PROLOGUE
The world shone a new light on New York when the sun rose every morning. It was a refreshing new day for both rich and poor, for newsboys and lawyers. They would go to their various duties, completing their tasks. Work or play, it was light outside and gaiety could be felt in whatever form. When the day's events ended, there would be some sort of thing to do to keep minds from wandering, but as is always the case, night would fall. With night would come a wandering mind that would sadly reminisce on memories, good or bad. Perhaps food would cross a hungry boys mind. Maybe a lawyer would reflect on a business deal made previously. Possibly, a reporter might worry about his job. Simple worries carry no weight for long though. John Willing's worries were not anywhere near effortless, and carried more burdens then he wished to deal with. John Willing had married young in life. At the age of eighteen, his heart had easily been stolen by the charming styles of Katherine Johnson. Her immense beauty could have been found in no other woman. The green eyes she possessed had trapped him in mystery, while her sweet pale face informed him of her engaging charity. She was kind too and not easily won over by flighty actions and the rash compliments paid to her so often. The many suitors that Katherine Johnson had had in her lifetime would permanently cause John Willing's possession of her as an inevitable happening. He must have the woman, whatever it took. Finally possessing what he most favored took nearly two years. He had first seen Katherine at a party, one his parents threw. She had graced the ballroom with her long elegant green dress, making her eyes shine like emeralds. That is when he fell in love, at the age of eighteen. She was younger by two years, but had the grace and intelligence of an older woman, one with experience. This only made him fall more into love with her. Marrying her was a long process of courting. Two years went by, and he had her at last. Nevertheless, a distraught John Willing began questioning his principles too late in life. He was already dutifully married, he already had two beautiful daughters and he had a very luxurious job. To him it was lavish, but his wife Katherine tended to think otherwise. Putting children in workhouses was wrong, had said,, but had his wife no idea what kind of money was involved in this? Had it never crossed Katherine's mind that perhaps she would be taken care of for the rest of her life because of this job? Who would know how to deal with this? As always, the dependent John went to talk to the most influential person in his life, Mr. Pulitzer, a rich powerful man owning one of the biggest newspapers in New York City. Mr. Pulitzer had always shone the right thing to do before; he would be sure to help now. When John walked into Pulitzer's richly furnished office, full of golden objects and polished wood, he brought up the problem of his doubting and non-supporting wife. Joseph Pulitzer pondered on what John had said. Mr. Willing's wife did not agree with the workhouses, she did not agree with the "new ideas" they had in store for it. This could be detrimental to the entire plan, the thing that he and John had worked on for nearly 3 years. That meant there was only one solution. "Get rid of the problem, John," Mr. Pulitzer had said. "That's all I have to say about that." Nearly five months after that, Mr. Pulitzer read the obituaries in his own paper. What he saw brought a sense of easiness and relief to him. The problem had taken care of itself.
Part II
Ch. 1
It lay there, the rage still seething through its thick leather straps, metal balls tingling with the fury as well. Swaying slightly from the new use, the straps shone bright red; the color of broken skin. Its handle was worn, seeing as its owner delighted in using it. There was no point in defying either owner or instrument of torture. What was done was done. I could not resist this truth now. Considering I was still healing from the hour's incident, I could not stand the sight of the mechanism that could cause so much pain in one flick of the wrist. Perhaps the art of it was a mysterious enthralling gift for the owner, but to the perpetrator it only caused a sense of indignant life. When struck with the whip, you wanted to be put out of the misery inflicted; death seemed the only worthy solution. I pressed my face deep into my knees, whispering condolences to myself. I had been foolish. I had gone against orders boldly, an old sense of defiance rising upon my disgusted mind. Only too soon had I been shot down, and it had hurt, intolerably. What had I been thinking? I had seen the many other children become struck. I had witnessed the obscene torture with my own eyes, and kept silent as the others had, too appalled and revolted by the sight to even say a word. No one talked about it after either. They pretended as if it had never happened. Soon I found myself wishing that it never happened as well. When one possesses a distinct trait such as a vivacious imagination, it may seem a gift. When forced to use this "gift" unwillingly, it soon takes on the identity of a curse. My curse was this: my dreams haunted me, no longer of my past, but the image of a child being forced to the ground with an unrelenting whip bearing upon him. What humanity was this? We were animals, no longer fit to be in the human race.
I shook as I thought of this. I would not cry though. The owner would only use his instrument with more force if you cried. The younger children that cried could never learn. "Dey'll leoin, if it kills 'em dey'll leoin!" The gruff voice that passed through my mind caused slight sweat to trickle down off the back of my neck and travel to the newly founded wounds. The burn from it hurt badly, but no tears escaped my eyes. He would be back soon, too soon, willing me to follow his orders. If I followed these orders one more time, I knew I would crack. My strong will and my senses, now turned to a nervous and constant watchfulness, would immediately be thrown away. That alone would kill me. I burrowed myself deeper into the shadows of the crack underneath the rickety old staircase. Perhaps he would not see my aching form, and leave me be. I pulled my knees closer to my chest, hiding completely in the shadows. The stretch on my muscles caused pain to fill me, but I stayed silent. If I made a noise, someone would hear, and as usual, that someone would be the person I least wished to see. The silence caused me to be overly watchful. Not even the younger children upstairs made a noise. Not a whimper was heard, not even a lone whisper. Sometimes they would murmur to each other upstairs, but there had never been a hint of laughter in their voices. These children were zombies. My eyes opened wide, and I scanned the room frightened that at any moment someone would come to retrieve my battered self. Not a soul was in the basement, but typically, wherever I was, they could easily follow. So was the case of my luck. The light footsteps could be heard through the silence in the room. The staircase above me creaked slightly with the weight of a person. Someone was coming down here looking for me. I pushed myself even deeper into the shadows, holding my breath. The basement was dark, thankfully, so even the candle he held could not fight against the perpetual darkness that night had caused. "Where bes', Anna?" I cringed as the forbidding voice traveled through the darkness. At least it wasn't the owner, but just nearly as bad. Kreagle slowly lurked in the darkness, looking around the room. "Anna, I knows ya in heah. Come out. I's been lookn' fer ya everywhere else, an' youse gotta be in heah." I scrunched up tighter, scared to death of the voice echoing in the darkness. Suddenly his form became visible. He was standing right in front of my hiding place. Only a thin piece of wood stood between me and the bulky young man who could inflict more pain than I wanted to deal with. I felt more sweat pour upon me as Kreagle moved things around, slyly looking for me. "Ay, Anna, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Yous knows dat." He wasn't going to hurt me? What kind of moron did he think I was! His pleasure was hurting me, his pride were the scars implanted all over my arms. There was usually no way to escape him, but tonight I was not going to relent to my accustomed passive indulgence to his wants and needs. He would not touch me tonight. He again came close to my hiding spot. I pushed myself against the harsh wooden wall; my breathing came in sharp sudden gasps. I knew he heard my uneven gasps given that he soon attempted to move the sheet of wood in front of me. It was over now. As he completely moved the sheet out of the way and squinted against the darkness, I realized that it wasn't over. I didn't have to succumb to this anymore. Kreagle's eyes, having finally adjusted to the darkness, spotted my bloody, torn figure. "Dere she is," he muttered. I saw a smile adorn his face, one that disgusted me. "Ain't ya gonna come see me, Anna? Doncha want me ta make ya feel bedda? I'm sure dat whip 'urt!" I whimpered and backed further up. "Don't be scared. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He reached in, grabbing my arms roughly pulling me out of my beloved sanctuary. I struggled harshly against his strong arms, but the fatigue of the beating was still blasting through my body. "Ay, calm down! Don't get all excited on me now." I felt like a wild angry beast that had finally gotten free from its cage. I flailed angrily, but his grip was even stronger than before. Only too soon did my strength wear down and I lay practically motionless in his arms, stars in front of my eyes from the forced effort. "Don't touch me," I gasped as he began dragging me further away from comfort. He quieted me, noticing my weak condition and my lack of defiance against his movements. He slowly dragged me further away and stood me up against a wall where I leaned resignedly. That's when he came at me. "Don't touch me!" I screamed again, pushing him away from me. Habitually, this was the point where I was smacked and made to do whatever the present desire of the smacker was. This time was different. I was tired of submitting. I was worn out from the constant strain on my nerves and my will. I wanted out, now. When Kreagle pulled his hand back to deliver the hurtful blow, a sudden burst of energy sprang to me. I kicked him harshly where I knew it would hurt the most and pushed his blubbering self away. When he was sufficiently on the floor, I kicked him again in the stomach. I made sure the third time that I kicked him, it was hard, hard enough so that I saw his eyes water from the pain. "That's for every time you've tried to hurt me!" I whispered harshly, acknowledging his gasping breath. He reached his hand out to grab my leg but I simply kicked it away, this new founded energy causing me to feel some of my old defiance and wit. I glared viciously at him. "Go to hell!" I muttered. I gave a final blow to his face, and he was out cold. After several minutes of being able to open my eyes and see the once dreary and hated world I lived in, in a new light, I soon realized that I was without any supervision. I also realized that today was Tuesday so the owner would be much occupied with his choice drink of the night. I stood in the middle of the basement, dumbfounded for the first time in my life. My quick thinking mind was not working and I cursed it. What was I going to do? Could I actually leave this hellhole? Without another thought, I numbly turned away from everything, holding my head, and swiftly went up the stairs. I knew how to get out, but there were many problems, many things that could go wrong. How in the world I was supposed to do this without being killed in the process seemed impossible. As I came out of the basement and turned several harsh and dark wooden passageways I felt a sense of self worth again. I felt a newly regained composure. I could do this. I was Anna Willing. Silently I attempted to open the front door, but realized halfheartedly it was locked. What was I going to do? I yanked on the door several times, willing it to open, but this would not do. I cursed quietly under my breath, as it remained locked shut. I thought speedily, trying to remember any escape routes, any secret cracks. I stared at the area all around the door. Spot and Jack had come in here somehow. There had to be something secret around here. There had to be someway to escape. I gently kicked several sides of the door, the old rotten wood bending slightly at my touch. Finally, patience beyond me, I kicked my foot through. I kicked several more times, making the hole bigger, big enough to fit me through it. Then I heard his grunt. All the way down in the basement, I heard the grumble of pain and of the awakening of hurting senses. Kreagle was no longer in an unconscious state. The groan caused me to stay still and remain silent. That's all I had ever been able to do when here. It numbed my senses, numbed my sense of worth, and killed every hope in my body. Remembering these horrible unearthly scars, I went through the small splintered hole. "Anna." the whisper was too much to bear. He was coming up the stairs. He was already half the way up. I pushed harshly on the old wood, trying to pull my legs through. Even with this great effort, all I received in return was a pair of bloody hands full of splinters. "Anna, I cin heah ya." I moaned slightly through the fight to get through the hole. My hands were shaking at the unsuccessful attempt. I felt my throat contract and release the tension. I tried to calm myself, but the constant fear I had lived in until this point caused me to shake even more. When I felt hands on my torn pants, I knew that Kreagle was there and that he wouldn't give up this fight. I kicked brutally at him, gritting my teeth at the pain my constrained legs felt when I rubbed them against the rotten, smelling wood. He cried in pain as I made contact with something. With this, my adrenaline rushed suddenly and I yanked myself through the hole, splinters flying as well as blood. I landed in the dirt face down, but lying there would give me no comfort. Kreagle's screams resonated through the air outside. He had been defeated finally. Spitting dirt, I stood up, full of my strenuous and hard earned victory. I rested my limbs, looking around, but there was no time to think. Running didn't require a thought. I heard the front door being unlocked and that's when I sprinted out of the yard, through the broken fence and down an empty street. Running hard, I had no idea where I was going, but the constant fear pushed me on toward a destination that was better than my previous one. Finally, feeling the freedom of the night air, and the relentless pain in my side, I stopped catching my breath. Supposing that my captor would leave me be, I started at a slow walk, calming down enough to realize my surroundings. It was freezing outside. My bare feet, torn pants, and ragged armed shirt were no exception for something warm. I shivered feeling the chill of the fall air. I breeze blew my hair out of my face, making my senses go haywire. It had been months since I had been outside. The hot insides of the factory were the only surroundings I had known for five months. It had been hell, in all seriousness. While slowly looking around at the night sky, full of steam from the surrounding buildings, I viewed the place that I had once lived. The buildings were glorious, the cold night air refreshing, and the all around atmosphere magnificent. I was free. I was out of hell finally. Suddenly, I heard a swift step behind me. At first it was very quiet and at a distance, but as I walked on, it got louder and louder, until I could construe from the heavy pad on the pavement that it was Kreagle's muscular form running behind me. "Anna!" The yell was like fire to a fuse. It ignited my wondering senses into a fearful existence once more, and I was off. Running through the filthy streets of Brooklyn barefoot, caused pain beyond the imagination. Stepping on a piece of glass, I cut my already sensitive feet, but I continued to run, unaffected. "Anna, ya bedda stop. I'll tell Shelton! I'll tell 'im, I swear ta God! An dis time.he'll kill ya!"
An airy sob escaped my mouth as he said these words. If he caught me, I'd die. This propelled me to move faster. He wouldn't catch me. I wouldn't die. I made a promise to myself that I would not die. "He won't kill me!" I whispered. In the distance, I saw the lights of Brooklyn, the Brooklyn where I had lived with Spot and the newsies. I ran to it hard, not knowing whom I was going to turn to when I got there. Would anyone recognize me? Had I changed? I had not looked in a mirror in nearly five months. I was probably a grotesque monster at this point. Another one of Kreagle's yells pulled me roughly away from my insecure thoughts. He was running fast, and I was losing energy. He couldn't catch me. I wanted to live. I ran faster to the lighted burrow of Brooklyn, but somehow Kreagle's steps came closer up behind me. "Anna, ya ain't gonna make it! I gave ya da chance back dere, but its too late fer ya now!" "No!" I yelled back. I now entered the busy part of the burrow, running even faster. Desperately gasping for breath, I turned a corner, not knowing my destination. "Anna!" His screams caused me to wince sickeningly. Again, I took a lead on him down an alley. I intertwined in between many streets and sections, to confuse him, and seemingly, I became so tired that my delirious senses wandered aimlessly through the confusing mess. Finally, I no longer heard the depressing sound of Kreagle's heavy steps. He was lost, for now. Futile as it was, I still managed to wander more towards the lights of Brooklyn. I breathed heavily, trying to keep some energy, but the malnutrition my body was in and the overworked status I had acted every day for five months would not permit it. I looked around remembering the joyful experiences taking place in these very streets. Selling papers in the early morning, eating lunch at the same restaurant everyday with Spot, and taking my famous walks with Jack passed my mind as I came out of an alley. Even though they were joyful, I knew I would not be able to go back, and make it the same. I desperately wanted to reach my hands out and successfully clasp my old, sweet memories in them, but the horrifying workhouse incident shattered the memories to pieces like glass breaking when a ball is thrown at it. My memories crushed before my eyes and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I had to move on and finish the journey I had started. I couldn't turn back now. I shivered, barely being able to keep my eyes open from the fatigue. Where was I going to sleep? What was I going to eat? Who could help me? I shook my head hopelessly. I was in a fix. I had nowhere to go. I didn't even think the newsies could help me. It was too predictable anyway. If I went there, I would easily be found. I grunted slightly as I ran headlong into something. "Ugh!" I yelled as I weakly was rebounded from the hard force I had run into. I looked up my head spinning. "Young man-" "Lady," I muttered rubbing my eyes to clear my foggy vision. A tall middle-aged man stood in front of me. He looked well off, judging by his nice suit and unwrinkled hat and he had the appearance of a man that was quite harsh. I wondered why he still was standing there examining my face so quizzically. Usually, one as high as he was would simply push the poor retch aside and continue. "Pardon me," he replied gruffly. "Young lady, I suggest you watch where you're going. It's not in your best interest to run into stately people such as myself." His stare still spoke bluntness to me, though he also had recognition cross his eyes. I had no idea who he was, so this puzzled my already baffled mind. My acid tongue would have quickly responded as it usually did, if I had not heard the horrifying yell of Kreagle so nearby. I gasped and turned away from my newly offended statesman. "Anna! Yous bedda get outa whereva ya hidin'!" I cursed under my breath. There seemed no way to get out of this. "Excuse me," I whispered quickly to the man, and then attempted to take off again. Only too soon had I been gently caught by my regal friend. "Let me go!" I whispered, horrified. My eyes opened wide, as the man stared deeply into my face. His speckled white mustache twitched slightly. "I can't let you go, young lady. You'll only die sooner." I whimpered as he said this. I was going to die if he didn't let me go. What in the world could he be talking about? He was only going to get me killed sooner. Since my life was at stake, with the little energy I had left, I fought him off. This caused me to see spots in front of my eyes, and my breathing to go out of whack. I gasped, trying to rid myself of his strong, unyielding arms. I heard the clunk clunk of Kreagle's sickening run. He had to let me go! "Don't do this," I gasped nauseatingly. The ground seemed to shake beneath my unstable feet. I treacherously attempted to keep my balance, but through the fight, I felt my legs finally lose their stamina. My body fell, arms still posed in defense. "Calm down," came the gruff whisper from the man, but his urgent commands had no affect on me. I fought roughly still, though the world around me was spinning. My vision was dying fast and every noise seemed to mush together mocking an out of tuned orchestra. "He'll kill me!" I cried. "I can't die! I have things to live for.I want to live!" My random cries made his face stare at me in confusion. Kreagle's clunk could still be heard in the distance and that caused me to pull myself up. When I fell back down immediately, and was quickly caught by the man, I knew, there was no way to escape dying now. He would certainly turn me in. Retched upper class fiends! I could do nothing to prevent this though. My vision blacked out, my head pounding. The earth itself was spinning uncontrollably beneath me. I felt my body become lifeless, and some of the tense pain leave me though of course, all of it could never go away. Dumbfounded and inert, I let the fatigue cloak me, and the hunger push it on. Nevertheless, before I was completely gone, I prayed with all my might, that my life, though revolting and intolerable, would be spared. I was going to finish what I had started. I had to stay alive.
The world shone a new light on New York when the sun rose every morning. It was a refreshing new day for both rich and poor, for newsboys and lawyers. They would go to their various duties, completing their tasks. Work or play, it was light outside and gaiety could be felt in whatever form. When the day's events ended, there would be some sort of thing to do to keep minds from wandering, but as is always the case, night would fall. With night would come a wandering mind that would sadly reminisce on memories, good or bad. Perhaps food would cross a hungry boys mind. Maybe a lawyer would reflect on a business deal made previously. Possibly, a reporter might worry about his job. Simple worries carry no weight for long though. John Willing's worries were not anywhere near effortless, and carried more burdens then he wished to deal with. John Willing had married young in life. At the age of eighteen, his heart had easily been stolen by the charming styles of Katherine Johnson. Her immense beauty could have been found in no other woman. The green eyes she possessed had trapped him in mystery, while her sweet pale face informed him of her engaging charity. She was kind too and not easily won over by flighty actions and the rash compliments paid to her so often. The many suitors that Katherine Johnson had had in her lifetime would permanently cause John Willing's possession of her as an inevitable happening. He must have the woman, whatever it took. Finally possessing what he most favored took nearly two years. He had first seen Katherine at a party, one his parents threw. She had graced the ballroom with her long elegant green dress, making her eyes shine like emeralds. That is when he fell in love, at the age of eighteen. She was younger by two years, but had the grace and intelligence of an older woman, one with experience. This only made him fall more into love with her. Marrying her was a long process of courting. Two years went by, and he had her at last. Nevertheless, a distraught John Willing began questioning his principles too late in life. He was already dutifully married, he already had two beautiful daughters and he had a very luxurious job. To him it was lavish, but his wife Katherine tended to think otherwise. Putting children in workhouses was wrong, had said,, but had his wife no idea what kind of money was involved in this? Had it never crossed Katherine's mind that perhaps she would be taken care of for the rest of her life because of this job? Who would know how to deal with this? As always, the dependent John went to talk to the most influential person in his life, Mr. Pulitzer, a rich powerful man owning one of the biggest newspapers in New York City. Mr. Pulitzer had always shone the right thing to do before; he would be sure to help now. When John walked into Pulitzer's richly furnished office, full of golden objects and polished wood, he brought up the problem of his doubting and non-supporting wife. Joseph Pulitzer pondered on what John had said. Mr. Willing's wife did not agree with the workhouses, she did not agree with the "new ideas" they had in store for it. This could be detrimental to the entire plan, the thing that he and John had worked on for nearly 3 years. That meant there was only one solution. "Get rid of the problem, John," Mr. Pulitzer had said. "That's all I have to say about that." Nearly five months after that, Mr. Pulitzer read the obituaries in his own paper. What he saw brought a sense of easiness and relief to him. The problem had taken care of itself.
Part II
Ch. 1
It lay there, the rage still seething through its thick leather straps, metal balls tingling with the fury as well. Swaying slightly from the new use, the straps shone bright red; the color of broken skin. Its handle was worn, seeing as its owner delighted in using it. There was no point in defying either owner or instrument of torture. What was done was done. I could not resist this truth now. Considering I was still healing from the hour's incident, I could not stand the sight of the mechanism that could cause so much pain in one flick of the wrist. Perhaps the art of it was a mysterious enthralling gift for the owner, but to the perpetrator it only caused a sense of indignant life. When struck with the whip, you wanted to be put out of the misery inflicted; death seemed the only worthy solution. I pressed my face deep into my knees, whispering condolences to myself. I had been foolish. I had gone against orders boldly, an old sense of defiance rising upon my disgusted mind. Only too soon had I been shot down, and it had hurt, intolerably. What had I been thinking? I had seen the many other children become struck. I had witnessed the obscene torture with my own eyes, and kept silent as the others had, too appalled and revolted by the sight to even say a word. No one talked about it after either. They pretended as if it had never happened. Soon I found myself wishing that it never happened as well. When one possesses a distinct trait such as a vivacious imagination, it may seem a gift. When forced to use this "gift" unwillingly, it soon takes on the identity of a curse. My curse was this: my dreams haunted me, no longer of my past, but the image of a child being forced to the ground with an unrelenting whip bearing upon him. What humanity was this? We were animals, no longer fit to be in the human race.
I shook as I thought of this. I would not cry though. The owner would only use his instrument with more force if you cried. The younger children that cried could never learn. "Dey'll leoin, if it kills 'em dey'll leoin!" The gruff voice that passed through my mind caused slight sweat to trickle down off the back of my neck and travel to the newly founded wounds. The burn from it hurt badly, but no tears escaped my eyes. He would be back soon, too soon, willing me to follow his orders. If I followed these orders one more time, I knew I would crack. My strong will and my senses, now turned to a nervous and constant watchfulness, would immediately be thrown away. That alone would kill me. I burrowed myself deeper into the shadows of the crack underneath the rickety old staircase. Perhaps he would not see my aching form, and leave me be. I pulled my knees closer to my chest, hiding completely in the shadows. The stretch on my muscles caused pain to fill me, but I stayed silent. If I made a noise, someone would hear, and as usual, that someone would be the person I least wished to see. The silence caused me to be overly watchful. Not even the younger children upstairs made a noise. Not a whimper was heard, not even a lone whisper. Sometimes they would murmur to each other upstairs, but there had never been a hint of laughter in their voices. These children were zombies. My eyes opened wide, and I scanned the room frightened that at any moment someone would come to retrieve my battered self. Not a soul was in the basement, but typically, wherever I was, they could easily follow. So was the case of my luck. The light footsteps could be heard through the silence in the room. The staircase above me creaked slightly with the weight of a person. Someone was coming down here looking for me. I pushed myself even deeper into the shadows, holding my breath. The basement was dark, thankfully, so even the candle he held could not fight against the perpetual darkness that night had caused. "Where bes', Anna?" I cringed as the forbidding voice traveled through the darkness. At least it wasn't the owner, but just nearly as bad. Kreagle slowly lurked in the darkness, looking around the room. "Anna, I knows ya in heah. Come out. I's been lookn' fer ya everywhere else, an' youse gotta be in heah." I scrunched up tighter, scared to death of the voice echoing in the darkness. Suddenly his form became visible. He was standing right in front of my hiding place. Only a thin piece of wood stood between me and the bulky young man who could inflict more pain than I wanted to deal with. I felt more sweat pour upon me as Kreagle moved things around, slyly looking for me. "Ay, Anna, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Yous knows dat." He wasn't going to hurt me? What kind of moron did he think I was! His pleasure was hurting me, his pride were the scars implanted all over my arms. There was usually no way to escape him, but tonight I was not going to relent to my accustomed passive indulgence to his wants and needs. He would not touch me tonight. He again came close to my hiding spot. I pushed myself against the harsh wooden wall; my breathing came in sharp sudden gasps. I knew he heard my uneven gasps given that he soon attempted to move the sheet of wood in front of me. It was over now. As he completely moved the sheet out of the way and squinted against the darkness, I realized that it wasn't over. I didn't have to succumb to this anymore. Kreagle's eyes, having finally adjusted to the darkness, spotted my bloody, torn figure. "Dere she is," he muttered. I saw a smile adorn his face, one that disgusted me. "Ain't ya gonna come see me, Anna? Doncha want me ta make ya feel bedda? I'm sure dat whip 'urt!" I whimpered and backed further up. "Don't be scared. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He reached in, grabbing my arms roughly pulling me out of my beloved sanctuary. I struggled harshly against his strong arms, but the fatigue of the beating was still blasting through my body. "Ay, calm down! Don't get all excited on me now." I felt like a wild angry beast that had finally gotten free from its cage. I flailed angrily, but his grip was even stronger than before. Only too soon did my strength wear down and I lay practically motionless in his arms, stars in front of my eyes from the forced effort. "Don't touch me," I gasped as he began dragging me further away from comfort. He quieted me, noticing my weak condition and my lack of defiance against his movements. He slowly dragged me further away and stood me up against a wall where I leaned resignedly. That's when he came at me. "Don't touch me!" I screamed again, pushing him away from me. Habitually, this was the point where I was smacked and made to do whatever the present desire of the smacker was. This time was different. I was tired of submitting. I was worn out from the constant strain on my nerves and my will. I wanted out, now. When Kreagle pulled his hand back to deliver the hurtful blow, a sudden burst of energy sprang to me. I kicked him harshly where I knew it would hurt the most and pushed his blubbering self away. When he was sufficiently on the floor, I kicked him again in the stomach. I made sure the third time that I kicked him, it was hard, hard enough so that I saw his eyes water from the pain. "That's for every time you've tried to hurt me!" I whispered harshly, acknowledging his gasping breath. He reached his hand out to grab my leg but I simply kicked it away, this new founded energy causing me to feel some of my old defiance and wit. I glared viciously at him. "Go to hell!" I muttered. I gave a final blow to his face, and he was out cold. After several minutes of being able to open my eyes and see the once dreary and hated world I lived in, in a new light, I soon realized that I was without any supervision. I also realized that today was Tuesday so the owner would be much occupied with his choice drink of the night. I stood in the middle of the basement, dumbfounded for the first time in my life. My quick thinking mind was not working and I cursed it. What was I going to do? Could I actually leave this hellhole? Without another thought, I numbly turned away from everything, holding my head, and swiftly went up the stairs. I knew how to get out, but there were many problems, many things that could go wrong. How in the world I was supposed to do this without being killed in the process seemed impossible. As I came out of the basement and turned several harsh and dark wooden passageways I felt a sense of self worth again. I felt a newly regained composure. I could do this. I was Anna Willing. Silently I attempted to open the front door, but realized halfheartedly it was locked. What was I going to do? I yanked on the door several times, willing it to open, but this would not do. I cursed quietly under my breath, as it remained locked shut. I thought speedily, trying to remember any escape routes, any secret cracks. I stared at the area all around the door. Spot and Jack had come in here somehow. There had to be something secret around here. There had to be someway to escape. I gently kicked several sides of the door, the old rotten wood bending slightly at my touch. Finally, patience beyond me, I kicked my foot through. I kicked several more times, making the hole bigger, big enough to fit me through it. Then I heard his grunt. All the way down in the basement, I heard the grumble of pain and of the awakening of hurting senses. Kreagle was no longer in an unconscious state. The groan caused me to stay still and remain silent. That's all I had ever been able to do when here. It numbed my senses, numbed my sense of worth, and killed every hope in my body. Remembering these horrible unearthly scars, I went through the small splintered hole. "Anna." the whisper was too much to bear. He was coming up the stairs. He was already half the way up. I pushed harshly on the old wood, trying to pull my legs through. Even with this great effort, all I received in return was a pair of bloody hands full of splinters. "Anna, I cin heah ya." I moaned slightly through the fight to get through the hole. My hands were shaking at the unsuccessful attempt. I felt my throat contract and release the tension. I tried to calm myself, but the constant fear I had lived in until this point caused me to shake even more. When I felt hands on my torn pants, I knew that Kreagle was there and that he wouldn't give up this fight. I kicked brutally at him, gritting my teeth at the pain my constrained legs felt when I rubbed them against the rotten, smelling wood. He cried in pain as I made contact with something. With this, my adrenaline rushed suddenly and I yanked myself through the hole, splinters flying as well as blood. I landed in the dirt face down, but lying there would give me no comfort. Kreagle's screams resonated through the air outside. He had been defeated finally. Spitting dirt, I stood up, full of my strenuous and hard earned victory. I rested my limbs, looking around, but there was no time to think. Running didn't require a thought. I heard the front door being unlocked and that's when I sprinted out of the yard, through the broken fence and down an empty street. Running hard, I had no idea where I was going, but the constant fear pushed me on toward a destination that was better than my previous one. Finally, feeling the freedom of the night air, and the relentless pain in my side, I stopped catching my breath. Supposing that my captor would leave me be, I started at a slow walk, calming down enough to realize my surroundings. It was freezing outside. My bare feet, torn pants, and ragged armed shirt were no exception for something warm. I shivered feeling the chill of the fall air. I breeze blew my hair out of my face, making my senses go haywire. It had been months since I had been outside. The hot insides of the factory were the only surroundings I had known for five months. It had been hell, in all seriousness. While slowly looking around at the night sky, full of steam from the surrounding buildings, I viewed the place that I had once lived. The buildings were glorious, the cold night air refreshing, and the all around atmosphere magnificent. I was free. I was out of hell finally. Suddenly, I heard a swift step behind me. At first it was very quiet and at a distance, but as I walked on, it got louder and louder, until I could construe from the heavy pad on the pavement that it was Kreagle's muscular form running behind me. "Anna!" The yell was like fire to a fuse. It ignited my wondering senses into a fearful existence once more, and I was off. Running through the filthy streets of Brooklyn barefoot, caused pain beyond the imagination. Stepping on a piece of glass, I cut my already sensitive feet, but I continued to run, unaffected. "Anna, ya bedda stop. I'll tell Shelton! I'll tell 'im, I swear ta God! An dis time.he'll kill ya!"
An airy sob escaped my mouth as he said these words. If he caught me, I'd die. This propelled me to move faster. He wouldn't catch me. I wouldn't die. I made a promise to myself that I would not die. "He won't kill me!" I whispered. In the distance, I saw the lights of Brooklyn, the Brooklyn where I had lived with Spot and the newsies. I ran to it hard, not knowing whom I was going to turn to when I got there. Would anyone recognize me? Had I changed? I had not looked in a mirror in nearly five months. I was probably a grotesque monster at this point. Another one of Kreagle's yells pulled me roughly away from my insecure thoughts. He was running fast, and I was losing energy. He couldn't catch me. I wanted to live. I ran faster to the lighted burrow of Brooklyn, but somehow Kreagle's steps came closer up behind me. "Anna, ya ain't gonna make it! I gave ya da chance back dere, but its too late fer ya now!" "No!" I yelled back. I now entered the busy part of the burrow, running even faster. Desperately gasping for breath, I turned a corner, not knowing my destination. "Anna!" His screams caused me to wince sickeningly. Again, I took a lead on him down an alley. I intertwined in between many streets and sections, to confuse him, and seemingly, I became so tired that my delirious senses wandered aimlessly through the confusing mess. Finally, I no longer heard the depressing sound of Kreagle's heavy steps. He was lost, for now. Futile as it was, I still managed to wander more towards the lights of Brooklyn. I breathed heavily, trying to keep some energy, but the malnutrition my body was in and the overworked status I had acted every day for five months would not permit it. I looked around remembering the joyful experiences taking place in these very streets. Selling papers in the early morning, eating lunch at the same restaurant everyday with Spot, and taking my famous walks with Jack passed my mind as I came out of an alley. Even though they were joyful, I knew I would not be able to go back, and make it the same. I desperately wanted to reach my hands out and successfully clasp my old, sweet memories in them, but the horrifying workhouse incident shattered the memories to pieces like glass breaking when a ball is thrown at it. My memories crushed before my eyes and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I had to move on and finish the journey I had started. I couldn't turn back now. I shivered, barely being able to keep my eyes open from the fatigue. Where was I going to sleep? What was I going to eat? Who could help me? I shook my head hopelessly. I was in a fix. I had nowhere to go. I didn't even think the newsies could help me. It was too predictable anyway. If I went there, I would easily be found. I grunted slightly as I ran headlong into something. "Ugh!" I yelled as I weakly was rebounded from the hard force I had run into. I looked up my head spinning. "Young man-" "Lady," I muttered rubbing my eyes to clear my foggy vision. A tall middle-aged man stood in front of me. He looked well off, judging by his nice suit and unwrinkled hat and he had the appearance of a man that was quite harsh. I wondered why he still was standing there examining my face so quizzically. Usually, one as high as he was would simply push the poor retch aside and continue. "Pardon me," he replied gruffly. "Young lady, I suggest you watch where you're going. It's not in your best interest to run into stately people such as myself." His stare still spoke bluntness to me, though he also had recognition cross his eyes. I had no idea who he was, so this puzzled my already baffled mind. My acid tongue would have quickly responded as it usually did, if I had not heard the horrifying yell of Kreagle so nearby. I gasped and turned away from my newly offended statesman. "Anna! Yous bedda get outa whereva ya hidin'!" I cursed under my breath. There seemed no way to get out of this. "Excuse me," I whispered quickly to the man, and then attempted to take off again. Only too soon had I been gently caught by my regal friend. "Let me go!" I whispered, horrified. My eyes opened wide, as the man stared deeply into my face. His speckled white mustache twitched slightly. "I can't let you go, young lady. You'll only die sooner." I whimpered as he said this. I was going to die if he didn't let me go. What in the world could he be talking about? He was only going to get me killed sooner. Since my life was at stake, with the little energy I had left, I fought him off. This caused me to see spots in front of my eyes, and my breathing to go out of whack. I gasped, trying to rid myself of his strong, unyielding arms. I heard the clunk clunk of Kreagle's sickening run. He had to let me go! "Don't do this," I gasped nauseatingly. The ground seemed to shake beneath my unstable feet. I treacherously attempted to keep my balance, but through the fight, I felt my legs finally lose their stamina. My body fell, arms still posed in defense. "Calm down," came the gruff whisper from the man, but his urgent commands had no affect on me. I fought roughly still, though the world around me was spinning. My vision was dying fast and every noise seemed to mush together mocking an out of tuned orchestra. "He'll kill me!" I cried. "I can't die! I have things to live for.I want to live!" My random cries made his face stare at me in confusion. Kreagle's clunk could still be heard in the distance and that caused me to pull myself up. When I fell back down immediately, and was quickly caught by the man, I knew, there was no way to escape dying now. He would certainly turn me in. Retched upper class fiends! I could do nothing to prevent this though. My vision blacked out, my head pounding. The earth itself was spinning uncontrollably beneath me. I felt my body become lifeless, and some of the tense pain leave me though of course, all of it could never go away. Dumbfounded and inert, I let the fatigue cloak me, and the hunger push it on. Nevertheless, before I was completely gone, I prayed with all my might, that my life, though revolting and intolerable, would be spared. I was going to finish what I had started. I had to stay alive.