Newsies One Shots

Own the World

"Ya know, Spot, we could own the world from here!"

The young girl's voice echoed in Spot's mind as he leaned on the railing in the middle of the Brooklyn bridge. He closed his eyes. That was a mistake. It all played in his mind, though he didn't want it to. Over and over, he heard the bright voice, and then the scream. It was his fault. He couldn't save her. It was all his fault...

The sun shone brightly on the Conlon house. Spot and his younger sister, Mallory, were running around outside. "Spot! Hurry now, you're going to be late!" The twelve-year-old boy gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek, before calling to his sister. "Mallory! Come on!" The siblings had recently moved to New York with their ma, hoping to find a better life after their father was killed in a farming accident. Spot didn't go to school; no, he worked as a newsie, which he greatly preferred; but he walked Mallory there and back. "Mal! Come on, you'll be late!" The seven year old ran to him and grabbed his hand. "Spot, why can't ya come to school?" She whined. "Cause I got to make money." The siblings talked as they walked along the street, until they reached the school. "I'll be here at three thirty," he called as he walked away.

The day was normal for Spot: he sold his papers, in the same spot as usual. He ate his apple that his ma gave him for lunch. And he stood outside of the school at three thirty, as always. Mallory grabbed his hand, and the siblings began the trek home, as normal. As they got to the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, Mallory stopped and looked out over the railing. "Ya know, Spot, we could own the whole world from here!" They were about to continue, when a group of boys a bit older then Spot stopped them. "What've we got here, huh?" One said. "Some filthy immigrants. Boys, let's show them what we do to immigrants."

Spot kicked and punched. He was a good fighter, but these boys were bigger, and there were more of them. "Spot!" Mallory shrieked. "Spot!" He got in a good punch, and turned in time to see his younger sister get shoved into the railing.

The railing in that particular place was very weak and brittle. The boys didn't know that, and neither did Spot or Mallory. But it was found out soon enough when the railing crumbled, and Mallory fell, screaming, over a hundred feet.

Spot squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if it would block out the memory. He didn't even try to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. There was a reason there were no girl newsies in Brooklyn. Because he couldn't handle another sister. He couldn't handle losing another sister.

It would kill him.

Short and crappy. But whatever.