THE BOX
A/N: ok first things first,
Disclaimer: DUDE I DON'T OWN NEWSIES ! IF YOU OWN NEWSIES PLEASE DON'T SUE ME BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND THAT WOULD BREAK MY HEART!
Ok anyway... this was written to cure writers block and I think its cute if slightly stupid. And just so there is no confusion THIS IS NOT SLASH BLINK AND MUSH ARE FRIENDS ! Got it? Good.
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He first saw the box one afternoon on our way home from selling. An ordinary box, lying innocently on the side of the road.
However, there was something very distinct about this box. Something unusual, if not exactly un heard of . This box, this ordinary everyday brown box that would otherwise have been ignored, was moving.
Moving boxes, or to be more specific, squirming boxes, meant only one thing. Rats. We live in a city. Cities are filled with people, and people are gross and leave food everywhere. Therefore, cities are gross and filled with excess food. Having lived on the streets, I have come to appreciate the food, but I can never appreciate the rats.
Rats, mice, roaches, and many miscellaneous animals fill the streets of New York. Now I love my city. Its been my home for almost as long as I remember. I've lived here ever since... Never mind, I wont get into that. Anyways, when I first arrived, I was terrified of everything, the street people, the newsies, the smoke from factories, the dark, the lights, carriages, Brooklyn, and especially the rats.
I've gotten over my fear of the street people, newsies, factory smoke, dark, lights, and carriages. But im still terrified of rats, and sometimes Brooklyn.
So I gave the box a disgusted kick, and kept walking. The Queens newsies were coming over for poker, and If I didn't hurry id be stuck playing with Pie and Snipes. Nice people, but horrible poker players, and they didn't gamble. So I wouldn't even make any money from my boredom.
About a half a block later, I realized that I had managed to lose my selling partner. After retracing my steps, I found Mush, still staring at the rat infested box. Shaking my head at his stupidity, I punched him in the shoulder. "Whatsa Maddah wid U? Aintcha nevah seen no rats befoah?" Mush rolled his eyes and opened the box's lid. Expecting diseased rodents, gorging themself on rotten food, to come flying out and attack me, I jumped backward in horror.
Unfortunately, my horrified leap had been none too coordinated and I ended up on my back in the middle of the road. Needless to say, Mush found this funny. No let me be more accurate. Mush almost DIED laughing.
When he regained his breath, Mush leaned forward and stuck his hand in the box. Still expecting diseased rodents, I backed away, but this time I kept my feet on the ground. Instead of pulling back, clutching a bleeding hand, or bearing teeth marks, Mush pulled out... A puppy.
Mush turned to me, and asked excitedly, "Can I keep it?" I in turn, countered him wryly, "Can you feed it?"
I rooled my eyes as he sat down on the curb to think. Then he started talking. Mush told me all about growing up on a farm, having dozens of animals, horses, cows, chickens, pigs, and dozens of dogs and cats. His family would pick up strays and not notice, they had so many animals anyways. I didnt say it, but it seemed to me like Mush had lived in a zoo.
He told me how he named the animals, even the chickens, cows, pigs and sheep, all of which were used for food. How he and his brothers always had their favorites, before his parents died. Mush even told me how much he loved his cow. He had named her Jill, which I found quite funny although I don't know why. Then Mush told me how he talked to Jill when his brothers were mean. And she was the only one he talked to, after they died.
I had never seen this side of Mush before. Here we were, sitting on the side of the road as Mush told me about his family, his childhood, taken from him at an early age. For anyone else, our conversation was commonplace, ordinary and normal. For newsies though, this was different. To tell me about his family, meant Mush trusted me. A lot.
I felt bad, but I couldnt hold back a smirk when he told me how he cried when they took Jill to the meat factory. I guess this would not be the right time to tell him my Dad had been a butcher, I noted with amusement. When Mush was done talking, he sadly decided that he couldnt make enough to feed the dog and himself. He hung his head, and dragged himself away, leaving me sitting in the dust, thinking.
As I looked over at the box, I sighed. This dog was cute now, but It wouldnt be later. Somehow I knew that this adorable puppy would someday grow into the bane of my existence. I somehow understood that even though Mush wanted it, I would end up feeding it, contracting it's fleas, and cleaning up after it, cursing it when it barked at all hours of the night. I already hated the many mutt. I groaned as I picked up the box, with the puppy inside, and headed for the lodging house. Oh the things I do for friends...
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