A/N this is for Circulation One of the Newsies Selling Pape Competition
Task One: Write about a newsie gaining their freedom from a bad situation. The situation can be anything, be it a place or a family member.
Prompts used: darkness and red
Word Count: 1352
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OCs
The Key
He could hear the screams.
He could always hear them.
They never left.
They were always there.
.
.
Like the darkness.
The darkness was his friend.
The darkness kept him safe.
It kept his father away.
/
His head snapped up when he heard the lock click. Only one person ever opened it that silently.
He grinned weakly at his sister, Julia, as she opened the door to his prison. The locked hallway closet kept him locked away. He was thrown in, no matter his condition, whenever his father got tired of his face. Usually, he was battered and bloody when he was locked away.
He'd been locked in there again by his father; after trying to escape for the second time that week.
Julia smiled softly. "C'mon little brother, let's get you outta here." Her Irish accent was heavy. She eyed the new bruises on her brother with disdain. "Why do you do it?"
Her brother could see the pain in her eyes, so similar to his own. "I wanna be free. Dad shouldn't be able to beat us whenever 'e wants. It ain't fair!" The boy couldn't understand why their father beat them the way he did.
Julia smiled sadly. "Life isn't fair Patrick. That's why we have hope. So the days aren't so grey."
Patrick frowned. "Well, I hope I can fly like a bird next time Dad comes at me wit' his belt."
Julia's eyes darkened. "Provoking father will only make him mad." She scolded gently. She couldn't stand when her brother was injured. She was his sister and she was supposed to look out for him. "And that includes tryin' to run away in broad daylight."
Patrick pouted. "It coulda worked!" He protested. "If Mr. Doyle weren't friends with dad I coulda made it. Then I'd come back for you at night so he don't catch me."
Julia didn't respond.
He followed her out, watching as she hid the old grey key in a hidden pocket. She had stolen the key from their father. Sean O'Connell wouldn't miss what he didn't know. Julia had stolen the key when their father first started using the closet to lock her little brother in. She'd made a copy of the original key so their father wouldn't suspect a thing.
...
"What was the fight 'bout dis time Jules?" Little Patrick asked. His sister was always fighting with their father. It never stopped.
Julia's eyes dimmed. "The same ol' things like always." Patrick nodded, understanding what she didn't say.
Sean O'Connell liked to yell. Patrick had learned that at an early age. He especially liked to yell at his children. He blamed them for their mother's death.
It was their mother that caused them to move to America. She wanted a better life for her children; one away from the poverty in Ireland. And it was their mother who didn't survive the trip.
It didn't help matters that Julia looked like a taller version of her mother and Patrick had his mother's eyes.
"One day we'll be free. I know it." He assured her. He knew there was so much more out there for them.
Julia ruffled his blonde hair, "if you say so." She hated to crush his dreams. She just couldn't see them getting away from their father.
The one time they had successfully escaped resulted in a week of pain. They couldn't walk for at least a month without wincing in pain at each step. They'd made it as far as Queens before their father found them.
Julia wanted freedom just as much as her brother did. But as time went on she lost hope. Her new goal was to protect her little brother. If anyone deserved freedom it was her brother. His life hadn't been kind and it wouldn't last long if things didn't improve for them. She'd do anything to save him from their father.
…
Patrick watched his sister as he ate his meager breakfast. She just stared at the clock.
A sudden shout made the siblings jump. "Get your papes! Hot off da presses! Mayor involved in scandal! Wife caught cheating!"
Julia sighed, her tense posture relaxing. If the newsies were out that meant their father was at work, for once. The newsies always knew when their father left the house. It kept everyone safe from the man's violate temper.
Patrick tried to catch a glimpse of the newsboy. His blue eyes shined with excitement. "Someday I wanna be a Newsie." He told his sister.
Julia smiled at the dream. Newsies were poor but they had their freedom. A step up from where they were. "Someday. When you're a wee bit taller." She teased.
Her brother pouted, not liking the jab at his height. Patrick took after their mother in that regard. He was small for his age. Julia was almost a head taller than him, taking after their father.
…
It was dinner when the trouble started.
Their father had come home, raging mad. He'd lost his job.
Julia tried to stop him. She tried to direct his anger toward her. She failed.
Patrick landed with a thump from the impact. He stared defiantly at his father, a red welt on his shoulder.
Before their father could strike him again, Julia pushed her brother out of the way. She took the blow, a fire ignited in her blue eyes. A fire that couldn't be put out.
"You won't hurt him!" She yelled to their father. Their father pushed her to the ground like a rag doll, towering over her with a belt.
Patrick had enough. He knocked into the back of his father's legs, momentarily defeating him. Patrick grabbed his sister's hand and fled toward the front door.
…
Patrick could see the front door.
If they made it they'd be free.
"Don't look back!" His sister yelled
Julia ran beside him, pushing him in front of her.
He heard the sound a moment too late.
A gunshot.
…
Julia fell forward with an oomph.
A second shot sounded.
Patrick flinched when a loud thump was heard.
He ran to his sister, scared by the blood pooling around her.
…
Patrick would forever remember the color red. It stained his clothes and that of his sister's.
Julia held out her hand weakly, that old grey key sitting in her red palm. "Run. Run away and never look back." She coughed, blood staining the floor under her. She wheezed, "be free."
Patrick shook his head, his eyes falling on the gun near his father's body. He didn't want to believe that he was alone.
Julia put a rough hand on his cheek, leaving a bloody handprint. "I love you. Never forget that." She smiled at him, a dazzling smile that hadn't dimmed even through years of abuse.
…
Patrick took that key and never looked back.
He ran all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge, running from the past and running to freedom.
He ran until his lungs gave out.
When he stopped running an older boy was staring at him.
The boy introduced himself as Speedy, King of Brooklyn.
Patrick followed the boy since he promised shelter. He washed the blood off, closing his eyes when he remembered why they were stained red.
Speedy allowed Patrick to tag along with him for the evening edition. He was impressed by the young boy's quick learning. He was a natural.
…
Boys started calling the kid Spot since he always seemed to have the best selling spot.
Patrick just grinned, not bothering to correct them. He used his mother's last name and fashioned a new life for himself.
Spot Conlon was someone to be feared. A person of great feats. One to be respected. And a person who would never be locked away again.
.
.
.
Spot Conlon never lost that key. He protected it with his life because someone gave their life to set him free.
That key represented freedom and hope. Sure, it reminded him of the worst years of his life, but it also reminded him of the love his sister gave him.
Spot Conlon may be free from his life as Patrick O'Connell but he would never be free of the memories.
I hope this turned out right.
I always pictured Spot with a rough childhood.
How do you picture Spot Conlon's childhood? Was he an orphan? Abandoned? A runaway? Or did he have a great family life ending with a tragic accident?
Wish me luck as a reporter in the Newsies Selling Pape Competition,
Your loyal Fansie,
Tmr_Potterhead250