Author's Note: The story was written back in 2003 or 2004, and I just now found it again. As everyone knows, I claim no characters as my own: they belong to Disney. This work is fiction and is only meant for fun. Enjoy (and write reviews)!
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It was a dark and stormy night. It was a night all hell broke loose. It was the night that Jack Kelly met Sarah Jacobs. It was the beginning of the end for Jack. It was the night of two forks.
The Tale of the Extra ForkIt was hardly a week after the strike had ended. Barely a week after Sarah had given Jack two forks. He had kept it hidden under his pillow as a reminder of the life he might one day have. He would trace it with his fingers each night before falling asleep, thinking about her.
Some nights, the nights he regretted his decision to stay in New York the most, he would squeeze his eyes shut and wish as hard as he could. He wished for a different life, a better one. A life where he wasn't earning only a dime a day. A life where he wasn't "Our hero, Cowboy". Sure, the title was nice, but suddenly, the newsies constantly needed him.
This particular night, the twenty-first of July, Jack was wishing. He wished with all his might, the fork held strongly in his right hand. When he was done, he opened his eyes, sighed, and moved to put the fork back under his pillow, but something bit him.
"Ouch!" he yelped, throwing the fork in surprise.
"What's wrong, Jack?" asked a chorus of newsboys, all of whom were settling down to sleep.
He shook his head. "I just got bit by something—"
"—baffoons!" Jack was interrupted, only no one else heard it that way, for the voice doing the interrupting was Jack's.
Jack clapped his hand over his mouth, hardly daring to breathe. How did that happen? He wondered. I don't remember saying that, or thinking it!
A few of the newsies grumbled, but most ignored the comment and lay back down. Jack slipped down to the floor to pick up his fork. He grasped it, and just as he was climbing back into his top bunk, he heard a voice, remarkably like his own.
"Boo!"
Jack jumped and looked around quickly. Surely he wasn't saying these things?
"In your hand bonehead!" the voice continued clearly and aggressively.
So Jack looked at his hand. It was the fork. The once straight tines were haphazardly bent, but somehow they resembled eyes, and it was smirking at him. Again Jack yelped, dropping the fork.
"Smooth move, flat face," the fork announced.
"Would you cut it out, Jack? We're trying to get some sleep over here!" yelled Skittery, known to be testy when tired.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Jack managed to squeak as the fork was also replying to Skittery, only not quite as nicely.
Jack grabbed the fork roughly, and he ran to the window, climbing out onto the fire escape where he could be alone with the monstrosity. He tossed the fork onto a higher step and faced it with a shaking finger.
"What are you?"
"I'm a fork genius, but not only am I a fork, I am the god of all forks."
Jack let out a small laugh, completely convinced that he was asleep and that it was all a dream.
"Wake up, brainless, this isn't a dream."
Jack stopped laughing. "What do you want with me?" he asked, eager to get rid of it.
The fork's voice transformed from Jack's into a deeper, more commanding one. "It's not what I want from you, but what you want from me and what I've been sent here to do," it said.
"Who sent you?" Jack interrupted.
Slightly perturbed, the fork continued. "The goddess of silverware, obviously." The fork twitched as though rolling its eyes. "Anyway. You've been wishing on me for a week now, and each time it's the same. 'I want a better life'," mocked the fork god. "And now, your wish will be granted."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "You can do that?"
"Well, no, not exactly. The goddess of silverware can, but I'm not her… I can't do it, but I can help you grant your own wish!"
"How?" he asked doubtfully, because honestly, he didn't trust a fork that claimed to be a god or worshipped a silverware goddess.
"Do not doubt me fool, just do as I say. I will give you your first instruction tomorrow morning, but now you must go to sleep. You have a very full day tomorrow."
Jack picked up the fork, and for some unknown reason, he did exactly as the fork said. His doubts magically disappeared as he made his way toward the bed. Tomorrow will be a good day, he thought.
Jack awoke cheerfully the next morning, grinning goofily at Kloppman. He dressed quickly so that he would be the first out the door and have time to talk to the fork. During his rush, however, Jack stopped to think. Why was he hurrying? To talk to a fork? What was he thinking?
So, Jack slowed down to a normal pace, ignoring the incessant thoughts, the tremendous need to talk to the fork. He was passing his bunk on his way out, refusing to grab the utensil on his way by, but his voice stopped him.
"You forgot something, jerkwad!"
Jack's shoulders sagged, but Mush raced passed him. "Thanks, Jack. I almost forgot my lucky penny!" Jack grudgingly took the fork god out from his hiding place.
"Much better, now let's go," commanded the fork.
When they reached the distribution office, the fork voiced his first instruction. "Buy one hundred seventeen and two sevenths papers."
Jack looked at the fork curiously. "They won't give me two sevenths of a paper, what are you talking about?" he hissed at the fork, trying to be unnoticeable.
"Just do it, bonehead, and trust me."
So Jack did as he was told. 117 and 2/7 papers. The man looked at him curiously and gave him a hundred and eighteen. "You can figure the two sevenths yourself, kid," the man barked, handing over the papers.
"Ha!" Jack cried out. "He gave me a free paper! I might have to do this more often." Jack smiled smugly to himself.
"Sell all of your papers," said the fork, and Jack did.
At lunch, the fork chose the menu, picking the cheapest foods only. Jack ate what he was given obediently, although he wished that the fork had chosen better food. He needed something heavier for lunch in case he didn't get dinner.
When he finished, Jack stood up, slipped the fork into his pocket and paid the small bill. He started to walk away when his voice rang out again. "You've got the wrong fork, pea brain!" Jack blushed and snaked his hand into his pocket. He looked at the fork.
"Oops," he muttered, grabbing the fork god roughly and shoving him into his pocket, hoping no one noticed.
Once outside the small restaurant, the fork god started speaking again. "You ought to be more careful with me, bud. Do you want your wish to come true or not?"
Jack pulled him out of his pocket so he could speak to the fork "face to face". "I bought a hundred seventeen and two sevenths papers this morning, and then I eat a ridiculously small lunch because you said so. I'm not any closer to being happier or richer."
"Calm down, hot pants. Just listen to me; I won't lead you astray. Go and get another hundred and twenty four papers, but this time no fractions."
Jack sighed and did as he was told. He didn't even give the fork a second thought. He was compelled by some strange urge. He sold them quickly—the headlines were great.
When he was done selling, Jack lounged around outside, by "Newsies Square" as the newsies called it. He sat next to the statue of Horace Greeley, and the fork god talked to him. He told Jack the tragic love story of Julio and Romiet, famous forks of feuding families.
The fork had just started the tale of Jamlet, the heartbreaking story of a butter knife, when Sarah happened by carrying her laundry basket.
Jack got off the statue and went to greet her. "How are you doing today, Sarah?" he asked, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm good now, thanks." She grinned flirtatiously. "How would you like to come over for dinner tonight, Jack? My mom is fixing her famous soup again."
Jack smiled. He knew the secret to the 'famous soup'. He remembered as Mayer Jacobs, Sarah's father, had given it away. "Why don't you add a little water to the soup?"
"Sounds good. What time should I come over?" Jack heard his voice say. Luckily, Sarah didn't notice that he hadn't moved his mouth.
"Umm, how does six thirty sound?"
"It sounds great," Jack answered hurriedly, so the fork couldn't speak for him.
"Okay, then. I'll see you later," she giggled, kissing him quickly.
As soon as Sarah was far enough away, Jack whipped out the fork and started yelling. "Let me talk for myself! I'm the one in love with Sarah, not you!"
"I had to make sure you were going to go to dinner tonight. It's part of the plan, Bozo."
"Well, just tell me beforehand. I was going to go anyway. Honestly, did you think I would turn down free food?" Jack rolled his eyes at the fork, assuming the fork could see him.
"Good point," the fork god muttered.
Six thirty rolled around quickly, and Jack arrived at the Jacob's household freshly shaven, holding a clump of daisies for Sarah.
"Oh, Jack, these are wonderful, thank you!" she squealed after opening the door.
Jack went in and greeted the rest of the family. He talked with David for a while, catching up, for the newsboys hadn't been selling together for a few days. David had decided he was ready to sell on his own when the strike had ended. Les clamored to be included, but had to be content with just sitting in his idol's presence.
Dinner was served quickly, and as Sarah handed Jack his soup, Jack heard his voice again. "Could I have a spoon, please?" it asked.
Sarah scrunched her eyebrows at him curiously. There was a perfectly good spoon by his bowl. Jack saw the look and put his hand down on it quickly. "Please?" he voiced.
"I guess," she replied, confused but complying anyway.
While she was gone, Jack slipped the spoon into the pocket that held the fork god, giving the fork a good knock for speaking when he shouldn't have.
"Thanks, Sarah."
Dinner went on without further interruption, and Jack slowly relaxed, content with the silent fork.
Late that evening, Jack was leaving. He gave Sarah a slow kiss outside her apartment door. "Thanks for dinner," he said. "I'll see you soon."
When Sarah was out of earshot, Jack pulled out the fork. "What was that bit about the spoon? Why do I need another utensil?"
"You don't," answered the fork sleazily. "But I do."
Jack gave the fork a disgusted face. "That's sick!" He placed he fork in a different pocket.
"Actually, you need to get a nice chunk of beef. Then, we can go back to the lodging house, and we'll be almost done with your transformation!" yelled the fork, muffled through the layers of Jack's pocket.
Jack wondered what the meat was for, but he didn't dare ask. He would never get a straight answer out of the fork. It was hard though. Most of the vendors were closed at that time of night, but eventually he found on last person on a street corner with one last piece of meat.
"Is that beef?" Jack asked, pulling out some coins.
The man nodded. "It's the best piece of beef you'll find at a time like this."
"No kidding."
Jack paid for the meat and stuck it in the fork's pocket. He soon found his way back to the lodging house.
"Go up on the roof," whispered the fork. So, Jack did.
On the roof, Jack pulled everything out of his pocket. The meat, the fork god, and the spoon all came out. The spoon, he noticed under the light of a full moon, was a little misshapen, even slightly mangled. Shivering, he put the spoon down quickly.
"Now what, oh god of the forks?"
"Lay down on your back, unwrap the meat, and chuck it up really high so that it looks as though it's sailing over the moon," instructed the fork.
"Why am I doing this?" asked Jack.
"You'll see."
Jack did as he was told, throwing the meat very high, and it flew over the full moon. As his did this, the fork started chanting.
"Hey diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The fork, he laughed,
To see such fun,
And then the fork ran away with the spoon!"
Then the fork grabbed the spoon with one tine, wrapping his arm around it. "So now you know. Adios, sucker!"
They jumped off of the roof.
"But, wait!" Jack called after them. "That's not how the rhyme goes!
"That's not how the rhyme goes! That's not how the rhyme goes! That's not…mmpgh!" Jack murmured before being assaulted by a pillow.
"Wakey wakey Jacky boy! It's a new day!" Kloppman shouted gleefully in the groggy cowboy's ear. "Get up, sell the papers!" Kloppman smacked him in the head once more for good measure before moving on to his next victim.
Mush walked by as Jack stumbled into the washroom muttering incoherently. He slapped Jack on the back. "You were talking in your sleep last night, bonehead. What's all the 'That's not how the rhyme goes! That's not how the rhyme goes!' business?"
Jack looked at Mush and groaned.
After washing up and dressing, Jack reached under his pillow to reassure himself that it had all been a bad dream. He felt around, but there was no fork.
He stood by his bed in a state of shock. "There is no fork," he breathed. This was going to be a long day.