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Yes!

Another fic! Well, this is more of a ficlet. But whatever.

This is dedicated to Garen Ruy Maxwell. Because of him, well, I won't say. He knows.

If not, he can ask me. But I will say that he is the reason I'm here right now writing at all. (oh, and Garen I owe you one more story! A good long one! Like Cracks in the Picture Window)

So,without further adu, the story.

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By the way: In the first chapter, there is hardly any newsie sightings. And there is LOTS of dialogue.

Oh, yah, And I don't own Newsies.

And this chapter didn't get spell checked or beta'd or anything. Sorry about that. I don't have anyone to Beta my stories.

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Spot glared at Whistler. "Whaddya mean you didn't do the errands!" Whistler just stood with his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself. (Hence the nickname)

"Whistler. Explain yourself." Spot commanded. Whistler sighed, and thought about telling Spot what had happened earlier...

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Ginny:

I tried to keep my balance on the rail. It was slippery. And I was getting cold. I stared for a moment at the icy water below me. I was sure if I jumped, I would die. The one thing that would clear my pain. Relieve me of this pathetic thing some called living. A voice pierced my thoughts like a blade piercing the darkness.

"What the hell are you doing, Ginny?" the voice asked. I winced.

"Admiring the view, Wiss." I replied, with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

"Don't tell me your trying to kill yourself again. You know this is wrong..." Whistler started. "Suicide isn't the..."

"Isn't the answer. I know. I know." Silence followed my little interuption.

"Please. Don't do it." Whistler pleaded.

"Why not, huh? What am I living for? A dime a day and the hope of becoming a writer eventually? It just isn't worth it. I'm living a pathetic existence. I have no friends and everyone hates me..." I started.

"I don't hate you." Whistler interupted.

"Whistler..."

"What? One person doesn't matter. Let me list a few more to sway your thoughts: Star. Kat. Revolt. Silva Shot. Jack. Race. Mush. Kid Blink. Skittery. Me. Need I continue?"

"Whistler. No. One. Really. Cares..."

Whistler opened his mouth as if he was going to stop me again. "Save you." I added.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "What can I say to make you get off of there?"

"Just say 'jump'." I answered, turning back to face the icy water and my own death.

"I won't say it." Whistler said. I felt the coldness of his glare digging into my back.

"You know that people care about you." Whistler continued.

"No they don't. They just pretend to. If I killed myself now no one would notice." I replied, trying in vain to ignore him.

"I would." He cut me off yet another time.

"We just went through this I..."

"I would notice." he repeated.

"IF I DIE NOTHING WILL CHANGE IN ANYONES LIFE! I WON'T BE MISSED AND NO ONE WILL LOSE ANYTHING!" I shouted, a bit louder than I had intended to.

"My life would change. I'd lose a friend. And the world would lose a great author." Whistler insisted. It amazed me how well he could keep his temper low. He never seemed to get mad.

"Garen..." My voice trailed off. What more could I say to him?

"Are you going to kill youself?" He asked.

I didn't answer him and tried once again to just fall.

"This is a pressing matter." He reminded me.

"What the hell is pressing about it?" I asked angrily.

"It's pressing because I hope you won't kill youself." He said. I frowned.

"Don't waste another thought on me."

"It's not a waste."

"It is."

"No it's not."

"It is, dammit!" I yelled.

"It isn't. And I really wish you'd stop insisting that it is, because it's totally not." Whistler replied, his tone still cool.

"It 'totally' is! You don't understand!" I felt tears begin to form in my eyes. I wanted to turn around and jump, but a voice held me back.

Listen to me. It whispered. I looked back at Whistler.

"I want to read something to you..." He started.

"Don't bother. Seriously. Put your time to something worth it." I insisted, lifting one foot up, ready to jump. He grabbed my raised ankle and held it tight.

"Listen, I am specifically not running the errands for Spot because I want to make sure you're okay." He said. I bent down and slapped his hand in one swift motion.

"Do your work and don't even bother with me. In the long run, doing your work will be smarter..."

"Not if I'm unable to live with myself for letting a friend commit suicide!" Whistler exclaimed.

"A friend. One friend. For Paladine's sake! It's just me! Ginny. Definition- Worthless, pathetic, stupid girl who is barely able to keep her friends. They either die or abandon her for someone else." I yelled at him, wishing he'd dissappear into the ground.

"Definition: a smart, intellegent girl who is an excellent writer, who happens to have bad luck. And Stealth dying had nothing to do with you." Whistler added.

"Ha. That's so untrue it's funny. If I had been there. I could've done something..."

"Her pill bottle was empty. There was nothing anyone could do."

"I could've done something!" I insisted. Whistler sighed.

"Argh. Is the water frozen? Damn. Even Mother Nature hates me. Why does everyone hate me!" I cried out.

"I don't hate you." Whistler repeated.

"Not even a little?" I inquired.

"Nope." Whistler answered.

"Everyone hates me. Even if it is just a little..." I pried, trying to get him to say he hated me just a little bit. Just so I had an excuse to jump and get away from him.

"I don't. You've never given me any reason to."

"I'm me. I'm alive still. that's reason enough for everyone else."

"Just for Ashley and her cronies."

"Everyone in the lodging house. And Switch. All of my older brothers friends..."

"Switch doesn't hate you, he's just brainwashed."

"No. He hates me. Because Ashley wants him to."

"And I think that is horrible. Because you totally don't deserve it." Whistler said, reaching out a hand.

"I do deserve it. I deserve everything that happens to me. Why? I don't know. But everything that happens happens for a reason." I hissed, shoving his outstretched hand away.

"Maybe...maybe this is a test of your will!" Whistler explained.

"My will is about to kill me. Every part of me is screaming to kill myself." I admitted.

"No, I mean that it's a test to see if you can live in spite of everything.Think how happy Ashley would be if you killed yourself. Do you want to make her happy?"

"I like happiness." I objected.

"But not for rotten, friend-stealing bitches."

"That's true..." I sighed.

"Feeling any better?" he asked.

"A bit.Thanks to a very hard to silence voice." I smirked a bit.

"Which voice is that?"

"You." I whispered back.

"Thanks for listening." He grinned. "Here, let me help you off the railing..." He reached his hand up to me again. I grasped it and tried to climb over the railing. The hem of my dress was caught under my boot, and I slipped on the fabric. Before I could even register what was happening, I was falling off the bridge and plummeting towards sure death.

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Whistler:

I watched as her hand began to slip from my own. Please. Don't die. You can't. Don't fall. Please. I pleaded to her silently. Fear flashed over her face and I swear I saw her fate flash in her now unusually pale blue eyes.

I tried unsuccessfully to grab her arm with my free hand. I watched her fall in complete silence. I looked away, not wanting to see her mangled body. Or bear witness to her death. A moment later, the screams ceased. I lowered my head and stared at the ground. Ginny was dead. I don't know what possessed me to look over the railing, but I did.

What I saw shocked me. Ginny was hanging onto one of bars just below the rail. I partly grinned knowing she wasn't dead, but couldn't smile fully knowing she wasn't quite yet safe. I leaned far over the railing and just managed to grab her left wrist. Even though I don't look strong enough to, I pulled her up and over the railing.

Tears were streaming down her face and she was truly afraid of the fate that had just stared her in the face.

"Fate." I whispered.

"Huh?" She asked, looking up from her spot on the pavement. She tried to wipe cold sweat from her face with the hem of her dress.

"Fate. That can be your nickname. Like mine is Whistler. Yours can be Fate." I reiterated.

"Fate." She whispered to herself. "I like it."

"Good. Then we shall call you Fate from now on." I grinned. "C'mon let's get back to the Lodging House before you try anything else stupid." I stuck my hand out to help her up.

This was probably the first time I had really looked into her eyes. "What colour are your eyes, really?" I asked.

"Pale blue when I'm afraid and green any other time." Fate replied, grasping my hand and allowing me to pull her up. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Just curious."

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General:

Whistler grabbed Fate's hand. A thin, shaking girl was pulled in.

"So... this is Ginny. She's from Manhattan, huh?" Spot asked, looking the red headed girl over.

"Fate. My name is Fate." She corrected, her now green coloured eyes blazing.

"Sorry, Fate." Spot said. "Why did you try to commit suicide? Er, if you don't mind my asking."

"I was under the impression I had nothing to live for. But, I see now I was wrong." Fate admittted.

"Well, it's nice to have you visit, Fate. It's not often Whistler has friends over. Erm, that is ones that he's not having an affair with." Spot added playfully. Fate laughed and Whistler just rolled his eyes.

"That's not true. I have tons of friends over."

"Rats don't count." Spot laughed.

"Shut up. I wasn't counting rats." Whistler started.

"And Emily, my obnoxious sister, doesn't count. And neither do little kids who you tell stories to." Spot said. Whistler sighed. "Okay, so I don't have alot of visitors."

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Fate:

I sat in the guest room Spot had been gracious enough to let me use and stared at the ceiling. Why had I tried to kill myself? What stopped me from doing it? Why am I still here?

A soft knock at the door interupted my thoughts. "Come in." I called.

"Hey. You okay?" Whistler asked.

"Fine. What's up?" I sat up on the bed.

"Not too much. I wrote a new poem though." Whistler said, sitting down next to me.

"Oooo. Sounds good. What is it called?" I tried to read the journal in his hands.

"It's called Ginny's Song." Whistler told me.

"Hey. My name is Ginny." I mused aloud.

"Yep." Whistler agreed.

"Who is it about? Ginny W.?" I asked.

"Nope, you." Whistler answered, flipping through the pages.

"Awesome! Read it to me pleaaaassseee." I begged.

"Never repeat the mistakes I made

Never think that you're less than you are

Try to laugh, try to cry

Try to live without hating

Live life as it's meant to be

Don't let it pass by." Whistler read.

"That's really good!" I exclaimed.

"Glad you like it. It's for you, by the way." Whistler added.

"Really! Thanks so much!" I grinned, beginning to copy the poem onto another piece of paper.

"Don't you ever try to commit suicide ever again." Whistler commanded.

I sighed. "I can't promise that."

"You have to." He insisted. I didn't want to come in contact with his fist (Okay, so he would never punch a girl, but still), so I agreed I wouldn't try it. At least for a while. That was enough to get him off my back for the night. He got up and headed for the door.

"G'night." Whistler said, closing my door and heading out.

"Night." I called to the door. I flopped back down on my bed and stared blandly at the white ceiling. The hours slowly ticked away.

It was at the still of midnight I realized something. I couldn't die. I had at least one person who cared about what happened to me.

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Yeah...so...alot of that is direct quotes from the actual thing that took place. But that is all I'm saying cuz I don't want to get pummeled to death. I hope that was okay.

Oh Garen Ruy Maxwell actually wrote the poem, so yah. I didn't write that. My poetry skills are slim to none.

Tell me what you think. C'mon press the little blue button! You know you want to!

Carryin' Da Bannah!

--GiNnY--

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