Story: You're Falling Underneath the Smoke in the Room
Author: Soli
Category: NEWSIES- Action/Adventure, Angst
Rating: PG 13-R
Summary: This is a story about greed, anger, revenge and death. It's a story about the growing of the boy who lead an army against an empire into a man who, thanks to a sever tragedy, now must take charge once again to save the lives of thousands. NOTE: This is NOT a romance! Furthermore, there are NO ORIGINAL GIRL CHARACTERS. The main characters are strictly from the movie, with the exception of one minor-major character. Still, please read!
Disclaimer: None of the original characters from Newsies are mine, although I'm sure Spot wants to come home with me. J Also, the title is a line from Natalie Imbruglia's "Smoke."
Dedication: This story is dedicated to Bianca, who wrote one of the best Spot/Jack fics I have ever read. Also, this is dedicated to everyone who ever wanted to read something other than a romance fic but have had serious trouble finding one. I hope I can live up to your expectations.
Distribution: Please DO NOT take my story without my permission. I worked really hard on this, and if you would like to post it on your site, you can write me at lilsun21@hotmail.com
Prologue: You Can't See the Stars If You Can Hear the ScreamsIt had been two years of starvation, of manhandling, of internal screaming, before a shade of a chance had even slipped into his life. Two years of slowly-slipping mental stableness, of cool nights scorching him with unseen children screaming. Two years of shredding an invisible newspaper picture over and over again, savoring the last silent shred as the boy's face was ripped in two. Two years. Two years done with only a lifetime left to go.
Two years had been more than a lifetime already.
He still did not understand how he could have escape; perhaps it was merely the guard's carelessness as he rushed through lockdown to go home to his new whore. Perhaps it was a sign from God that he was to right what had been wronged in his life. It did not matter. The way his sickly arm screamed in agony at the cutting iron bars did not matter. The shouting inmates begging for release as soon as he turned the forgotten key in the lock did not matter. The burning in his cramped stomach as he stumbled through the corridor did not matter. But the fresh air outside of the gates, the dandelion seeds entangling theirselves in his scraggly beard, the sound of New York horses jogging down New York cobblestone…
He must have wandered the streets for hours before realizing he had no where to go home to. His house and possessions had been confiscated by the coppers; all of his money had been distributed to the closet of kin. He had been sentenced to life; in prison, man has no use for money or for furniture. He was homeless, penniless, jobless…he had nowhere left to go.
The twisting anger that had seethed into his mind long before his time in jail now struggled against the limiting bonds of his mind. Fury warmed his frigid limbs, forcing him to walk out of the street lamps and into the curious nighttime. Rationality stopped him. Walking would get him nothing but a pair of numb feet and a cell back in prison.
Bitter New York dust filled his mouth as he inhaled an unnecessary breathe. He knew there was a chance; One chance, and only one, all up to himself. He needed to play the game right, to make the thirst for revenge rage until it begged to be satisfied. He needed to stir memories into a concotion of bitterness and resentment. He'd have one chance. One chance for a criminally insane man to satisfy his lusting appetite for blood.
He started walking again; Dawn was approaching, and he was starving.
