Coma ~ A Sprace Story

Memories

So. That happened. Wow. Now here's where the story gets good. (In my opinion at least, haha). Also, I didn't tag it, but I ship Jack and Davey, as well as Kid Blink and Mush, so expect to see some mentions of it come up. Can someone please tell me if they like my story/is my story a decent one? Anyway, enjoy! :)

True to his unsaid word, Spot returns the next day. 

The days begin to blur together. To heck with him if he knows what day it is. He continues talking to Race, hoping it's not all for nothing. Race is the only thing he cares about right now. Not Brooklyn, not pay, not food, not sleep, nothing. So he does the only thing he can: stay with Race.

And through it all, Race stays silent.

Spot has a funny memory in mind now. "One day, not too long ago, I watched you come in to Brooklyn, but instead of going to Sheepshead, you sought me out. You said, 'Hey, Spot, has there been a baby born with two heads in these parts?' I was so confused. I said, 'No, why?' And you showed me a story in your pape, about well, you know. I asked why you came to me, and you smirked and said, 'I assumed it must be from Brooklyn.' And then you were off. That was the day before the strike started."

Then it hits him.

What better way to wake someone from a coma through memories than talk about a very big event that greatly impacted said person's life?

"Y'know, Race?" Spot grins. "I'm gonna tell you about the strike."

Where to start?

"Well before that, I just need to say one thing. About that day you came askin' about a baby born with two heads. You said you had a hot tip on number four. You came out of Sheepshead at the end of the day, hands shoved in pockets, cigar lit, all in a huff. I asked you how it went, and you said, 'that hot tip I was talkin' 'bout? Well, nobody told the horse. Now I owe Weasel two bits. Not that he's gettin' that anyway.' As I watched you leave, I realized something. Of all the people that you could talk to so easily, you always came to me. And where you lie to others, you tell the truth to me--well, part of the truth, anyway."

Now he recollects what happened the day after that. The last day before everything went wild. "Ya wanna know what happened that next day, Race? Jackie Boy came with Boots and the Walkin' Mouth. They came talkin' 'bout the strike that other boroughs told me that they was starting. I didn't know where you were, Race. You hadn't come to Sheepshead yet. I wasn't going to ask ol' Jackie boy where you was. The Walkin' Mouth was impressed with how well I could shoot a slingshot. He looked a little scared to though."

He pauses. "You never cared about my reputation, Race. No matter what stories you heard, you would still strut into Brooklyn and smart mouth everyone like you owned the place. You knew the power of reputation, and you know that there's a person behind the persona."

Spot shakes his head to clear it. "I'm getting distracted, Race. Or, as you might say, Racetrack, off track." He smiles. Race would totally have said that if he were awake. But he's not. Spot's smile drops. He clears his throat. "Anyway, at first, I didn't wanna join the strike. I told Jack he needed to show me, to prove to me that they could handle something as big as a strike. I watched them go home that day. Don't get me wrong, I was mad at The World for jacking up the price, but at the moment I truly didn't feel any obligation to strike."

He takes a moment to think what would happen if he hadn't joined the strike. "My life would be so different if I didn't join the strike, Race. Now we can sell back the papes to The World and such that we didn't sell to people. You wanna know why I joined the strike, Race? I think you know. If you was awake, you would have already cut me off and smirked and told me why. But you can't do that, now can ya, Race? So after Jackie Boy and the Walkin' Mouth and Boots left, I carried on with my day. I forget what time it was, the sun was gettin' low, when I see a certain someone calmly walk into Brooklyn with a cigar sticking out of their mouth. It was you, Race. I said, 'Whaddaya doin' 'ere at this hour? All the races ended hours ago.' And you said you came to talk about the strike. I told you I already knew about it. Then you told me the first thing that happened when Jack got back to Manhattan, you asked where I was. When you told me that, I was flattered, but I had to keep my cool. I said that I wasn't going to change my mind without any convincing. You smirked and said 'I have found myself to be very persuasive.' Then, something happened. Your smirk dropped. For once, you were...serious. That's how I realized how big this strike was going to be, if it got good ol' Racetrack serious. You strung a lot of smart words together, Race, now, I can't remember all of what you said, but at the time, I was impressed, because honestly, I didn't think you could get something together like that. At the end of it, you said, 'Just please, Spotty. If I still can't convince ya, at least hang around the outskirts, and see for yourself that we ain't givin' up or givin' in. And with that you turned around and left. I considered not listening to what you said, but, strangely, it sounded...reasonable. I thought about it all night. You know the rest."