Bella Donna
The King of Brooklyn sat on his high and mighty perch, his head hung low and his icy lonesome eyes gazing at the structure he ruled from. It was well past the afternoon; the sun had long left it's high spot in the clear New York skies and almost started fading behind the skyscrapers that punctured the skyline. The king waited patiently, though his fingers ran across the metal cap of his worn cane shakily.
Sitting in silence, a few more hours passed and the day had nearly given into darkness. His stern eyes lifted the moment he heard footsteps approaching him on the dock. Unfortunately, her eyes were focused on the boards of the dock, as if she was trying not to fall through the tiny cracks in between each piece of weathered wood.
She seemed to be attempting to move quickly but couldn't seem to get her eyes off the dock. To her chest, he noticed she clutched a folded piece of paper. It seemed slightly damp and worn, like it had been read over multiple times. As she scooted closer, he noticed how her warm chocolate strands of hair were falling into her face and her thin fingers were frustratingly pushing them out of her eyes. She didn't look up and she didn't see him.
As he continued to watch the lonely girl, he longed for her eyes to meet his. Just to see her grassy green gaze would make all of the waiting worth while. Just one glance.
She was beautiful. The ruler left his throne quietly, being sure not to startle the girl. Her small frame seemed venerable as she tip toed into his kingdom as the night fell.
"Sketch?" he barely whispered. Her head snapped up immediately and her green gaze met his icy stare. But his beautiful dove was broken. Tears fell from her eyes as she bit her lip, holding in a sob. Before he could think twice, the newsie had his ink stained hands wrapped around her waist. "Baby, what is it? Please don't cry." He kissed her cheek and the taste of salt covered filled his mouth.
"I got a letter from my home today," she managed to sputter between her held-in sobs. He kissed her again. "Spot, my father's dead." More tears. More sobs. More kisses. Her next words were more like cries. He couldn't hear her, so he didn't listen, but he kept her held closely to him.
Eternities passed before she could speak again. He had placed her with her legs dangling off of the dock and himself directly beside her. "Sketch, please don't worry. Please don't be sad."
She looked at him through teary eyes. "How could you say that?" she half mouthed, half sputtered.
"Sketch, it's hurts me when ya cry. Cause you'se so beautiful and all. Sketch," She had buried her head into my shoulder, sobs heaving her slim shoulders once more. Slowly, softly, he leaned and whispered over her shaking body, "I love you." But she couldn't hear him, so she didn't listen.