CHAPTER 1: The Beginning, The End.
"You dirty little bitch! You're gonna die; I keep my promises!"
"SMACKKKK!" Was the last thing I felt, and heard, in my time of innocence; before my well-being fell unwilling into the hands of a stranger. I did what I had taught myself to do; I punched that kid right in the face. Over, and over again.
...
"Deep dark secrets, hidden behind truth,
Kept unseen by the dieing youth,
Moments not to be taken back,
Time that stops in its track."
I flinched at the words of the judge, an unnecessary poem, burning memories into my mind. I was being removed away from my current home in the Trenton, New Jersey Refuge House. The Refuge was a place where, as of yesterday, you could find about thirty five boys, and one girl; me.
I was Samantha Rose Brown, a fourteen year old girl with shoulder-blade-length strawberry blonde hair. It was a light, pale blonde but you definitely see the strawberry tinted natural streaks found throughout my curly hair.
The curls weren't tiny, frizzy curls, but long, large, round, soft, together curls. My lips were a soft pink, so naturally soft, but from years of no care, were chapped and red.
My eyes were large, (probably the most distinct feature about me, not counting my hair), and they were darkest shade of brown, almost black.
My eyes could be gentle, the most beautiful eyes seen by most people, but gentle doesn't help you live in a Refuge, or in any circumstances, the way I live, so they were most of the time daggers, from years of experience perfecting the glare that sent any kind of tough boy running.
I was beautiful, but covered with dirt from the nasty conditions of the Refuge, and with my death looks, didn't make me so appealing. My curls were held down my large amounts of mud, dirt, and dust.
My not-to-pale but not-to-dark skin had a layer of dirt covering it, as well as my tight white blouse and baggy brown boy pants with elastic around the ankles, keeping the way to long pants from dragging.
My hair looked brown and I pulled it into a high bun therefore covering it with my newsboy-style hat. I bumped around in the carriage I was riding in, shaking small parts of dust off.
I was being taken to the Bronx Refuge, many miles from my past residents in Trenton. See one Refuge and you've seen them all; I've been living in the refuges since I was seven. What makes me different, besides my looks and high ranks, is my story.
You see, I didn't come from some abusing family, or some 'richie' place where I was like some puppet, only wanted for my inheritance. My family hadn't all drown, or trapped in a fire. I probably wasn't completely alone, with no family to speak of, either. I hadn't been raped, abused, kicked out of my house, or mistreated by anyone that I cared for.
I was just tough, that's what got me in here. I lived in a small house, with my mother, father, and brother, Kyle in a small town. It only took a five minute carriage ride to get into Trenton from there.
My brother Kyle would be sixteen now, being two years older than me. I remember him as a built boy, with shaggy hair that he had to flick out of his eyes, the color of dark chocolate, and bright green eyes.
He was almost the complete opposite of me, except we acted the same; tough. I could outrun all of his friends, and beat them up it I wanted. This next story is what happened that got me in the Refuge, seven years ago, on March 19, 1892.
Kyle was nine, I being seven, and he had gotten mad at me. He was experiencing puppy love with a little doll names Silvia, a short, black haired girl with blue eyes. She wore dresses and acting all fancy, totally unlike me.
I don't even remember what exactly happened, I think she commented about my unlady-like ways, but it ended up with me punching Silvia right in the face. Kyle was so mad at me he punched me, and all hell broke loose. I had broken both Kyle and Silvia's noses. Of course Kyle and I ended up laughing like the siblings we were, just having fun. Not Silvia.
She ran home to her father, ironically he's a policeman, and told him about a little seven year old girl named Samantha Rose. He came to talk to me and ended up yelling at Kyle for what 'he had let happen'.
Even as a seven year old, I could tell there was something wrong with him, I think he was drunk. He was screaming at the top of his lungs at Kyle and I didn't know what to do, especially when Kyle started crying. The cop was definitely drunk. What I did next, changed my life as I knew it, and got me removed from my family.
I walked over, and punched that cop right in his face. His face turned all red.
Kyle screamed, "Sam! You'se can't punch the Bulls in their face, what the hell are you thinking?"
Silvia's father walked over to me and said real mean and heavy, "You're gonna pay for that, child. You can punch me, but not my daughter, but if you punch us both, I'm taking you in. And you just did. Where's your mother, child?"
I glared at him, not my deathly glare like now, but my weak seven year old one, and said, "Mamma's coming back from da market. My father is at work."
He snickered, "Then I guess your father won't be able to stop me than will he?" With that, he dragged me into his carriage, handcuffed me, and told me to stay there. He walked over to my mother, who was returning from the market, with a nine year old Kyle clinging to her skirt, explaining what happened.
Silvia's father, Sheriff Thomas Smith pulled out a gun, and shot my mother. Right there in front of both of her kids. Kyle screamed as our mother, Joan Elizabeth Brown, fell to the ground.
I was smart for a seven year old, knowing how to read and write, and I knew Silvia's father was crazy and drunk. He shook seizure like as he laughed. Kyle cried as he saw our mother on the ground, still holding the items from the market.
"Now, I'm taking you in for murder of your own mother. Ha ha ha..." Sheriff Smith stuttered. And Kyle and I were driven to the Trenton Refuge, for something we witnessed but never committed...
...
Now, I was fourteen. I had left my older brother behind; or rather he had left me behind. He had stayed in the Trenton Refuge for three years, and when he turned twelve, our father came and retrieved him.
He saw how I had changed from the innocent girl I had been, into this glaring, tough, ten year old. Our father believed the cops story, not what had really happened. It was sad that he didn't trust us, but that just made me hate him. It was easy for me to hate, but hard for me to like. So I didn't.
Kyle and I had been close in the Trenton Refuge. We guarded each other, and ruled the Refuge. Or at least, I did.
Kyle wasn't tough anymore; not like he had been. The emotional stress had become too much for him to handle; that might have been the reason that my dad still saw innocence in him and taken him, rather than me.
But when I turned eleven, a year after being left alone, I became who I am today. The glare- perfected. The look- tough as nails. The beauty- almost gone, but there. The gracefulness- no one saw anything coming.
I beat up kids, I was tough. I stole food from them, they couldn't do anything. Being the only girl in the six different Refuges I had lived in during the three years since I turned eleven, I wasn't going to be used or pushed around by stupid boys, hence the fact that I was now being taken away from the Trenton Refuge for the second time in my life, and this time being relocated out of state in the Bronx, New York by carriage. I feel so special haha, NOT.
I was seated by one literally huge guy dressed in black; it was his job I didn't attack anyone or anything like that. The road kept getting bumpier and bumpier and I kept being thrown towards the big guy by it until I was seated on his lap. He screeched and I swear he almost pooped his pants. Talk about my reputation.
Then his reflex swept in, also sweeping me out the carriage's window and into a crowd of random bystanders on the street. Without apologizing I took off running, not waiting for the body guard and the driver to realize their mistake.
I didn't know where I was running, and didn't seem to care until I ran right smack into someone. And he was NOT happy.
Who did our little Sammie Rose run into?
AUTHORS NOTE: I unfortunetly, do not own Newsies or the Manhattan Refuge. I do own Samantha Rose, Kyle, Silvia, Sheriff Smith, and Lady Brown.
-This is my first Fanfiction EVER! Haha I don't know if this is good or bad so Review Please!
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-xoxox BrennaBerrr 3