You've got no Guarantee written by Polecat
Your day starts almost as soon as the sun rises. If you're lucky enough to live in a lodging house --which today you are-- the soul responsible for you all, bangs loudly up the stairs and wakes you with shouts of names.
Yours isn't called --maybe it's because he can't remember it-- but several others, which wakes you anyway. You lay on your mattress for a few minutes, squinting at the harsh morning light, dreading the day ahead and hoping for just a few more minutes.
You realize that if you'd like to call this bed yours again tonight --which you do-- you have to get up and get to work. The bathroom is crowded as every single lodger tries to get a sink, a stall or a bath. You wedge yourself between two others who are not quite awake and steal a sink for yourself.
The waters ice cold and numbs your hands as you splash it on your face. But your awake, which was it's purpose in the first place. A quick brush of your hair and your back by your bed to get dressed.
You pull on your shirt since you slept in your slacks already, button it up and tuck it in properly. Fix your suspenders, pull on your vest and pull your cap over your head, now your ready for the day.
In a rush you and every lodger stampede down the stairs in hopes to be one of the first to the distribution center. You have to be one of the first in line if you want to buy papers that day. You need to be or someone else will buy your share and you'll need to find some other work for the day, or go hungry and sleep in an alley.
Already a small group has piled outside the gates of the center, you squeeze yourself in there as well. Once the gates are unlocked, it's a mad dash to be the first in line. Some kid pushes you out of the way, another elbows you right in the side. The wind is taken out of you for a minute and you glare at him, but you have no time to fight, papers are being bought up quick.
Children your age, younger than you or older, taller, shorter, cleaner, dirtier, all push and shove one another. The man collecting your money and handing out newspapers doesn't stop the fights that break out, he only wants you all out of his hair as soon as possible.
You push past a smaller kid who is up on tip toe trying to buy a few newspapers. He can't even see over the counter and the distributor can hardly hear him. You push your money forward, order a little less than you usually would --it's a cold day, not too many people will be out-- and shuffle past the rest of the waiting kids.
The headlines aren't too good, you know this by overhearing another newsie. You'd of known that yourself if you could read better. But school isn't as important a work. School won't pay you, put food in your stomach or give you a place to sleep at night. It would of been nice if you'd had the option of work or school, but you didn't. Your only parent fell sick and you needed to feed them and yourself. After they died, you were on your own. School wasn't going to find you a place to live, put clothes on your back or feed you, newspapers would.
You travel past street corners and buildings already claimed by other newsies. They're bigger and older than you, so you don't bother trying to rip them off for their spot. As you travel you call out a few headlines that might attract a costumer or two. Your in luck, two costumers already.
By the afternoon you're cold and hungry. You found a spot in Central Park to sell your papers, usually that spot belonged to another kid, but he didn't show up so you claimed it. You don't even wonder why he never claimed his selling place that day. You don't wonder that maybe he took sick or was injured somewhere, you're just glad that you might have a new permanent spot.
The days too cold and the park is nearly empty, you've only sold eight papers so far. Eight papers is not enough to buy you something to eat and a bed for the night. You'll have to make a decision if things don't pick up soon. It's been almost two days since you've eaten anything proper, and you're starting to feel it. You feel kind of sick, your head kind of hurts, your stomach is hollow and your legs a little weak.
Only it's awfully cold today, which means the night will be even colder. You'll have to seek out a place to sleep in an alley or on a stoop somewhere. You don't have a jacket to keep you warm against the frigid winds, and you can smell snow in the air.
Once evening comes, you've only made twelve cents, you've got eight papers that no one bought. Tomorrow you'll just wrap them up with that days edition, it'll save you money. Still you don't have enough for food and a bed. You sit on a stoop, count out your coins and contemplate the situation.
It's too cold to sleep outside, if you even wake the next day you're sure to have frostbite on all you extremities. But you don't think you can go another day without eating either, you almost did fall today when your legs grew too weak.
The smell wafting to your nose from the diner across the street is too tempting to pass up. You wander in, buy a sandwich, find a booth and saver every single bite. You've only got a nickel left now, that won't buy you a bed. Glancing out the diner's window, you see snowflakes falling to the ground. You knew it, you could smell winter in the air.
The diners full, probably because it's a pub as well. Men are drinking and being very loud. Your booth is comfortable and your finally beginning to feel warm for once that day. No one would notice if a kid like you was curled up in this booth. Everyone's too drunk to care.
Someone thumbed you hard on the arm, you jerk from sleep in quite a surprise. It's the man who served you the sandwich, he seems quite unhappy with you. He yells at you, hollers about vagabonds and street rats and chases you outside.
There's an inch or so of snow on the ground now, moisture finds every single hole in your shoes and sinks in. Within minutes you feet are already cold and feeling numb. You tightly wrap your arms around your body and clamp your shivering teeth together. There's an alley right ahead, you wander into it to seek out a place for sleep.
A few crates have been tossed away to the back, you brush snow off them and set them up so you can sleep on them. You curl into a ball as best as you can, squeeze your eyes tightly shut and try to go back to sleep. You're much too cold and know you won't be able to, you'll just lay here until morning. In the morning you'll be first to the distribution center and sell enough papers to earn money for a bed; you had a sandwich tonight, you're set for another three days.
Loud, drunken talk wakes you up sometime later. Dawn is being to peek through the wintery sky. Two men have wandered into your alley, you sit up and watch them skeptically. One mans fallen on his rear, he tries to stand, slips again and lays in the snow. He doesn't move as his friend laughs and pokes him, he's passed out.
The other man approaches you, you stand, your guard is up. He tells you you're a pretty cute kid and shouldn't be sleeping out in the cold. His rank breath is too close to your face for your liking. He tells you that if you give him a little kiss he'll give you a place to sleep for the night. You're disgusted and try to move past him. He grabs your arm and you discover he's remarkably strong.
He's nearly holding you up by one arm, yelling in your face about being disgraceful, spittle flies from his mouth and hits your lips and cheek. Your scared, you want to cry but refuse to. You haven't cried in years. Not when you had to leave to work. Not when you were orphaned. Not in years.
He jerks your arm hard and a blinding pain shoots through you, you're sure he must of pulled it right from the socket. He demands another kiss, in a panic you bring your knee straight up and connect it with his groin. He hollers and almost doubles over, but doesn't let you go.
You're surprised how quickly he recovers, you're just as surprised when his fist connects with your jaw. Instantly you taste blood, you tongue the source and discover your tooth isn't there. You spit out the blood and your tooth as well. The next blow hits you in the stomach, you want to fall on your knees but the man still hasn't let go of your arm.
He takes out his fury and rage on you like you were a ragdoll, you can do nothing but take it. When he's finally done, he lets go of your arm and you drop to the ground in a heap. Blood trickles form you mouth and nose. Your sides hurt, your stomach is tender and you're not even attempting to move your arm.
You probably need a doctor, but you can't even afford a bed, how will you afford a doctor? Morning has come and the city is waking up. Kids pass by your alley, heading off the center to be the first in line. You lay on snow and don't attempt to move, you're not even sure if you could at this moment.
Footsteps crunch over the snow behind you, you squeeze your eyes shut and pray it's not the man come back for more. Someone leans over you, you know them but not really. You've seen them buying papers, you've passed by them as the pitch their headlines. They're a newsie like you, but you don't even know their name.
They help you to your feet, look you over, pity mixed with knowing shows on their face. They show you how to use your vest as a sling for your arm, tell you to use your shirt sleeve to wipe the blood away and hurry you on the distribution center.
They don't baby you, they don't stroke your hair and tell you everything will be alright. You didn't expect them to, even though it would of been nice. Nothings guaranteed when you're a newsie --not a bed, not a meal, not even a life-- but you already know this.
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Um... yeah... so? Gimme feedback!
Your day starts almost as soon as the sun rises. If you're lucky enough to live in a lodging house --which today you are-- the soul responsible for you all, bangs loudly up the stairs and wakes you with shouts of names.
Yours isn't called --maybe it's because he can't remember it-- but several others, which wakes you anyway. You lay on your mattress for a few minutes, squinting at the harsh morning light, dreading the day ahead and hoping for just a few more minutes.
You realize that if you'd like to call this bed yours again tonight --which you do-- you have to get up and get to work. The bathroom is crowded as every single lodger tries to get a sink, a stall or a bath. You wedge yourself between two others who are not quite awake and steal a sink for yourself.
The waters ice cold and numbs your hands as you splash it on your face. But your awake, which was it's purpose in the first place. A quick brush of your hair and your back by your bed to get dressed.
You pull on your shirt since you slept in your slacks already, button it up and tuck it in properly. Fix your suspenders, pull on your vest and pull your cap over your head, now your ready for the day.
In a rush you and every lodger stampede down the stairs in hopes to be one of the first to the distribution center. You have to be one of the first in line if you want to buy papers that day. You need to be or someone else will buy your share and you'll need to find some other work for the day, or go hungry and sleep in an alley.
Already a small group has piled outside the gates of the center, you squeeze yourself in there as well. Once the gates are unlocked, it's a mad dash to be the first in line. Some kid pushes you out of the way, another elbows you right in the side. The wind is taken out of you for a minute and you glare at him, but you have no time to fight, papers are being bought up quick.
Children your age, younger than you or older, taller, shorter, cleaner, dirtier, all push and shove one another. The man collecting your money and handing out newspapers doesn't stop the fights that break out, he only wants you all out of his hair as soon as possible.
You push past a smaller kid who is up on tip toe trying to buy a few newspapers. He can't even see over the counter and the distributor can hardly hear him. You push your money forward, order a little less than you usually would --it's a cold day, not too many people will be out-- and shuffle past the rest of the waiting kids.
The headlines aren't too good, you know this by overhearing another newsie. You'd of known that yourself if you could read better. But school isn't as important a work. School won't pay you, put food in your stomach or give you a place to sleep at night. It would of been nice if you'd had the option of work or school, but you didn't. Your only parent fell sick and you needed to feed them and yourself. After they died, you were on your own. School wasn't going to find you a place to live, put clothes on your back or feed you, newspapers would.
You travel past street corners and buildings already claimed by other newsies. They're bigger and older than you, so you don't bother trying to rip them off for their spot. As you travel you call out a few headlines that might attract a costumer or two. Your in luck, two costumers already.
By the afternoon you're cold and hungry. You found a spot in Central Park to sell your papers, usually that spot belonged to another kid, but he didn't show up so you claimed it. You don't even wonder why he never claimed his selling place that day. You don't wonder that maybe he took sick or was injured somewhere, you're just glad that you might have a new permanent spot.
The days too cold and the park is nearly empty, you've only sold eight papers so far. Eight papers is not enough to buy you something to eat and a bed for the night. You'll have to make a decision if things don't pick up soon. It's been almost two days since you've eaten anything proper, and you're starting to feel it. You feel kind of sick, your head kind of hurts, your stomach is hollow and your legs a little weak.
Only it's awfully cold today, which means the night will be even colder. You'll have to seek out a place to sleep in an alley or on a stoop somewhere. You don't have a jacket to keep you warm against the frigid winds, and you can smell snow in the air.
Once evening comes, you've only made twelve cents, you've got eight papers that no one bought. Tomorrow you'll just wrap them up with that days edition, it'll save you money. Still you don't have enough for food and a bed. You sit on a stoop, count out your coins and contemplate the situation.
It's too cold to sleep outside, if you even wake the next day you're sure to have frostbite on all you extremities. But you don't think you can go another day without eating either, you almost did fall today when your legs grew too weak.
The smell wafting to your nose from the diner across the street is too tempting to pass up. You wander in, buy a sandwich, find a booth and saver every single bite. You've only got a nickel left now, that won't buy you a bed. Glancing out the diner's window, you see snowflakes falling to the ground. You knew it, you could smell winter in the air.
The diners full, probably because it's a pub as well. Men are drinking and being very loud. Your booth is comfortable and your finally beginning to feel warm for once that day. No one would notice if a kid like you was curled up in this booth. Everyone's too drunk to care.
Someone thumbed you hard on the arm, you jerk from sleep in quite a surprise. It's the man who served you the sandwich, he seems quite unhappy with you. He yells at you, hollers about vagabonds and street rats and chases you outside.
There's an inch or so of snow on the ground now, moisture finds every single hole in your shoes and sinks in. Within minutes you feet are already cold and feeling numb. You tightly wrap your arms around your body and clamp your shivering teeth together. There's an alley right ahead, you wander into it to seek out a place for sleep.
A few crates have been tossed away to the back, you brush snow off them and set them up so you can sleep on them. You curl into a ball as best as you can, squeeze your eyes tightly shut and try to go back to sleep. You're much too cold and know you won't be able to, you'll just lay here until morning. In the morning you'll be first to the distribution center and sell enough papers to earn money for a bed; you had a sandwich tonight, you're set for another three days.
Loud, drunken talk wakes you up sometime later. Dawn is being to peek through the wintery sky. Two men have wandered into your alley, you sit up and watch them skeptically. One mans fallen on his rear, he tries to stand, slips again and lays in the snow. He doesn't move as his friend laughs and pokes him, he's passed out.
The other man approaches you, you stand, your guard is up. He tells you you're a pretty cute kid and shouldn't be sleeping out in the cold. His rank breath is too close to your face for your liking. He tells you that if you give him a little kiss he'll give you a place to sleep for the night. You're disgusted and try to move past him. He grabs your arm and you discover he's remarkably strong.
He's nearly holding you up by one arm, yelling in your face about being disgraceful, spittle flies from his mouth and hits your lips and cheek. Your scared, you want to cry but refuse to. You haven't cried in years. Not when you had to leave to work. Not when you were orphaned. Not in years.
He jerks your arm hard and a blinding pain shoots through you, you're sure he must of pulled it right from the socket. He demands another kiss, in a panic you bring your knee straight up and connect it with his groin. He hollers and almost doubles over, but doesn't let you go.
You're surprised how quickly he recovers, you're just as surprised when his fist connects with your jaw. Instantly you taste blood, you tongue the source and discover your tooth isn't there. You spit out the blood and your tooth as well. The next blow hits you in the stomach, you want to fall on your knees but the man still hasn't let go of your arm.
He takes out his fury and rage on you like you were a ragdoll, you can do nothing but take it. When he's finally done, he lets go of your arm and you drop to the ground in a heap. Blood trickles form you mouth and nose. Your sides hurt, your stomach is tender and you're not even attempting to move your arm.
You probably need a doctor, but you can't even afford a bed, how will you afford a doctor? Morning has come and the city is waking up. Kids pass by your alley, heading off the center to be the first in line. You lay on snow and don't attempt to move, you're not even sure if you could at this moment.
Footsteps crunch over the snow behind you, you squeeze your eyes shut and pray it's not the man come back for more. Someone leans over you, you know them but not really. You've seen them buying papers, you've passed by them as the pitch their headlines. They're a newsie like you, but you don't even know their name.
They help you to your feet, look you over, pity mixed with knowing shows on their face. They show you how to use your vest as a sling for your arm, tell you to use your shirt sleeve to wipe the blood away and hurry you on the distribution center.
They don't baby you, they don't stroke your hair and tell you everything will be alright. You didn't expect them to, even though it would of been nice. Nothings guaranteed when you're a newsie --not a bed, not a meal, not even a life-- but you already know this.
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Um... yeah... so? Gimme feedback!