BLAZING FIRE IN MANHATTAN\:THE STORY OF CARLA MARIE ROSE
The raindrops fell periodically in short, angry bursts. They hit the window with such power that the klink klink klink noises could be heard all throughout the old, creaky building. A certain newsboy stared out of that drop-covered glass with his head in his hand. The handsome-looking Italian let out a short sigh filled with reflection and aggravation.
Racetrack A. Higgins never liked the rain. It upset him more than most, as it reminded him of his old life; his terrible life. But today, that was not the pattern of thoughts running through his head. Today he was thinking of something completely different. A girl. A girl he had seen yesterday, roaming the streets of New York City. She was beautiful, he thought. She was tall, and lean, and brunette. She had wondrous rosy cheeks and clear, smooth skin. Oh, how Racetrack Higgins longed to brush his hand across that silky skin. She had kind, loving eyes that Racetrack wouldn't mind staring into for the rest of his life.
"Somethin' wrong, Race?" a voice from behind him asked.
Racetrack was broken out his daze for a moment. "Huh?" he murmured, turning from the tear-streaked window. "Oh. Oh yeah. Yeah, I'se fine," he replied.
Jack Kelly, his trusted friend and companion, tilted his head in such a skeptical way that it was evident he thought Racetrack was lying. He had kept an eye on the short Italian boy for the past day or so, and he saw that, behind his usually fun-loving brown eyes, he was troubled.
"A'right," he mumbled, turning away to leave the boy, "If you'se shoah..."
Racetrack let one last sigh escape his lips as he turned back to the rain. He was going to find her again, if it was the last thing he did...
She was roaming the empty streets of Manhattan. through the torrents of rain that fell from the angry, grey sky, she could see no one. It was like a wet, deserted ghost town. Everyone was in their warm homes while Carla Marie Rose was not, the reason for this being because she longer had a home.
As she wandered, cold and hungry in her rain-saturated dress, she began to regret her past actions. She began to question why she had walked out that door with nothing but a small bag of belongings over her delicate shoulder. She searched for the answer as desperately as she searched for an escape from the rain. At first, both things were fruitless. Then she thought of the newsboy.
She had seen him on the streets the previous day. He had dark, smooth hair and brown eyes that danced with happiness. In his hands, he held a pile of newspapers that would eventually turn into his dinner that night. An unlit cigar hung from the corner of his upturned mouth. It moved as he spoke the headlines that defined New York City life. But the one most important thing that Carla noticed about him could not be seen physically. The one thing that really made her think was the aura this boy held about him. The air surrounding him told the passersby that he simply did not care; this boy was free.
Oh, how Carla longed to be free! The suffocating lifestyle she had always known was beginning to close in upon her even closer than before. She couldn't stand the tea parties and the books and the manners. Her mother and her father had given her directions on everything; how to act, how to sit, how to learn, how to eat, how to dress. Up until yesterday, Carla had always listened to them and never once questioned it. Her two older sisters were perfect angels, and her mother had always said, "Carla, if you mind yourself and try your hardest to be the best lady you can, darling, one day you'll be just like Samantha and Katherine."
Of course! Who wouldn't want to be like Samantha and Katherine, two of Manhattan's most beautiful and well-behaved young mistresses? But the more Carla thought about it, the more her future loomed above her. One of the last straws had been watching her parents marry Katherine off to a middle-aged wealthy man who felt nothing for Katherine beyond desire. The very last straw, however, had been seeing this newsboy.
After thinking of him, she now wandered the rain-filled streets with her shoulders squared and her head high. She was no longer destined to be like her perfect, modeled sisters. Her entire life was no longer laid out in front of her, and although the thought should have frightened her, it did not. Carla had left that all behind, and now, Carla could do anything she wanted to. Carla Marie Rose was free.