Oh wow. I haven't written in, what, a year? Must have had a really bad case of writer's block…
Anyhow, this is Sparrow's history type thing. I'm taking down Sparrow's story temporarily to "revise it". I have no new ideas for that one, so…yeah.
Sparrow's supposed to be about thirteen in this one, it takes place a year before the strike. Please don't bug me about the borough war crap, 'cause I know NOTHING. With a capital N.
Oh yes. I don't own Newsies. The rights to those hot men belong to some lucky dude with disney. Yeah.
So here goes nothing. Enjoy!
"Breaking Ties"Most people don't know there was a borough war just before the newsboys' strike of 1899. What a war that was. And I was born out of it…
Sandry Parker awoke to the sound of another body being dragged up the stairs.
"Move Sparrow, we need your bed."
"Aw, crap. There's too many bodies already. When's Randy gonna get rid 'a the dead ones?"
"There ain't any dead ones, I told you that already."
Sandry, Sparrow to most, was living as a newsgirl in the midst of one of the biggest borough wars of all time. She was currently situated in the Bronx, which made her the enemy of most everyone in Brooklyn and Manhattan. There were a lot of injured boys in the lodging house due to all the fighting.
"Why's it matter? You just gotta sell your papes anyways. You can't fight yet. You're only thirteen."
"I'm gonna be fourteen soon, Digs."
"Randy ain't gonna let you fight, even then. 'Cause you're a girl."
"I don't even want to. All this blood, this stench. I hate it. Not to mention it makes sellin' nearly impossible."
With that said, Sparrow walked down the stairs and out the door, completely oblivious to those around her.
I can't stand it here. But if I leave they'll kill me. What's a Bronx girl gonna do in Manhattan?
Later that day, Sparrow was back at the lodging house, now having to do her other job as one of the newsies of the Bronx.
"See here, Sparrow?" asked Randy Jakeson, who was the leader of the Bronx newsboys (and girls). "On this piece a paper there's a name. Like there always is. All you gotta do is what you always do to that name. Got it?"
"Yes, Sir."
Oh, I haven't told you yet? See Sparrow was one of the best hit women in New York. That's the real reason she didn't fight. She had more important things to do.
Sparrow went to her room, picked up her rifle, and set her head on it.
Why do I have to be good at this? Why couldn't I have been a natural born newsie? Or a reader? Even a whore would have been better than this. At least they don't kill people.
Sparrow looked down at the paper in her hands.
I wonder what he does? I wonder who he loves? What's his favorite color? Has his life been as much as a hell as mine?
"Come on, Sparrow, get a move on it!"
"Hold yer horses, Digs!"
Spot Conlon…What an interesting name…
"This is it."
Sparrow and Digs were on their way to Brooklyn to do Randy's dirty work.
"God Digs! You think I don't know where the fucking border is? It's not a big deal!"
"Wow. A little bit touchy, are we?"
"Leave me alone. You know I don't like this."
"You're the best we've got, Sparrow."
"I don't care."
"Fine. Lets just get this done."
"Hey, that's him, isn't it? What's he doing this close to the border?"
"Who cares? I'm doing this thing."
Sparrow brought her rifle up, cocked it, and pulled the trigger.
"Oof. What the hell was that?"
She recovered in time to see a shadow run off into the distance. She looked around and saw her victim clutching his shoulder.
"Damn! I never miss!"
"Doesn't matter now. He's looking this way. Beat it!"
Both Sparrow and Digs took of into the Brooklyn night.