Disclaimer: I always forget to do these...um, the newsies belong to Disney...Kindle, all the Brooklyn newsies other than Spot, and the newsies of any other lodging house besides Duane Street, belong to me, Alias...the song "Shades of Grey" belongs to Billy Joel…and that's about it.
The Vision of Youth By Alias
Prologue
"No..."
The girl's breathing was shallow, her face the color of paste. Scarlet stained the cobblestones beneath and around her. The moonlight caught her hair, the pain in her eyes. Steel flashed, and voices, shouts, pounding footsteps erupted throughout the neighborhood, turmoil shattering what might have been a peaceful autumn night; an unusually clear night for Brooklyn, with an array of stars sprinkled across the yellow-grey sky.
"No!"
All he could see were her eyes. Eyes he had looked into minutes or hours before, as they shone with eagerness, enthusiasm, stubborn pride and vivid life; now wide with terror as she tried to clutch his hand, though hers was weak, limp, and slick with sweat. "Hold on, love, it's gonna be all right..."
"I didn't want to...not like this..."
"You're gonna be fine. Love, you're gonna be just fine."
"Maybe so...I fought 'em hard...gave that tough kid a real shiner, didja see?"
I didn't see. I didn't think. I didn't know...
"They say it gets so dark...it don't seem dark to me. Look at all those stars...I'm cold, though. Is it cold?"
He wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his face against hers, as if he could absorb her spirit into himself, as if, by clutching her tightly enough, he could bind her to his world, and fight off any unseen, unearthly being who might try to claim her.
"They say angels come for you. I never trusted angels. I won't be seein' 'em, anyway. Just my luck, to end up as a...goddamn martyr..."
Heavy drops pounded from the heavens. Time had passed, angry clouds consuming the clear, starry night. Rose-colored rivers flooded the streets as water blended with blood. The night had turned wild, sheets of freezing rain streaming down in harmony to the howling of chill winds. Figures lay strewn in the streets, vulnerable and helpless in the gale, but only two could witness it. Yet neither felt it, the rain or the wind or the cold. He clung to her desperately, his hand over her heart, counting the beats that seemed to synchronize themselves with the rhythm of the storm...his open eyes blazing into hers, as the vision with which they had been blessed upon his birth, changed utterly, and terribly, forever.
Author's Note: Off to an angsty start, eh? Review, kids. NOW. (threatening smirk) Oh, and please check out "Midnight Haven" if you haven't already. I'll be updating that tomorrow, most likely. And if you have, by any chance, read both, and would like to phrase the question, "Do all your stories begin with a grievously injured kid?" then the answer is...apparently? :-/