Category: stories

weather poem

I am board, so I will give you a poem that I wrote.

As the sun goes behind the clouds,
the thunder booms loud.
the wind starts blowing,
and the sky starts glowing.
The hail starts to fall,
at least the size of a baseball.
A tornado comes down,
and soon hits the ground.
As the thing comes toward me,
I see the cloud of debris.
Finally it came to an end,
and the scilence came again.
As I opened muy eyes,
I heard several painstaking cries.
Today I still remember, that offel day in September.
And all the storm took away,
on that uneventful day.

Please comment, and tell me what you think of this poem.

why do I write this blog?

If your ever wondering, “Why do you write this blog?” well, here is the answer. In early 2011, I was thinking about starting a journal. This was early February, so I didn’t know what to do. I had been contimplating on whether to use a notebook or not, but by april, I decided not to. So around April 15, I started researching blogging platforms. I found something called “wordpress.org,” but you had to install it on a web server. so, I didn’t use it, and instead, I kept looking. Then, I came across blogger, but didn’t like it much, because it had a lot of back-links back to blogger.com. So, I still kept looking. On April 20, I found wordpress.com. I must’ve used wordpress.com before, because you will learn why later on in this post.
Well anyway, I tried to sign up, but it said that my email was already taken.
For the rest of that afternoon, I tried different credentials. Then, I found the right ones, and logged in. Then, I created a blog. All of the addresses were taken, so I just angerly typed “furiethwopat.wordpress.com” in the box and registered it.
I wasn’t happy with the address, and didn’t know how to change it, so I registered a new one at “stevendaughertysblog.wordpress.com.” If you are a new visitor, you may not know, that address was the previous address of this blog.
Months went by with this blog and that address, until I decided that it was too long. So, I changed it to “sssjournal.wordpress.com.” That is what it remains today, and that is my story on how I got this blog.

guess what my name means

My sister is on the computer right now, and she was looking up what people’s names meant. She looked up mine, and found out that it was “A Victor’s crown.” That means that any of you guys named Steven out there who just happened to come across this blog, you have just found out what your name meant.

Please read

Hi, this is the beginning to a story that my sister is writing. She asked me to put it on here, so I could have your feed back.
Let us know if it is something that she should continue, or give up.
Give us a rating
1. amazing! please write more!
2. good. Keep it up.
3. It’s okay. It needs work.
4. Bad. You shouldn’t continue.
5. Horrible. Just stop!

here it is!

I was running out of energy. I couldn’t fight anymore. “Stop, I’m sorry! Stop!”
But the hand around my throat didn’t loosen, and the horrible, inevitable truth finally sank in. I was going to die. It didn’t matter that I had lived only seven years, or that if I died it wouldn’t help my mom: witch was the only reason I had come in to this room, or even the fact that I could never be able to tell my dad or brothers that I loved them one more time. None of this mattered to the unrelenting hand around my throat.
My struggles became more and more futile. I couldn’t fight this. I was just a little kid. I wanted my mom.
But of course that couldn’t happen because if that were the case she wouldn’t be lying on the floor in front of me: looking like a corpse.
Finally I stopped struggling all together and just before the blackness took me: I jerked awake.
Tears were streaming down my face, and I was gasping. My heart felt like it was gonna jump right out of my chest.
“Brookie?” I had never been so happy to hear that voice.
“Chandler!”
He sat next to me on the bed. “What’s wrong? I heard screaming. Was it another nightmare?”
“Yeah, it was.”
He took my hand. “You know they’re gone. They won’t come back. Mom was all they wanted?” His statement ended in a question. Maybe he was trying to convince himself that this was the truth.
“I know,” I said quietly. “It’s just a dream.” Somewhere inside of me though, I knew that it wasn’t true.
“Yeah,” he said, and I heard a note of skepticism creep in to his voice.
He didn’t believe it either. If only he knew what I did. If only he remembered that horrible night seven years ago. But of course he didn’t. He had only been two years old at the time.
Only I had been there to witness it. Only I had heard the words that the owner of the unrelenting hand had spoken just before I was taken by blackness: “Looks like we haven’t finished our job here.”
I still didn’t know what that meant, nor did I want to know. I was scared though. What ever the voice had meant: it wasn’t going to be good.
Was he referring to killing me, or my brothers? Was I not supposed to have come in that room, and so now they were angry? Was that even a threat? Or were they just trying to scare me?
Maybe my fear was pointless. Maybe nothing was coming for me.
“Brooke? Do you remember that night,” Chandler asked cutting in to my thoughts. I could hear the hesitation in his voice.
“Yes,” I said.
“Clearly? Like it could have happened yesterday?”
“I guess.”

why you should never eat a hard boiled egg in a bagle, my discusting food story

Well this morning, I got up and ate breakfast. Well, I have been trying new things with hard boiled eggs, and that is what I did today. I had crushed an egg into a tortilla to make a barrito, and you would neer believe how it taisted. I put the first bite in my mouth, and new it was a mistake. I ate most of it, but had to spit the last of it out. The thing was so nasty, I almost threw up. Even posting this post, I still can’t get it out of my head how nasty that was!