dally's knockin' on the door now and I wouldn't want to keep him waiting.
-Johnny Cade