My real name was Beth. Beth Lorain to be exact. I forgot my last name a
long time ago, I mean, who really cared? They wanted to call me Skittles in
the movie. This just made me wonder 'What the hell's a skittle?' Well,
before I cover all that stuff, maybe I should go over how I got here, to
2003. Well, when I got now it was 1990, but that's beside the point. Let's
begin.
________________________The Past_________________________
"Beth!" my best friend was calling, apparently none too happy about my leaving the house earlier than usual. He was catching up to me at the distribution center. His name was Michel, we didn't really use all those 'newsie' names at the time. That was something added on by those idiot producers.
"What?" I asked him, turning away from the window, toting my papes under my arm. Crap headlines that day. I remember that well. I only had twenty papers.
"You left me!" he yelled, continuing up the ramp to where I was still standing. "I don't like having to walk here by myself."
"Well, if you have such a social anxiety, maybe you should find somebody else to walk with you." It was something I had pointed out, time and again, but he simply wouldn't get it.
"Well, as soon as somebody else starts sleeping at our house, maybe I'll start walking to work with them." Yeah, we live together. He's my step brother, but some would swear we were twins. We share the same creepy marble-gray eyes with the irises barely rimmed with black. We have the exact same shade of what-was-once-brown-hair but has now turned to dirty- blonde from the sun.
Hell, we're the same height to the inch. I've got half my friends convinced that we were really twins separated at birth only to be brought back together at the age of twelve as stepsiblings. That was three years ago, and no we're like this*crosses fingers to demonstrate closeness* inseparable. 'Scept in the mornings.
"Well, it's not my fault you refuse to make friends outside of the family." He tends to follow my friends and I around during the hours we're not at work. We sell together, though. I'm not sure what he did without me.
"Then it's not my fault that I'm not exactly the social butterfly, now is it?" And he has a point. It's rather shocking that he doesn't have any other friends. He can be funny as hell at times. "Twenty papes," he said through the bars, and a stack was handed to him by a boy in a bowler.
"You sure we can sell this much today?" I question as we walk out the gate, somewhat ahead of the crowd. "I mean, the headlines ain't exactly hot."
"We can handle, Bethy." I hate it when he calls me that. "We can handle anything together."
That's right. We could handle anything together. The key word being 'together'. I really wonder how he handled my disappearance.
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________
The vote is unanimous, the story will continue. It's late and I just spent the last two hours watching Newsies and having my hair braided in a zillion teeny braids at my friends house. So, I'm gonna do shout-outs and then shut up.
Imaginelet- I'm really hoping you've realized by this point that the 'guy' is a girl. I don't know if you know, but originally there was supposed to be a girl newsie, but something happened and there wasn't.
Kate Lawrence- I like to know if my stories are liked before I go on and write a bunch. I'd rather not waste my time posting, but just force my close newsie-obsessing friends to read them. Please, please don't hurt me, I promise to continue with this.
Little Bit- Original you say? I hadn't thought about that. I am happy that you like it and that I won't be needing to force you to read what you take to be mindless drible, but forcing you to read something you like. This makes me happy.
Race da hottie- HA! You weren't first. You weren't first. I laugh at you. Would you know that this is the result of writer's block by BOTH of my other stories? Eh, could be interesting to see where this goes.
Seraph- You like it, you really like it! This makes me happy. Does that mean that I should change the summary?
(P.S. I am the type of writer that let's the story take me where the story wants to go. Not even I know what will happen. I stopped planning for these things as soon as I realized all premeditated stuff goes straight to hell)
________________________The Past_________________________
"Beth!" my best friend was calling, apparently none too happy about my leaving the house earlier than usual. He was catching up to me at the distribution center. His name was Michel, we didn't really use all those 'newsie' names at the time. That was something added on by those idiot producers.
"What?" I asked him, turning away from the window, toting my papes under my arm. Crap headlines that day. I remember that well. I only had twenty papers.
"You left me!" he yelled, continuing up the ramp to where I was still standing. "I don't like having to walk here by myself."
"Well, if you have such a social anxiety, maybe you should find somebody else to walk with you." It was something I had pointed out, time and again, but he simply wouldn't get it.
"Well, as soon as somebody else starts sleeping at our house, maybe I'll start walking to work with them." Yeah, we live together. He's my step brother, but some would swear we were twins. We share the same creepy marble-gray eyes with the irises barely rimmed with black. We have the exact same shade of what-was-once-brown-hair but has now turned to dirty- blonde from the sun.
Hell, we're the same height to the inch. I've got half my friends convinced that we were really twins separated at birth only to be brought back together at the age of twelve as stepsiblings. That was three years ago, and no we're like this*crosses fingers to demonstrate closeness* inseparable. 'Scept in the mornings.
"Well, it's not my fault you refuse to make friends outside of the family." He tends to follow my friends and I around during the hours we're not at work. We sell together, though. I'm not sure what he did without me.
"Then it's not my fault that I'm not exactly the social butterfly, now is it?" And he has a point. It's rather shocking that he doesn't have any other friends. He can be funny as hell at times. "Twenty papes," he said through the bars, and a stack was handed to him by a boy in a bowler.
"You sure we can sell this much today?" I question as we walk out the gate, somewhat ahead of the crowd. "I mean, the headlines ain't exactly hot."
"We can handle, Bethy." I hate it when he calls me that. "We can handle anything together."
That's right. We could handle anything together. The key word being 'together'. I really wonder how he handled my disappearance.
___________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~____________________
The vote is unanimous, the story will continue. It's late and I just spent the last two hours watching Newsies and having my hair braided in a zillion teeny braids at my friends house. So, I'm gonna do shout-outs and then shut up.
Imaginelet- I'm really hoping you've realized by this point that the 'guy' is a girl. I don't know if you know, but originally there was supposed to be a girl newsie, but something happened and there wasn't.
Kate Lawrence- I like to know if my stories are liked before I go on and write a bunch. I'd rather not waste my time posting, but just force my close newsie-obsessing friends to read them. Please, please don't hurt me, I promise to continue with this.
Little Bit- Original you say? I hadn't thought about that. I am happy that you like it and that I won't be needing to force you to read what you take to be mindless drible, but forcing you to read something you like. This makes me happy.
Race da hottie- HA! You weren't first. You weren't first. I laugh at you. Would you know that this is the result of writer's block by BOTH of my other stories? Eh, could be interesting to see where this goes.
Seraph- You like it, you really like it! This makes me happy. Does that mean that I should change the summary?
(P.S. I am the type of writer that let's the story take me where the story wants to go. Not even I know what will happen. I stopped planning for these things as soon as I realized all premeditated stuff goes straight to hell)
