Need, a Newsie fanfic
Author's Note: All Characters save Maya and Munch belong to Disney, and I take no ownership over Newsies. In my dreams!
It was just a normal day for Specs--carrying the bannner, selling papes and earning a few pennies in the streets of New York-- when he noticed that he was out of papes for the morning.
Well, he thought to himself as he adjusted his bowler hat against the heat of the midday sun, at least the library's open.
As he stepped through the wooden double doors, the familiar smell of ink on paper greeted his senses. Specs felt at home here. His love of books was not one that his fellow newsies could understand--Racetrack Higgins, the most notorious gambler of the group, said that he didn't need to learn to read anything besides the schedules for the races at the Sheepshead track. Jack Kelly thought reading was good for business, not pleasure. Mush had chimed in that that was what girls were for, which was met by mixed cries of approval by the more sexist fellows and disgust by the girl newsies.
Despite all this, whenever he had a spare moment, he snuck off to read some classics: Treasure Island, the Three Musketeers, and the works of Edgar Allen Poe were his current favorites. He walked through the aisles until he came to the poetry section, where he found an unexpected surprise:
"Dream Within a Dream—By Edgar Allen Poe…
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream? "
It was a girl—her skin was a light brown, with a tint of red that made Specs think she was of Indian descent, though she was undoubtedly black. She had her dark hair in braids down her back, and her eyes where so dark they were almost black. She wore a simple collared white shirt, brown pants that came to her knees, and simple, worn shoes. More importantly, she was reading. Perched on a stool, she read with feeling and emotion—almost as is she were singing, and Specs was sure that she would have a great voice if she did.
Specs stood, transfixed, as she read the last line of the poem. Then, he stepped forward.
"Hey… you have a great voice."
The girl flew up out of her seat, and scrambled to get up, but Specs helped her up.
"My name's Specs. What's yours?"