I'm not completely happy with this one, but here it is. I apologize in advance...

Missing: absent, not found, or lost

Davey used to want to complain about having to share a bed. Of course, he never actually said anything, because he knew it couldn't be helped, but he disliked it all the same. Now, as much as it annoyed him, he wishes his brother would still take all the blankets and push him half off the mattress.

Walking to work alone feels weird. It's too quiet without Les skipping ahead, babbling about whatever was on his mind at the moment and asking a million questions, none of which had much point to them. It doesn't make any sense, because New York is busy and loud regardless of whether Les adds to the commotion, but it makes sense to him.

Work itself feels off, too. Although logically, he knows there's no need anymore, he catches himself wondering what Les is doing with Jack, Mike, or whoever he was selling with today. Whenever he snaps out of it, the truth hits him again, and it's always just as painful as the first time. Some of his regulars ask about his family, how his brother is doing. Davey tells them everyone's doing alright even though Sarah cried as she folded the laundry yesterday, his mother keeps blankly starting into space while she's in the middle of something, and his father didn't touch dinner.

Despite usually having a hard time interpreting people, at least compared to the rest of the newsies, most of whom have known each other the majority of their lives, he can tell Jack feels it, too. It probably isn't the first time he's… well, been through this, but it seems to weigh on him just as much as it does on Davey, who has been silently blinking away tears on his street corner lately when he sees kids playing tag in the alleyways, or being ushered along by their mothers when they get distracted by something. Jack looks… tired, really, not that that's anything new, but usually it's subtle and fleeting. He can tell that he also feels the absence of endless questions and boundless energy that Davey suffers from. Sometimes, he'll catch Jack slumped against a wall, looking down at his hands or the ground with this look on his face. Together, it all makes it seem like he could crumble at any moment. Davey wonders if that's what people see when they look at him.

His friends help, and he appreciates it, but no matter what, it's always with him. He leaves a trail of it neatly contained in his footprints wherever he goes, gray smoke that twists and curls like a ribbon carried by a dancer, or a gathering storm. It hangs over happy memories, seeps into every moment and taunts, "This is gone. You can't have this anymore." People are supposed to move on, to keep living, but it seems impossible when the smoke is in every moment, every thought, every observation, every action. He is a prisoner.

Why did this have to happen?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack is used to walking, but this route always bothers him. Or, rather, the destination does, and it's all he can think about on the way there. Around him, everyone goes about their business. Although he's used to it, Jack still finds it unfair that they just keep on living their lives, unaware of and unaffected by what's happened, even as it takes up all the attention of those that it matters to. They might even think he's going to see a girl – it would make sense, with the flowers.

He's almost there now, and he gets that same feeling that settles over him like a heavy blanket every time he walks under this metal arch. With every step, the urge to leave grows stronger. He stops.

Lesley Jacobs

1890-1899

Slowly, Jack crouches down and places the flowers in front of the grave, careful not to step over the fresh dirt that hasn't yet been covered by grass. He stays there for a moment, resting his elbows on his knees, and looks at his loosely clasped hands before standing up and letting his knowledge of this place chase him back over the tired grass, through the front gates, and back into busy New York, where he quickly disappears in the crowd.