Disclaimer- I don't own Newsies or any of the songs I use in this fic.
A/n: This is 'Hold On' by Jet.
Chapter 9: Hold On
Boots
Things get confusing in Manhattan. Long ago I could see through its transparent façade, but all of a sudden it has become a firm brick wall, making it impossible to penetrate. For some reason Manhattan is more real up close, unlike some things about it.
Jack is not the man I thought he was. He is still a boy of seventeen, still insecure and needy. He is a child obsessed with a leader.
I'm becoming as weak as Jack himself. It is as though my brain has been tied into a million knots. I'm not sure what's wrong with me. Obsession with a leader is contagious. I'm slowly beginning to admire one Spot Conlon.
You tried so had to be someone
That you forgot who you are.
You tried to fill some emptiness
'Til all your head spilled over.
Now everything's so far away
That you don't know who you are...
You are.
I used to have Spot. I was his comrade, I'm sure I was his best friend. I thought of his as nothing but overpowering and excessively demanding.
Newsies in Manhattan idolize Spot Conlon. He is powerful, he is tyrannous, he is a king.
When all that you wanted
And all that you have
Don't seem so much,
For you to hold on to
For you to hold on to
For you to belong to.
I'm turning into Jack. It was hard to admire him and know he'd never see me behind my face and my name. So I became him. I am an inner-copy of the Manhattan leader himself.
When it's hard to be yourself
It's not to be someone else.
Still everything's so far away
That you forget where you are
You are...
I belong to the unknowing spirit of Jack, but long for Spot. Does Jack feel this way and is this the reason for my transformation?
I don't want anything anymore except for Spot. Except for the one thing I can't have. Helpless.
When all that you wanted
And all that you have
Don't seem so much,
For you to hold on to
For you to hold on to
For you to belong to.
What has become of dreams? Have they been eaten, consumed by misunderstanding and the unimaginable ability to lose ones way? I used to think Manhattan was hell, but once you've been to Brooklyn there is no way to retrieve your soul. Maybe that's why no one's ever left.
Visions of stage are slipping away as I grasp at them. All that is left is blurry headlines and the desire for the end.
Hold on
Hold on (Hold on)
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on (Hold on)
Hold on
Hold on
Perhaps imagination is the only thing missing from New York City. Maybe everyone has stopped pretending life is wonderful, ripping down the walls, allowing the awful truth to flood in.
Brooklyn is falling apart and crime-filled, Manhattan is busy, filled with things of mistaken wonder, and the whole of it is exotic, homey, depressing, exciting and life-ruining.
When all that you wanted
And all that you have
Don't seem so much,
For you to hold on to
For you to hold on to
For you to hold on to
For you to belong to.
Something deep inside of me assures me I am not the only one living in hell.
End Chapter
A/n: nice, depressing little chapter, isn't it? Please review! I can see the end of the fic around the corner, I just have to figure out how to round it off.
Shoutouts:
Oh crap. Fanfiction ate my reviews! I know I got some, I remember reading them and someone commenting on how Spot got all wet. Sorry everyone! This is a general shoutout…uh…thanks for reading and reviewing!