~A Black River Rushed By Swiftly Below~
~Brooklyn Harper~
*A/N: I don't think I can live with myself much longer having never completed an actual fic. I've seriously considered chucking my longish fic thing out the window because, along with the fact that I'm bored with and uninspired for it, it's a MarySue and has no plot. So. I haven't thought about this at all previous to writing. I don't know what it's going to be about at the moment, or even who will be in it. It might be happy; it might put you into a depression. I don't know. But I've got cotton balls in my ears, milk beside me, and a cushy leather couch, so there's no stopping me now. Here it is. A one-shot. Kinda. By me. Brooklyn Harper. Roar. ::Thoughts are like this.::*
Disclaimer: Yeah. "She" belongs to her. She knows who she is. She's also going to kill me for this. Dutchy belongs to Disney. So do Race, Jack, Specs, Snitch, Jake, Bumlets, Mush, Boots, and Itey, even though they're barely in this. Well, Boots has one line. Not the point. Moving on. The only thing that's really mine is the bridge that is not the Brooklyn Bridge, because I thought of it and it's clever. These things are so dumb. Honestly, do I really think I'm gonna get sued if I don't have one? *Sigh*...
"Go jump off a bridge."
The words had seemed so sarcastic then. They were meant to be taken lightly of course; to insult without being particularly memorable. But now.
He laughed bitterly. It was sort of ironic, that that comment had been the final blow that had brought him here, leaning over the edge of a bridge. Not the Brooklyn Bridge of course; that would've been too cliché. It'd make for a decent headline though.
Stupid of him, to think of such trivial things as headlines at a time such as this. ::It's now or never, kid:: he thought to himself, as a particularly icy breeze ruffled blond hair across his eyes. He closed said instruments of vision briefly, in an attempt to slow his own racing heart. Racing, racing. like Race. He almost smiled at the thought of this boy who had never been his best friend, but who always could strike up a laugh in anyone. At this he gave his mind up to wandering among his other companions. Jack, the all-purpose leader; Specs, the lifelong confidant; Snitch, Jake, Bumlets. and of course Mush, the silent envy. Why'd Mush have to go and be so goddamned good looking anyway? Would it kill him to lose a fight on occasion, to return to the Lodging House with at least a shiner or something?
A bird screeched in the distance, and he shot his eyes open instinctively. He'd spent too many nights in the streets, where a cautious ear or lack thereof was the difference between life and death. Again he caught himself being stupid. Why worry, if he was just going to die tonight anyway? This reminded him of where he was, and why he was here. He loved this bridge more than any other inanimate thing he had ever come across, and there was only one person he loved more than it. Here was the only place he could really think straight anymore.
Think. Right, he needed to be thinking. A black river rushed by swiftly below, as he weighed the pros and cons of disappearing into it forever.
~*~
She couldn't sleep.
She'd gotten used to the insomnia by now, of course. Anyone would after that long. But even so, she was usually asleep by this hour. Perhaps it was the cold. She pulled the sheet up around her shoulders tightly, but if this warmed her at all, it was too little to feel. As a last resort, she tried counting sheep, but they kept spinning around and turning into deer in her head. That wouldn't do.
::Oh, fuck what they'll think in the morning!:: she decided. Clutching the all-too-thin sheet even tighter, she crept slowly across the creaking floor of the Lodging House.
"Gimme back my hat."
She froze, but it was only Boots talking in his sleep again. Someone grunted a few bunks away, and she was glad whoever it was-probably Itey- didn't snore that loudly all the time. Finally, she managed to reach the bunk without tripping over herself or waking anyone. She knelt beside it, to gaze for a moment at the face of the man she loved.
~*~
::Okay, pros first. Get them out of the way.:: He'd shut his eyes again, but tonight even being here on the bridge hadn't made concentrating any easier. Pros of going through with it were easy enough; all he had to do was think of some aspect of his life, and sure enough, death seemed like a well-deserved release. He earned less than three dollars a week, for starters, and that was only when the headlines were good. (Jack could believe what he wanted, but it was just damn easier to sell with better headlines.) Three dollars, and that was supposed to be enough to pay for food? Not to mention the nickel he had to give Kloppman every night just for lodgings, or what was stolen from him constantly by any pickpocket worth the title. What else? The other boys? They wouldn't miss him for long.
He yawned and his stomach growled simultaneously. That was two more right there. Being constantly tired and starving wasn't exactly a jolly little tea party, to say the least. He reopened his eyes, to find that his breath had fogged his glasses. He removed and cleaned them, but on the way back to his face they fell, and he heard them crack on the cobblestones. ::If this is a fine life, I'd hate to see that of someone unfortunate.:: When he got to reasons for living, he could only think of one.
~*~
But the bunk was empty. ::Odd, I didn't hear him leave.:: She tried to remember if he'd even come home that night, but the blasted Fates had chosen now to make her so drowsy that her head swam. She tried to stand, but ended up sitting back down on his bunk, where her right hand brushed the edge of something. Upon closer examination, she found it to be an envelope with her name on it. She was still dizzy, and so didn't want to risk trying to get to the fire escape to read it, as she'd surely fall and wake the whole room at best. Therefore, she merely opened the envelope and angled the brief letter so that if glowed in a patch or moonlight.
It's not your fault. I would have been dead a long time ago if not for you. I love you, more than you can imagine. I'm sorry. Tell everyone goodbye for me. -Dutch
She read it three times, hoping she'd missed some phrase that made it all a joke, some word that told her he was kidding, but no such relief existed. Suddenly all tiredness and headache were gone. She opened the window as quickly as possible without making any noise, and ran down the fire escape in less than half the time it would normally have taken her. She didn't seem to notice that it was starting to snow lightly and her fingers and face were already bright red from the biting temperature. Still grasping the note firmly, she flew through the streets of Manhattan. She knew where he would be.
She soon arrived on the bridge that was not the Brooklyn Bridge, and, breathless as she was, managed to let out, in a bloodcurdling scream, one word.
"DUTCHY!" It echoed thrice, but there was no reply.
A cracked pair of spectacles glinted under the starlight.
A wrinkled letter fell silently out of a shaking girl's hand.
A black river rushed by swiftly below.
~Brooklyn Harper~
*A/N: I don't think I can live with myself much longer having never completed an actual fic. I've seriously considered chucking my longish fic thing out the window because, along with the fact that I'm bored with and uninspired for it, it's a MarySue and has no plot. So. I haven't thought about this at all previous to writing. I don't know what it's going to be about at the moment, or even who will be in it. It might be happy; it might put you into a depression. I don't know. But I've got cotton balls in my ears, milk beside me, and a cushy leather couch, so there's no stopping me now. Here it is. A one-shot. Kinda. By me. Brooklyn Harper. Roar. ::Thoughts are like this.::*
Disclaimer: Yeah. "She" belongs to her. She knows who she is. She's also going to kill me for this. Dutchy belongs to Disney. So do Race, Jack, Specs, Snitch, Jake, Bumlets, Mush, Boots, and Itey, even though they're barely in this. Well, Boots has one line. Not the point. Moving on. The only thing that's really mine is the bridge that is not the Brooklyn Bridge, because I thought of it and it's clever. These things are so dumb. Honestly, do I really think I'm gonna get sued if I don't have one? *Sigh*...
"Go jump off a bridge."
The words had seemed so sarcastic then. They were meant to be taken lightly of course; to insult without being particularly memorable. But now.
He laughed bitterly. It was sort of ironic, that that comment had been the final blow that had brought him here, leaning over the edge of a bridge. Not the Brooklyn Bridge of course; that would've been too cliché. It'd make for a decent headline though.
Stupid of him, to think of such trivial things as headlines at a time such as this. ::It's now or never, kid:: he thought to himself, as a particularly icy breeze ruffled blond hair across his eyes. He closed said instruments of vision briefly, in an attempt to slow his own racing heart. Racing, racing. like Race. He almost smiled at the thought of this boy who had never been his best friend, but who always could strike up a laugh in anyone. At this he gave his mind up to wandering among his other companions. Jack, the all-purpose leader; Specs, the lifelong confidant; Snitch, Jake, Bumlets. and of course Mush, the silent envy. Why'd Mush have to go and be so goddamned good looking anyway? Would it kill him to lose a fight on occasion, to return to the Lodging House with at least a shiner or something?
A bird screeched in the distance, and he shot his eyes open instinctively. He'd spent too many nights in the streets, where a cautious ear or lack thereof was the difference between life and death. Again he caught himself being stupid. Why worry, if he was just going to die tonight anyway? This reminded him of where he was, and why he was here. He loved this bridge more than any other inanimate thing he had ever come across, and there was only one person he loved more than it. Here was the only place he could really think straight anymore.
Think. Right, he needed to be thinking. A black river rushed by swiftly below, as he weighed the pros and cons of disappearing into it forever.
~*~
She couldn't sleep.
She'd gotten used to the insomnia by now, of course. Anyone would after that long. But even so, she was usually asleep by this hour. Perhaps it was the cold. She pulled the sheet up around her shoulders tightly, but if this warmed her at all, it was too little to feel. As a last resort, she tried counting sheep, but they kept spinning around and turning into deer in her head. That wouldn't do.
::Oh, fuck what they'll think in the morning!:: she decided. Clutching the all-too-thin sheet even tighter, she crept slowly across the creaking floor of the Lodging House.
"Gimme back my hat."
She froze, but it was only Boots talking in his sleep again. Someone grunted a few bunks away, and she was glad whoever it was-probably Itey- didn't snore that loudly all the time. Finally, she managed to reach the bunk without tripping over herself or waking anyone. She knelt beside it, to gaze for a moment at the face of the man she loved.
~*~
::Okay, pros first. Get them out of the way.:: He'd shut his eyes again, but tonight even being here on the bridge hadn't made concentrating any easier. Pros of going through with it were easy enough; all he had to do was think of some aspect of his life, and sure enough, death seemed like a well-deserved release. He earned less than three dollars a week, for starters, and that was only when the headlines were good. (Jack could believe what he wanted, but it was just damn easier to sell with better headlines.) Three dollars, and that was supposed to be enough to pay for food? Not to mention the nickel he had to give Kloppman every night just for lodgings, or what was stolen from him constantly by any pickpocket worth the title. What else? The other boys? They wouldn't miss him for long.
He yawned and his stomach growled simultaneously. That was two more right there. Being constantly tired and starving wasn't exactly a jolly little tea party, to say the least. He reopened his eyes, to find that his breath had fogged his glasses. He removed and cleaned them, but on the way back to his face they fell, and he heard them crack on the cobblestones. ::If this is a fine life, I'd hate to see that of someone unfortunate.:: When he got to reasons for living, he could only think of one.
~*~
But the bunk was empty. ::Odd, I didn't hear him leave.:: She tried to remember if he'd even come home that night, but the blasted Fates had chosen now to make her so drowsy that her head swam. She tried to stand, but ended up sitting back down on his bunk, where her right hand brushed the edge of something. Upon closer examination, she found it to be an envelope with her name on it. She was still dizzy, and so didn't want to risk trying to get to the fire escape to read it, as she'd surely fall and wake the whole room at best. Therefore, she merely opened the envelope and angled the brief letter so that if glowed in a patch or moonlight.
It's not your fault. I would have been dead a long time ago if not for you. I love you, more than you can imagine. I'm sorry. Tell everyone goodbye for me. -Dutch
She read it three times, hoping she'd missed some phrase that made it all a joke, some word that told her he was kidding, but no such relief existed. Suddenly all tiredness and headache were gone. She opened the window as quickly as possible without making any noise, and ran down the fire escape in less than half the time it would normally have taken her. She didn't seem to notice that it was starting to snow lightly and her fingers and face were already bright red from the biting temperature. Still grasping the note firmly, she flew through the streets of Manhattan. She knew where he would be.
She soon arrived on the bridge that was not the Brooklyn Bridge, and, breathless as she was, managed to let out, in a bloodcurdling scream, one word.
"DUTCHY!" It echoed thrice, but there was no reply.
A cracked pair of spectacles glinted under the starlight.
A wrinkled letter fell silently out of a shaking girl's hand.
A black river rushed by swiftly below.