Viva La Vida
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"I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sweep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own"
The whole room stood when the young boy entered the restaurant, a sly smile on his face that curled the corners of his mouth and shone twinkling through his bright blue eyes. Another boy with short dark hair and a strong frame stood and approached the smiling devil.
"So Spot, what'd he say?" the boy asked expectantly. The blue eyed boy laughed.
"What'd you think he said, Shiner? I was askin' him." The boy called Shiner turned to the rest of the crowd, who by now were leaning forward in their seats, brimming with anticipation.
"We got it!" The restaurant erupted into cheers as many rowdy boys leapt from their chairs, fists raised and glasses clanking. Shiner turned to Spot, clapping him on the back.
"You done well, Spot," he said.
"Course I did, Shiner," replied Spot. Then with a stern look he added, "Don't go gettin' all sentimental on me." Shiner laughed.
"Course not."
- - -
That party had been one of the best nights of his life. His accomplishment that night had left a legendary mark on the hearts of kids all over Brooklyn through generations of newsies. Having so much just for them, was an unimaginable prize. A prize that no one thought he could get, but he did. He did it. All for them. And for himself. For his reputation. His reputation boomed and spread that night, but, like with all good things, it had to end. He couldn't be a newsie forever, and when that life ended, no one seemed to care what he had done back then.
This left him where he was today, just another lousy good for nothing Irish worker. Little pay and even less food were his only possessions. He didn't even have an apartment. No longer Spot Conlon, feared and respected leader of Brooklyn who could turn the tables with the snap of his fingers or a withering glare, he became the worthless nothing he was born to be: James Conlon, 30-year-old, father of 5 children currently living with their mothers, never married, drunk who spends his nights in a tavern and his days sweeping the filth ridden streets of New York City. He was constantly in trouble with the law and this morning was no exception.
"Mr. Conlon," Officer Bradstreet began, "Sleeping on the job again I see. Are you aware that you are an employee of the government, Mr. Conlon? One who is paid by the hour to keep the streets clean for his entire shift so that the good upstanding people of New York can enjoy it? And are you aware that if I report this level of misconduct to your employers you will be fired immediately? Where will you buy your gin then, Mr. Conlon, if you have no money with which to buy it?"
James looked at the man through half open eyes, "Are you aware, officer, of the fact that I am in a bad state and would appreciate it if you could keep the noise down?" He spat the word officer with a spiteful emphasis.
Officer Bradstreet's eyes narrowed, "Mr. Conlon you have 30 seconds to begin cleaning my streets before I haul you off to the station." James made a show of standing as if it were a nearly impossible task and began sweeping the sidewalk.
As Officer Bradstreet walked away James muttered under his breath, "Your streets? They used to be mine."
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. The title of this story and the lyrics (in italics) at the beginning don't belong to me either. They belong to Coldplay and their song "Viva La Vida." The plot of this story doesn't really belong to me either as it was inspired by "Viva La Vida."
A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with it so I can't promise speedy updates, but it won't be any longer than 2 weeks at the maximum. I'd really like your opinion though because the idea just came to me as I was listening to "Viva La Vida," and I thought it might make a cool story. However, if nobody likes it or responds I probably won't finish it so review please.