Disclaimer: I do not own newsies. This story is a figment of my imagination, which makes them both mine.
A/N: I address suicide in this story, and not in the most sensitive manner. If suicide is a sensitive subject, read with caution or not at all.
You are nothing. No one knows your name. It makes no difference to them that you call yourself Jack, Specs, Mush, or Charlie. You have no identity, no name, for you have no purpose.
Everyone would be better off without you. Did you not learn that? Why do you think you could not stop your friend from killing themselves? If you mattered to them, they would still be around. They killed themselves because they had no one. They had you, but you are no one.
Did you work today? What did you do? Ah, selling newspapers. A worthy occupation, do you agree? What better way to spend your life than peddling pieces of paper to people that matter and could not care less for you and your ink-covered pages. Did you note the sarcasm? I just thought I would point it out. You are not intelligent, you know?
Never been to school, have you? I did not think so. It shows. Do you think your grammar is correct? It is not. Since when is 'ain't' a word? I will tell you, it never has been and never will be. You do not know anything of the world. For example, where is England? You do not know, do you? Yes, it is 'somewheah that way', but where? You know nothing.
How do you expect to ever lead a successful life in your condition? You are dirty, poor, and uneducated. What good can you do the world? None, you, in fact, worsen it. As I told you, you could only improve the world through your death. Your friends and millions of other street rats have learned that. Do not think that all of them died from starvation and disease. They gave in. You should, too.
As for love. You will never know it. Your parents are gone, and rather glad to be rid of you. You will never marry. It costs money. Anyway, no one would marry you. No woman would want to tie herself down to a no-good, hopeless, fool such as you. Besides, all the women worth marrying are too rich for you. All you could choose from are whores. They do not love. It is all about money. Do not delude yourself. Love is out of your reach. It will always be so.
Choose death. It is wise. What else do you have control over? Death will find you eventually. You may as well make the decision yourself. I know you want to. You know it, too. Do not lie. Death is beautiful to you. It provides an escape from this cruel world that does not want you. It wants you; no one else does. Why should you refuse it? You have nothing here.
Think of what you could have in death. You could find your family, your friends. There is no money, so there is no poverty. You need not worry over disease or murder. It is safe, for you are dead. You can be happy there. After all, death is what you make it.
No, life is what you make it!
Quiet! Pay no attention to that. It is not hope. It is ignorance. Do not listen to its foolish babblings. The only hope for you lies within death. You can reach death through me.
Think on your life. What is there in it that keeps you here? Think as hard as you wish. There is nothing to find. You may search for as long as you want, but you are putting off the inevitable. You will die, but in death, you will find happiness. Why wait?
Did you find a reason? No? I told you that you would not. What is your choice? Do you wish for death or life? Happiness or hell? Reality or foolish dreams? Choose. Have you made your decision? I thought you would. What is it?
There is a presence inside all minds. It is a voice that is constant and unyielding. No one knows for certain what it is, but it calls itself reason.