Disclaimer: Don't own newsies, except during those passion-filled nights when Spot proclaims his love and devotion to me as I crack the cold, biting whip over his taught back muscles. I knew he'd look good without that shirt. Little bitch...
The Marble that Burns
By: Bottles
Jack Kelly was up that Friday morning long before Kloppman came in to wake the boys. Climbing out onto the fire escape he lit a poorly rolled cigarette, absently taking a few quick drags as he thought about his upcoming day. He was going to buy a few papes this morning and then at noon all of the Manhattan boys were going to meet the boys from the Bronx. An intense sensation as the burning cigarette met with Jack's fingers pulled him back into reality. Even the nicotine was unable to sooth his nerves as he cast the remnants of the cigarette down below. Was it only a week ago that this whole mess started?
Mush and Kid Blink limped into the lodging house.
"Where ya been," shouted Jack as he ran over to catch Blink before he passed out.
Mush muttered, "Dem damn newsies from da Bronx. They soaked us. Soaked us good."
"Why?"
"Well," Mush began, "we was just mindin' our own business near the harbor when Tip and his boys came up and just started punchin' us. I asked what he was doing and he said he was taking out your boys one-by-one. We fought 'em but dey just kept hitting. Must of been ten of 'em. "
The boys all began talking amongst themselves; nobody ever attacked Manhattan and got away with it. Jack's newsies were pretty passive, until someone messed with them. After seeing Mush limping with a black eye and cuts, and Blink so beat up he lost consciousness the Manhattan boys were ready for revenge.
Jack stood up in a vicious rage, "nobody messes with me boys. I'll go down to da Bronx and tell ol' Tip that Manhattan is mad as fire and ready to rumble.
'That's just what I did too, and now the Bronx and Manhattan were going to fight at noon,' Jack thought, 'I know they want to fight but I just don't want anyone to get hurt.' His thoughts went to Boots, Tumbler, and Les who no doubt were going to try and join in the brawl as well.
As the sound of Kloppman's voice disrupted the peaceful morning, Jack crawled into the window and prepared for the day.
~~Noon~~
As Jack and his newsies approached the designated spot, he turned around and said, "Anyone who doesn't wanna fight ain't gotta." His only reply was the more determined stares of his boys. They would do anything for him.
Double-checking in his head Jack tried to make sure they were prepared. Manhattan knew better than to go into the clash unprepared. After some coaching from Spot and his Brooklyn boys the Manhattaners could now fight with bats and boards without too much difficulty. Jack knew the boys from the Bronx would be equally prepared, probably with slingshot too. Jack silently scolded himself for not teaching his boys to fight with slingshots.
Tip approached with an equal amount of newsies of his own.
"Why don't we just settle this peacefully," Jack questioned.
"Cause 'hattan will be mine."
"Getting a little cocky dere aren't ya Tippy?"
Tip's punch was blocked by Jack who surprised Tip with a
blow to the stomach. And with that the
brawl had begun.
After thirty minutes of fierce fighting it looked like Jack's newsies were getting an upper hand. Race looked like his nose might be broken, but the guy that hit him wasn't going to be walking for quite some time. Kid Blink was certainly getting his revenge on a few of the guys that roughed him up the week before. Even the littler newsies were fighting bravely. The noise of the battle was deafening. Everything seemed to be going well for Jack until he felt the pain searing from his side. 'Damn, I need to get Spot to teach my boys to fight with sling shots because this marble burns like fire,' thought Jack as he continued beating a Bronx newsie with his fist. 'This is going to be one hell of a bruise.'
No one noticed a wide-eyed Tip standing there with a smoking pistol in his hand. No one that is but Tip's right hand man Smokes. Smokes ran up to Tip and gestured at the pistol, "What da hell is that Tip. Ya know newsies don't fight wit guns. It isn't right. Let's git outta here before ya kill someone." Just then Smokes looked up to see Tip's glazed over eyes and open mouth. Tip slowly came out of shock and pointed over at Jack's side. It was dripping blood. "We gotta get outta here," said Smokes as he gave the signal and the boys from the Bronx all began to retreat.
A bloodied, bruised yet ecstatic Manhattan all jumped up and cheered—almost everyone. Jack just fell to the ground clutching his side.
"JACK!"
Jack spit out, "It's just a marble. Hurts like hell though." Then he noticed his hands. They were covered in blood… his blood.
David ran over to Jack and ripped his shirt off, exposing the wound. "You've been shot." The silence that swept over the boys was more deafening than the noise during the brawl.
The bullet from the gun had ripped through Jack's side, tearing at the vital organs like a manic with a chainsaw, but Jack had ignored the pain because when have newsies ever fought with weapons?
Jack could tell that his time was fading as he began to say, "Race, looks like they finally got me, huh? I always figured it would be starvation, illness, or Santa Fe to take me away from me boys. Nevah thought a newie would do me in." Jack laughed a bit at the irony of the situation.
Race looked at Jack in horror. The smile Jack had put on his face didn't change the fact that blood was oozing from his side. He knew that if something happened to Jack he was next in line, but he didn't want the leadership and responsibility. No one could do it like Jack. He could leave them. "No way Cowboy, youse not leavin' us," Race choked out while trying to force the sobs down his throat.
"Race," Jack's face changed to a serious grimace, "youse know I'm not makin' it. I know you will do fine." Jack then looked at the ragtag boys that were his family, "Boys, I shouldn't call ya that, youse me bruddas," he corrected, "get outta here. Escape this life. Do it for you and if youse don't do it for you, do it for me. All of ya are gonna go far, far from here. Remember me, not as the great strike leader, but as your friend, your brudda."
As the last breath of air escaped from Jack's mutilated body his final thoughts were of the future. No longer would boys settle things with broken bones and blacken eyes, but only with bloodshed. His eyes closed allowing only a small tear to escape before the great Jack Kelly was only just another victim of the merciless, cruel world.
AN: Interestingly enough this was inspired by an awful stomachache I had one day. Thanks for reading. Please review cause I would love to hear what you think!!