Disclaimer: Newsies and Cinderella belong to their respective maker-uppers…I just like to play with them…hee!
Rule #1: When the rooster crows, it's time to wake up.
Mush stretched. It felt good to stretch after an uncomfortable night's sleep. He was sure he was one of the few people in the whole world who actually liked waking up in the morning.
Oh but he'd been having such a pleasant dream…
A few irritated squawks from outside signaled that the chickens were ready for breakfast. He so badly wanted to tell them that in some parts of the world, people ate chicken for breakfast, but it would fall on deaf ears…if chickens even had ears.
It was chilly outside. He wished he had a jacket, but alas, he owned a tattered and torn shirt that was several sizes too large, and a pair of knee length shorts…no jacket.
"Ugh, and no shoes," he muttered as he stepped in a glob of fowl left-behinds.
Angered by this sudden turn of events, and anxious to get to the sink in his dunge—er, bedroom, it was with haste that he scattered the contents of the chicken feed pail into the coop. The chickens, vile little creatures that they were, flocked to it like ladies to the prince, and Mush hurried to the sink.
Thank goodness for indoor plumbing, he thought, letting the luke-warm water wash over the soul of his foot. The offending waste gone, Mush sighed when the bells began to ring.
It wasn't the bells he minded so much. It was the people ringing them.
"I'm coming," he mumbled, rolling his eyes, glad for the confinement he was forced into every night. There, in his bedroom that had no bed, he could say what he wanted, and do what he wanted, and no one would ever find out.
They called it "the hole" as though calling it that would make it a less desirable place for him. Mush loved it that they hated it, and loved it that it was the one thing in the house he could call his very own.
Okay, not the only thing, but one of the only things.
The other was a wooden horse, well, half of a wooden horse, carved by his very own father who had bestowed it upon Mush with his dying breath. "Find the other half, my son. When you do, you will find your family."
He often wondered why his father hadn't used those last breaths to just tell Mush where his family was.
The bells rang again, more insistently, if bells can ring a certain way, and Mush was forced to concentrate on his morning duties.
Breakfast.
Oscar liked his hash browns more as hash whites, so Mush peeled the potato, chopped it into tiny pieces and piled the pieces, uncooked, onto a plate. Oscar liked his bacon raw, and his milk sour and his pancakes gooey and pale.
"Kinda reminds me of him," Mush observed decorating the plate with a few sprigs of parsley he'd grown himself and some maple syrup.
Morris was a burnt type of guy. "Over fried eggs, over fried brain," Mush said piling the contents of the frying pan onto a second plate. Charred toast, crunchy pancakes, water instead of milk, and salt. On everything.
"And dear old mumsie," Mush chortled. "Likes 'em fluffy and soft. Delicate and angelic. No bacon, she's watching her figure, and milk, perish the thought. Orange juice is much healthier." He poured a lit…a lot…of salt into the orange liquid and then, because he'd done it every day since he turned ten, he piled the three trays effortlessly onto his arms and head and started upstairs.
They were still in bed of course. Oscar let out a huge snore as Mush entered. "Rise and shine dear brother. I come bearing gifts."
An incoherent mumble followed, which Mush was sure wasn't very nice, as were most comments sent in his direction, and Mush replied cheerily, "Good morning to you, too." He put the tray down on his stepbrother's bedside table and then left, slamming the door shut on purpose just because he felt like it.
He was grinning when he entered Morris's room.
"Dear brother, you don't need any more beauty sleep than you've already had."
"Can it Pinhead," came the loving reply.
"I'm flattered you take the time to remember me." Mush set down the second tray and paused for a moment. Morris had his back to the table. If he could creep closer…saliva was the same color as water…same flavor too…he'd never know.
"What are you still doing here, creep? Get lost."
"Yesss massster." Mush bowed slightly, realizing there was still a tray on his head, and then left the room.
"What kept you? I'm positively farmished."
"I think you mean famished."
"Don't tell me what I meant. I meant what I meant and if you couldn't understand it perhaps you need to read the dictionary some more."
"I don't read the dictionary."
"Then maybe you should start. Stop changing the subject and answer the question."
"I was—"
"Food first, then answer the question." Mush obeyed, placed the tray in front of his stepmother and then backed away as bits and pieces of meal scattered about the room.
He wondered for a moment if she would notice arsenic in her orange juice…
Bad thoughts Mush.
"I was sleeping."
"What?"
"That's what kept me. Sometimes when I'm dreaming, I get so consumed by the images in my head, green meadows, crystal clear water and people, oh the wonderful people, that time just seems to stop and I lose track of…well, everything. You must know that feeling stepmother."
"I mustn't do anything of the sort. Foolish child. Leave my presence at once. You have chores to do."
"Yes stepmother."
"And Mush?"
"Yes stepmother?"
"Those ceilings in the parlor are looking dingy. See what you can do about that."
"Yes, stepmother."
Outside his stepmother's door, Mush paused to wonder why he put up with such people.
"Because they're the only family you have," came the answer.
Mush sighed. And then, because there were eggs to collect, and a garden to groom, Mush just smiled and put on his happy face. If he was going to live in misery, at least he could do it with a smile.
TBC…