A Brooklyn Tale
Summary: Behind every great leader is a flock of rumors that follow him everywhere. The truth isn't nearly as dull.
Disclaimer: I do not own the newsies or any characters from the movie; the plot is inspired by the plot of "Mobsters"
The law of the street is take or be taken, and make no mistake; it is the only law that matters. Similarly, selfishly is the only way to survive. You want to help people? You want to do good? You can't save every damsel in distress; there isn't a knight in shining armor to save every girl who walks the street at night. You can't save every child from the older sociopaths out to validate their own existences. This is Brooklyn for Christ's sake; you realize how many people die here every day? You don't know them, or even remember them when they're gone. Nobody cries at their funeral, nobody takes any responsibility for them. You think anybody wants to save these kids? You think wrong. They aren't anyone's family; they're a burden to a society who would feel a lot better if they would just disappear. Then they wouldn't take up the space of the rich.
Nobody cares.
I mean exactly what I said. If you can't understand it, then most likely you've never had to experience life on the streets, and I do mean the way the patterns of the concrete imprint onto every bit of uncovered skin after you've spent your first night on the pavement. I mean the painfully nauseous sensation that overcomes your body the first time you realize a rat's used you for a mattress. The first moment you realize that they aren't coming to look for you, they don't care your gone. The truth starts to materialize in the back of your mind. Still in denial, you push it back time and time again, but it gets stronger until the truth is unavoidable; your disappearance has helped them. Whether you're lost or dead, it doesn't matter because it's not their problem anymore; you're not their problem anymore. It would be better for them if you died, then there's no chance you could come back to inconvenience them. For awhile you think about it, at first it hurts that nobody cares. It's only because you haven't accepted it yet, it's just a suspicion and it depresses you. When you think it you feel panicked, when you know it, you feel a consuming strength that you don't know how you ever lived without. You aren't aware of that yet; you're stuck inside the pain of suspicion. You start to make excuses, like you might die without even trying. You might fail even you attempt to keep your life. You start to think about what will happen after. Finally you get your answer; nothing, nothing will change. No one will care.
That's when I decided. I wanted revenge, I wanted to take their lives the way they took my hope; I wanted to make an impact. I couldn't die here on the cold hard ground, my arms wrapped around myself, hiding my tear stricken face. They'd think 'another dead orphan boy'. They didn't know how wrong they were, I wasn't going to die, and I wasn't going to be beaten by these streets ever again. I didn't do it to protect kids, I didn't do it for fun, or because it fueled my own ego. I did it because I wasn't going to be a weak, forgotten victim of the harsh world; they were all going to remember the name Spot Conlon.