C'mon, let me have my little fantasies….oh, fine. I don't own them. I can pretend, though…
Note: picture the flashback as taking place a year or two before the strike
Note the second: tell me if the accents are too hard/too annoying to read. If they are, I'll re-post it in regular speak.
"Life is like a game o' dice. Dat's what ya always used ta say. Remembah? It don' mattah if ya win or lose, ya just gotta keep playin'. Ya gotta keep playin'…"
A tall, gangly boy perched on the edge of the bed. Under the thin sheets lay the still body of another, smaller boy. His already pale skin had taken on the semblance of a ghost; his breath rasped in his throat.
"C'mon, kid, hold on…"
~*~
Jack sat on the edge of the Lodging House roof, dangling his feet into the empty air. A hand on his shoulder made him jerk- backward, luckily. Had the boy's footsteps been silent, or had he just been too deep in thought? Probably the second. He twisted to look at his company.
"Don't do it." The second boy's voice was sad, though his face remained emotionless.
"It ain't woith it no moah, Race. It just ain't. I don' wanna keep playin' dis game o' who kin last da longest widout food. I don' wanna wait up at night foah some kid who's gonna stumble trough da door covahed in 'is own blood. Oah in somebody else's. I don' wanna sit an' watch when annudah kid can' see what's in fron' o' him, when 'e goes crazy, 'cause o' da hungah. I don' wanna hafta keep goin' through each day wond'rin' who's gonna be left ta get Christmas presents foah. An' it ain't nevah gonna change. Dere ain' nevah gonna be a decent place fa us in dis woild. Nevah."
"Jack…" The other boy stared at him for a long moment. "You'se leavin' out all da good stuff. You'se fahgettin' about everythin' good. You'se fahgettin' da times dat yer happy. All da times when it don' mattah how little you've eaten. You'se fahgettin' all yer friends, all o' us. You'se fahgettin' how good it feels ta mouth off da Delancys. So what if dey lands a punch or two? You'se landed three. You'se fahgettin' rippin' off da rich folks, losin' der change. You'se fahgettin' stayin' up late at night, smokin' an' talkin'. You'se fahgettin' everything good!"
"An', y'know, da rest a us gotta live through da day wondern' if you'll let yerself be heah ta buy a Christmas present foah. An' I don' like dat thought." He paused for a moment, watching the other boy's face.
"Life is like a game o' dice. So what if yer not winnin'? So what if it seems like ya never win? Ya gotta keep playin'. 'Cause if ya don' play, den ya ain' got no chance at winnin'. Evah. Y'know?"
Slowly, eyes never leaving his friend's face, Jack rose and went to the window. Race smiled, watching as he pried it open and climbed back inside. He turned, resting his hands on the raised ledge that marked the drop to the street below. He stared down at the cobblestones, face unreadable, for a long moment before following Jack inside.
~*~
"C'mon, Race, ya gotta keep playin'. Da stakes ah high, da odds ah low, just like ya always loved. Jus' one moah round. C'mon, kid, please." Head in his hands, he sat, until long after the rise and fall of the small boy's chest had ceased.
