Hello, new story.

The journal entries are all Ponyboy's.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or the base picture of my story's cover.

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Journal Entry 1

I've been in this place for a day or two now. I think it might be a cellar or, more likely, a storm shelter. I know for a fact that I'm in Windrixville because I heard the Soc's talking about it. I only wish I could have done more than listen. I tried to fight them. I bucked and kicked like a bull, screamed for Soda, Darry, Two-Bit, anybody who would be willing to help me, but there were four of them, and they were all older than me. I only knew two of their names, since they were arguing the entire time they wrangled me into their Mustang and drove me here.

Randy was one of them; he wanted them to let me go, maybe just cut me up real good as a warning of what would happen to me if I snitched, obviously more humane than Bob, the one who only cared that his entire future would be down the drain if anyone found out he killed another boy, that he was a murderer, that he cares so much that he was willing to kill me, too, just to keep the story under wraps.

He killed Johnny- dark eyed and nervous, gang's pet, Johnny Cade. I wondered often, now, what his parents would do. They seem so evil in my eyes, as they always have; it's hard to believe they'd react any differently to this. I imagined his mother scowling at the gang, telling them what kinds of trouble she believed we always got him into and where they could go for doing so. I imagined his father fuming over the red flag put over their heads for having their son die at sixteen.

But, sometimes, I tried to imagine his mom breaking down and apologizing over his grave containing an empty casket, dressed in all black. It was much harder finding a scenario for his dad who never showed remorse for anything he did. Maybe he would just stand there for once, quiet, not angry or violent, maybe even sober, and think about all he did. He deserves any ounce of guilt he feels, if any. In my eyes, he had killed Johnny just as much as Bob had.

And I remember right before I dropped off in the lot the night Darry hit me when Johnny said sometimes he just wanted to kill himself, then taking it back when I told him he couldn't, he just couldn't. Now, looking back, it seems like he might have just recanted for my sake. It's a bittersweet thought that he might have been put out of his misery with this happening, but then I have to remind myself that he's a boy, not some dog needing to be put down.

When the Soc's finally noticed that Johnny wasn't moving or even breathing anymore, they panicked. I almost got away while their attention was focused on him, but he was tripped and held to the ground while they screamed at me hoarsely to shut up, not to move or they'd kill me, too, which was enough to still my body but make my heart beat three times faster. I stared over to the dark lump on the ground, crying. I couldn't believe it. This was all my fault. If I had just…

I think I will skip ahead. All the time, I get caught up in these 'ifs' in my head, but I can't bear to put them down on paper. Long story short, they panicked and argued viciously over what to do with me, with both of us… Bob took the lead and made a plan. He had an uncle who used to own a house in Windrixville until a tornado took it. The land still belonged to him, but he was too old now to ever go back and rebuild his house.

That is the land where my storm shelter is, the one I'm in, I mean. It's barren and deserted. I screamed for hours straight the first night we were locked down here until I'd gone hoarse, but no one heard me.

It makes me sick; it does, but I should let you know. Johnny is here with me.

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Thanks for reading, all feedback is very much appreciated. :)