I don't own Newsies, or Kid Blink for that matter, and I certainly don't own anything of value…Now excuse me while I post MY fic which I DO own…thank you very much.
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Tell me a story, of sunrises and sunsets that catch the eye. Here
there are buildings as far as the eye can see, smoke billowing from
them as if blocking the streets from the heavens above. Do you know
the streets? I've known them my whole life. The world of luxury and
bliss is lost on me. Don't pity me. If this is all I know then at
least I am ignorant to what I'm missing. Although, at times I do
wish for three meals a day. Things like that you miss. Those are the
things you hear in books you are forced to read when you are young,
of children who have loving parents and new shoes. I envied them,
but I loved the stories.
You learn to live and breathe reality. See this patch? Reality
struck me early when I was a kid. Two years old and disease robbed
me of sight in one eye. Be thankful, though. That's what they always
told me. People like to tell you those things, especially when they
have no idea what they're talking about. But the patch is good for
work, pity pays to survive. It's like I have two lives though, the
pitiful child on the street trying to earn a buck and the premature
man trying to make it another day. You learn to count your life by
days on the streets, otherwise you'd drift away completely.
The scars don't bother me, not anymore at least. Sometimes they
still burn, but I tell myself its just my imagination and sooner or
later it goes away. I wasn't from a sad enough background to be
given a home in one of the more merciful orphanages. They take in
the children whose parents tried to kill them, or the ones that were
from some sort of immoral religion and work to turn them into good
Christian soldiers. No, I wasn't like that. A dead eye won't get you
that far, and I learned that the hard way.
One thing I always loved where the stories I used to read, or I'd
hear men and women reading to their children when I sat on the fire
escapes. They take you away, books do. Instead of smoke and disease,
there's endless fields and the sweet smells of holidays. My friends
here, like Mush and Jack and sometimes even Racetrack, like to make
up tales of far off places. They told of pirates fighting the
warriors of the sea, and knights battling to save their country and
their kin. Those short tales got me through the day sometimes, as I
recounted them in my head while elitists spat in my face.
I've been losing them though. I have lost all accounts of knights
and children with loving parents. Pirates sail the seas no more, but
the scars still burn. My good eye no longer sees fields where the
streets are laden with filth, and for once I am relieved I only have
one eye to gaze upon the weary city with. I'm exhausted, and
beginning to forget the moments I used to laugh, but now that too is
a lost luxury. I'm begging you to lift me up, to save me from the
dead-end life I have been forced by fate to take on. I'm begging you
to save me from the pain of reality and bring back the stories I
have slowly forgotten. Please, tell me a story of sunrises and
sunsets that catch the eye.
