Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies, policemen, or Britney Spears's songs
(although I do have a copy of her CD for some reason). I don't own us,
which hopefully, belongs to ourselves, respectively. I don't own the Mary-
Sues or the man, but if you wish to take them, you may. But why anyone
would want them is beyond me.
A/N: This isn't my first fan fiction, but it is the first I've ever put on
a site, so more to come !
A man in tattered clothes trudges down the street. What is he doing? He seems to be carrying some things in the wheelbarrow he pushes.. but what? Let us go closer. As we can see, there is hair: golden hair, the color of deceased goldfish. Raven hair, as black as a drug addict's pupils. Red hair, the color of an octopus set on fire. All are thick and shiny, like oil puddles, no matter whether they are thick and straight or thick and curly. There are eyelids, all closed, complete with eyelashes, abnormally long. There are the poutiest, red lips. Although they appear to be teenagers, they have clear skin, the envy of us all, and naught a (dare we say it) pimple to be seen. There is a rainbow of dresses, although somewhat limited to the number of colors of skittles.
As we peer closer, we can see the man is tired. Who would blame him? He is carting around a large load of what appears to be girls. Pretty ones, at that. Again, we ask. Why?
"COME ONE!!! COME ALL!!!"
We jump back with a start. Who would guess such a weary man could shout so loud? He seems not to notice us, but this is normal. We are just girls, carrying strange gray boxes, dreamers, and crazy in all, imagining adoring boys into our lives. Besides, if this is what we think it is, then we have gone back in time. (Really, at the rate of time travel we do, wouldn't the characters from Alias be yelling at us by now?)
While we are contemplating this, we are missing what else he is shrieking at a totally unnecessary loud volume. He is still alone in the streets, save for a couple constables, sleepily tottering about. The newsies should be out by now, crazily dancing and singing the song that they sing every single morning, unceasingly perky, nimble, and more unnaturally flexible than dancers.
Perhaps we spoke too soon, for there we hear the voices. All of us perk up our ears, hoping to catch a strain of our favorite newsie singing. "OHMYGAWD!!!" One of us shrieks. We are uncertain of her name, since we did not hold a casting call before going back in time. "THAT'S ITEY'S VOICE!!!" The unnamed girl shrieks again, and with a deliriously happy sigh, faints into arms of fellow crazed writers. How she managed to pick out the particular boy's voice out of them all is certainly a mystery.
Amazingly enough, the man pushing the wheelbarrow still pays no heed of us, but continues his incessant screaming. We still haven't been paying close enough attention to what he's saying.
"STEP RIGHT UP, GET YOUR VERY OWN MARY SUE, RIGHT HERE!!!"
Psycho music plays in the background at the mention of this horrid title, the fear, love, and inevitable trap of every one of us. We stare at each other in horror and shock, eyes wide. The music is so loud, the first unnamed girl wakes up, faints again, and right before hitting ready arms, wakes up again. In fact, the psycho music must be louder than we all thought, for the man with the wheelbarrow turns to us with a confused look on his face and says, "Say, where's dat music comin' from?" We shrug in unison. He stares at us strangely. "Whatever it is, stop it. It's gonna scare away da customers."
Like an answer to prayer, or maybe not, the first strains of Britney Spears's "Lucky" suddenly starts playing. The man stares again, in horror. "Please, no. Anything but that." He shudders. Even the policemen are writhing on the ground, in time to the music, of course. "WHYYY does she cryyyy?" One howls, sobbing uncontrollably. The music abruptly stops, and changes to the Veggie Tales theme song, but in elevator music form. The man opens his mouth, then thinks better of it, and closes it again.
Even though this description takes a long time to write in our minds, it has happened in only a mere 10 seconds. Amidst the Veggie Tale music from hell, we suddenly realize the cheerful newsie song has stopped. There's a loud rumbling sound, coming from all sides. At times, we hear odd screams like, "It's the Mary-Sue Man!!" and "Give me yer money!!"
The policemen are still writhing on the ground, but suddenly stop, stand up, brush off their uniforms, and run off wildly, their heels kicking up dust. We are quite disturbed, looking about searching for the source of the ruckus. The man with the wheelbarrow is not perturbed, however. In fact, he seems to be in a state of euphoria. "Ahhh," he sighs, his eyes closed. "Customers."
Indian war whoops, wild and manly yells, and even yodeling surrounds us. All of a sudden, there are countless boy stampeding and spilling into the streets towards the man. We are quite totally, trampled to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the boys have all crowded around the man and his hated wheelbarrow, shoving each other to get to it first. For the most part, we are no longer stepped on.
Except for the first unnamed girl, who has the misfortune of being a standing-on-thing for two newsies, both peering over the crowd at the wheelbarrow hopefully. She growls at them quite viciously, but they don't seem to be frightened at all, although some of us are. In the end, she reaches up over her back, and promptly slaps their bottoms. They let out startled gasps and move, not unlike cows, but soon resume the hopeful, sickening gaze.
The man is VERY happy. "Allright boys, jist line up and tell me what you want, and I'll see what I'se can do," he screams over the din. No luck. He tries again, yelling the same thing. Still nothing. The boys are still arguing with each other. He yells, "GIRLS!!" Well, that does it; they all shut up, staring at him. "WHERE?? Give 'em to me now!!" A crazed Mush yells. "Mary-Sue!! Mary-Sue!!" Boots, Blink, and Skittery join in with a Neanderthal type chant.
Of course, we are horrified at seeing the loves of our lives succumbing to such fearful beauty. But we are frozen to the spot and cannot move. We do not know why, but that is the way things work when Mary-Sues are amuck and akimbo.
Jack grabs the man by the shoulders and shakes him violently. "I wanna Mary- Sue, one wit' long, brown hair, violet eyes, rosebud mouth, a firey attitude, an' is runnin' from her fatha because he killed her motha'," he growls. "Oh, an' who knows how ta beat me up," he adds as an afterthought.
The man nods, sweating slightly from the shaking. He mutters to himself, looking through his wheelbarrow, pushing aside bodies until he finds the particular girl. He pulls her out carefully. She seems to be unconscious, and is slumped over prettily in the man's arms.
Jack grabs for the girl, but the man hastily pulls her away. "Ya gotta pay first.." The newsie grumbles, but hands over something. He does it so quickly, we cannot tell what it is, but the man snatches it greedily, and after some inspection, he is mollified. "Would ya like her ta be placed in an alley, harassed in an alley, or perhaps drowned, sir?" he asks primly.
"Nah," Jack eyes the girl. "Jist gimme her now." With a roll of his eyes, the man gives the girl to him. Jack lets out a holler of delight. "YahOOOOO!!! Me own Mary-Sue, finally!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." He runs through the crowd of disgruntled newsies and down the street, holding the girl to his chest.
Racetrack, who is next in line, stares after Jack for a bit, but shrugs his shoulders and proceeds to tell the man what he wants. By now, half of us have either fainted, gone into hysterics, or are ranting and threatening to kill the man and his dreaded minions of Mary-Sues. What will become of us? Will we be doomed to write about the Mary-Sues forever?
A/N: Coming up next – SPOT, and most likely the ending. I'd finish it all now, but what with college applications and such.. ugh, it'll have to wait. R|R, please !
A man in tattered clothes trudges down the street. What is he doing? He seems to be carrying some things in the wheelbarrow he pushes.. but what? Let us go closer. As we can see, there is hair: golden hair, the color of deceased goldfish. Raven hair, as black as a drug addict's pupils. Red hair, the color of an octopus set on fire. All are thick and shiny, like oil puddles, no matter whether they are thick and straight or thick and curly. There are eyelids, all closed, complete with eyelashes, abnormally long. There are the poutiest, red lips. Although they appear to be teenagers, they have clear skin, the envy of us all, and naught a (dare we say it) pimple to be seen. There is a rainbow of dresses, although somewhat limited to the number of colors of skittles.
As we peer closer, we can see the man is tired. Who would blame him? He is carting around a large load of what appears to be girls. Pretty ones, at that. Again, we ask. Why?
"COME ONE!!! COME ALL!!!"
We jump back with a start. Who would guess such a weary man could shout so loud? He seems not to notice us, but this is normal. We are just girls, carrying strange gray boxes, dreamers, and crazy in all, imagining adoring boys into our lives. Besides, if this is what we think it is, then we have gone back in time. (Really, at the rate of time travel we do, wouldn't the characters from Alias be yelling at us by now?)
While we are contemplating this, we are missing what else he is shrieking at a totally unnecessary loud volume. He is still alone in the streets, save for a couple constables, sleepily tottering about. The newsies should be out by now, crazily dancing and singing the song that they sing every single morning, unceasingly perky, nimble, and more unnaturally flexible than dancers.
Perhaps we spoke too soon, for there we hear the voices. All of us perk up our ears, hoping to catch a strain of our favorite newsie singing. "OHMYGAWD!!!" One of us shrieks. We are uncertain of her name, since we did not hold a casting call before going back in time. "THAT'S ITEY'S VOICE!!!" The unnamed girl shrieks again, and with a deliriously happy sigh, faints into arms of fellow crazed writers. How she managed to pick out the particular boy's voice out of them all is certainly a mystery.
Amazingly enough, the man pushing the wheelbarrow still pays no heed of us, but continues his incessant screaming. We still haven't been paying close enough attention to what he's saying.
"STEP RIGHT UP, GET YOUR VERY OWN MARY SUE, RIGHT HERE!!!"
Psycho music plays in the background at the mention of this horrid title, the fear, love, and inevitable trap of every one of us. We stare at each other in horror and shock, eyes wide. The music is so loud, the first unnamed girl wakes up, faints again, and right before hitting ready arms, wakes up again. In fact, the psycho music must be louder than we all thought, for the man with the wheelbarrow turns to us with a confused look on his face and says, "Say, where's dat music comin' from?" We shrug in unison. He stares at us strangely. "Whatever it is, stop it. It's gonna scare away da customers."
Like an answer to prayer, or maybe not, the first strains of Britney Spears's "Lucky" suddenly starts playing. The man stares again, in horror. "Please, no. Anything but that." He shudders. Even the policemen are writhing on the ground, in time to the music, of course. "WHYYY does she cryyyy?" One howls, sobbing uncontrollably. The music abruptly stops, and changes to the Veggie Tales theme song, but in elevator music form. The man opens his mouth, then thinks better of it, and closes it again.
Even though this description takes a long time to write in our minds, it has happened in only a mere 10 seconds. Amidst the Veggie Tale music from hell, we suddenly realize the cheerful newsie song has stopped. There's a loud rumbling sound, coming from all sides. At times, we hear odd screams like, "It's the Mary-Sue Man!!" and "Give me yer money!!"
The policemen are still writhing on the ground, but suddenly stop, stand up, brush off their uniforms, and run off wildly, their heels kicking up dust. We are quite disturbed, looking about searching for the source of the ruckus. The man with the wheelbarrow is not perturbed, however. In fact, he seems to be in a state of euphoria. "Ahhh," he sighs, his eyes closed. "Customers."
Indian war whoops, wild and manly yells, and even yodeling surrounds us. All of a sudden, there are countless boy stampeding and spilling into the streets towards the man. We are quite totally, trampled to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the boys have all crowded around the man and his hated wheelbarrow, shoving each other to get to it first. For the most part, we are no longer stepped on.
Except for the first unnamed girl, who has the misfortune of being a standing-on-thing for two newsies, both peering over the crowd at the wheelbarrow hopefully. She growls at them quite viciously, but they don't seem to be frightened at all, although some of us are. In the end, she reaches up over her back, and promptly slaps their bottoms. They let out startled gasps and move, not unlike cows, but soon resume the hopeful, sickening gaze.
The man is VERY happy. "Allright boys, jist line up and tell me what you want, and I'll see what I'se can do," he screams over the din. No luck. He tries again, yelling the same thing. Still nothing. The boys are still arguing with each other. He yells, "GIRLS!!" Well, that does it; they all shut up, staring at him. "WHERE?? Give 'em to me now!!" A crazed Mush yells. "Mary-Sue!! Mary-Sue!!" Boots, Blink, and Skittery join in with a Neanderthal type chant.
Of course, we are horrified at seeing the loves of our lives succumbing to such fearful beauty. But we are frozen to the spot and cannot move. We do not know why, but that is the way things work when Mary-Sues are amuck and akimbo.
Jack grabs the man by the shoulders and shakes him violently. "I wanna Mary- Sue, one wit' long, brown hair, violet eyes, rosebud mouth, a firey attitude, an' is runnin' from her fatha because he killed her motha'," he growls. "Oh, an' who knows how ta beat me up," he adds as an afterthought.
The man nods, sweating slightly from the shaking. He mutters to himself, looking through his wheelbarrow, pushing aside bodies until he finds the particular girl. He pulls her out carefully. She seems to be unconscious, and is slumped over prettily in the man's arms.
Jack grabs for the girl, but the man hastily pulls her away. "Ya gotta pay first.." The newsie grumbles, but hands over something. He does it so quickly, we cannot tell what it is, but the man snatches it greedily, and after some inspection, he is mollified. "Would ya like her ta be placed in an alley, harassed in an alley, or perhaps drowned, sir?" he asks primly.
"Nah," Jack eyes the girl. "Jist gimme her now." With a roll of his eyes, the man gives the girl to him. Jack lets out a holler of delight. "YahOOOOO!!! Me own Mary-Sue, finally!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." He runs through the crowd of disgruntled newsies and down the street, holding the girl to his chest.
Racetrack, who is next in line, stares after Jack for a bit, but shrugs his shoulders and proceeds to tell the man what he wants. By now, half of us have either fainted, gone into hysterics, or are ranting and threatening to kill the man and his dreaded minions of Mary-Sues. What will become of us? Will we be doomed to write about the Mary-Sues forever?
A/N: Coming up next – SPOT, and most likely the ending. I'd finish it all now, but what with college applications and such.. ugh, it'll have to wait. R|R, please !