Title: "The Anthem of Our Dying Day" (song by Story of the Year)
Author: Sneaks *Isobelle Charlotte
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Newsies (which belongs to Disney), nor do I own the rights to "The Anthem of Our Dying Day" it belongs to Story of the Year. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Spot Conlon sat on the top of the Brooklyn Warehouse where his infamous ragged newsie army, lodged. Breathing in the crisp night air, his blue eyes fixated on the stars that were just starting to peek through the now darkening sky. He glanced over, staring across the bridge, which was in view, at the city lights of Manhattan which were just starting to shine brightly, illuminated the right side of his face. Breathing in deep, with the wind picking up now, he could smell the salty air of the ocean. He gave a hefty sigh before opening his mouth, humming a small tune, which had caught in his head. He heard a voice below him and twisted his neck to enable him to gaze down at the figure below.
" Nah, I haven't seen Spot. If I's see 'im, I'll let ya know ya were lookin' foah 'im. Take care Preacher," Graft O'Halloran's voice echoed up to meet Spot's ears. Spot just sat there, frozen. He knew what Preacher was there for, but Spot couldn't move himself from the rooftop. He watched as Grafter headed back inside, meeting his younger sister, Sneaks, whose voice carried up to the Heavens with the same question as Preacher. "Where was Spot?"
Spot closed his eyes and gazed back up to meet the lights burning from Manhattan. He could feel his eyes watering as he stared at them until his vision nearly blurred, the melody in his head growing louder. He opened his mouth, sweet poetry oozing from his tongue as he went along with the melody.
"The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight, and this is the moment that I live for, I can smell the ocean air. And here I am, pouring my heart onto these rooftops. Just a ghost to the world, that's exactly-- exactly what I need. From up here the city lights burn like a thousand miles of fire, and I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day-"
Spot leaned back, continuing to stare off at into the Manhattan night sky. Taking a deep breath, he looked over his shoulder, giving into the Brooklyn skyline. Everything was so different, and changing right before his eyes. He couldn't help but feel lost and slightly confused by all the events that had been taking place in his life. The anger, he could, was starting to burn inside him, bubbling up as he tried to make sense of everything. He could feel they lyrics pouring from his soul-he just couldn't keep them in any more.
"For a second I wish the tide, would swallow every inch of this city. As you gasp for air tonight I'd scream this song right in your face. If you were here I swear I wont miss a beat Cause I never-- never have before. From up here the city lights burn like a thousand miles of fire. And I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day."
" Spot?" he heard a voice call from behind him as he turned to see Graft pulling himself up on to the roof.
" Yeah?" Spot sniffed, whipped his nose on his sleeve as he turned to face his best friend.
" Whatcha doing up here?" Graft questioned, as he attempted to keep his balance as he walked over and took a sweat next to Spot.
" Nuttin'," Spot lied, but he knew Grafter could see right through him.
" Please," Graft shook him off, the pausing to stare hard at Spot face, trying to read an expression. Suddenly he found it. "Is it Kelly?" Striking a nerve deep down inside, Spot turned away gazing back up at the stars.
" Yeah," he muttered.
" Look, ya know I don't like Kelly dat much, but he's ya friend, an' I's know he's a good leadah, like you. He'll come 'round. Just ya watch. Ta- morrow, ya just do what we's supposed ta. Keep da scabbah's from sellin'. Jack, he'll come 'round." Graft tried to comfort Spot.
" I can't believe 'im. Sellin' us out like dat," Spot hissed through greeted teeth.
" Spot, dat don't mean ya give up on da world. So, Cowboy fell of da path foah awhile, it happens. I's sure if ya were in his place, ya'd do da same thing. Money corrupts, power corrupts-dat's why we's fighting this-"
" Exactly," Spot cut off. " We's fighting da money, da power, an' what happens? Jack falls in ta it. He gives in ta da power," Spot shot back at Grafter.
" Every man has a breakin' point, an' every man has a weakness. Money, dat's any street kid's weakness. I's sure if ya were in da same place, you'd do da same thing. I's know-I probably would, if dat means Sneaks an' I would be well off. But dat chance ain't nevah gonna come. 'Sides, I'd miss ya too much if I's left. Da chance came ta Jack dough. Just-give it time. Trust he'll make da right choice. I's bettah get back inside. Without one o' us, dey'll be tearing each utter apart. Sneaks stole a basket o' bread an' some meet at da butchers shop. She's getting more daring now, an' I's swear, if dat kid get caught 'cause o' it-" Grafter let his sentence trail as he stood up and headed back down.
"For a second I wish the tide, would swallow every inch of this city. As you gasp for air tonight I'd scream this song right in your face. If you were here I swear I wont miss a beat Cause I never-- never have before. From up here the city lights burn like a thousand miles of fire. And I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day." Spot stared at the Manhattan skyline once again, watching to lights burn, his song fading off as he let Graft's words soak in. He had ta trust Jack. He had ta have faith in him. After all-that's what would keep them going, that's what had been keeping them going. If they lost faith, it might as well be the death of the newsies. Sighing once again, Spot got up, and headed back down into the warehouse, his mind more cleared out than before.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Newsies (which belongs to Disney), nor do I own the rights to "The Anthem of Our Dying Day" it belongs to Story of the Year. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Spot Conlon sat on the top of the Brooklyn Warehouse where his infamous ragged newsie army, lodged. Breathing in the crisp night air, his blue eyes fixated on the stars that were just starting to peek through the now darkening sky. He glanced over, staring across the bridge, which was in view, at the city lights of Manhattan which were just starting to shine brightly, illuminated the right side of his face. Breathing in deep, with the wind picking up now, he could smell the salty air of the ocean. He gave a hefty sigh before opening his mouth, humming a small tune, which had caught in his head. He heard a voice below him and twisted his neck to enable him to gaze down at the figure below.
" Nah, I haven't seen Spot. If I's see 'im, I'll let ya know ya were lookin' foah 'im. Take care Preacher," Graft O'Halloran's voice echoed up to meet Spot's ears. Spot just sat there, frozen. He knew what Preacher was there for, but Spot couldn't move himself from the rooftop. He watched as Grafter headed back inside, meeting his younger sister, Sneaks, whose voice carried up to the Heavens with the same question as Preacher. "Where was Spot?"
Spot closed his eyes and gazed back up to meet the lights burning from Manhattan. He could feel his eyes watering as he stared at them until his vision nearly blurred, the melody in his head growing louder. He opened his mouth, sweet poetry oozing from his tongue as he went along with the melody.
"The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight, and this is the moment that I live for, I can smell the ocean air. And here I am, pouring my heart onto these rooftops. Just a ghost to the world, that's exactly-- exactly what I need. From up here the city lights burn like a thousand miles of fire, and I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day-"
Spot leaned back, continuing to stare off at into the Manhattan night sky. Taking a deep breath, he looked over his shoulder, giving into the Brooklyn skyline. Everything was so different, and changing right before his eyes. He couldn't help but feel lost and slightly confused by all the events that had been taking place in his life. The anger, he could, was starting to burn inside him, bubbling up as he tried to make sense of everything. He could feel they lyrics pouring from his soul-he just couldn't keep them in any more.
"For a second I wish the tide, would swallow every inch of this city. As you gasp for air tonight I'd scream this song right in your face. If you were here I swear I wont miss a beat Cause I never-- never have before. From up here the city lights burn like a thousand miles of fire. And I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day."
" Spot?" he heard a voice call from behind him as he turned to see Graft pulling himself up on to the roof.
" Yeah?" Spot sniffed, whipped his nose on his sleeve as he turned to face his best friend.
" Whatcha doing up here?" Graft questioned, as he attempted to keep his balance as he walked over and took a sweat next to Spot.
" Nuttin'," Spot lied, but he knew Grafter could see right through him.
" Please," Graft shook him off, the pausing to stare hard at Spot face, trying to read an expression. Suddenly he found it. "Is it Kelly?" Striking a nerve deep down inside, Spot turned away gazing back up at the stars.
" Yeah," he muttered.
" Look, ya know I don't like Kelly dat much, but he's ya friend, an' I's know he's a good leadah, like you. He'll come 'round. Just ya watch. Ta- morrow, ya just do what we's supposed ta. Keep da scabbah's from sellin'. Jack, he'll come 'round." Graft tried to comfort Spot.
" I can't believe 'im. Sellin' us out like dat," Spot hissed through greeted teeth.
" Spot, dat don't mean ya give up on da world. So, Cowboy fell of da path foah awhile, it happens. I's sure if ya were in his place, ya'd do da same thing. Money corrupts, power corrupts-dat's why we's fighting this-"
" Exactly," Spot cut off. " We's fighting da money, da power, an' what happens? Jack falls in ta it. He gives in ta da power," Spot shot back at Grafter.
" Every man has a breakin' point, an' every man has a weakness. Money, dat's any street kid's weakness. I's sure if ya were in da same place, you'd do da same thing. I's know-I probably would, if dat means Sneaks an' I would be well off. But dat chance ain't nevah gonna come. 'Sides, I'd miss ya too much if I's left. Da chance came ta Jack dough. Just-give it time. Trust he'll make da right choice. I's bettah get back inside. Without one o' us, dey'll be tearing each utter apart. Sneaks stole a basket o' bread an' some meet at da butchers shop. She's getting more daring now, an' I's swear, if dat kid get caught 'cause o' it-" Grafter let his sentence trail as he stood up and headed back down.
"For a second I wish the tide, would swallow every inch of this city. As you gasp for air tonight I'd scream this song right in your face. If you were here I swear I wont miss a beat Cause I never-- never have before. From up here the city lights burn like a thousand miles of fire. And I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day." Spot stared at the Manhattan skyline once again, watching to lights burn, his song fading off as he let Graft's words soak in. He had ta trust Jack. He had ta have faith in him. After all-that's what would keep them going, that's what had been keeping them going. If they lost faith, it might as well be the death of the newsies. Sighing once again, Spot got up, and headed back down into the warehouse, his mind more cleared out than before.