Destructive - Newsies | Sprace

Ten | Race

Heads up, this is a long one.

"Hey ah, Jack?" Racetrack said, grabbing Jack's attention.

"What's up, Race?"

"I just wanted to tell ya that I won' be back 'til late," Race said, his voice shaking due to the fact that he was lying to Jack, again. Race had become a bit of a liar recently, and he wasn't too happy with it- even if he told himself it was for a good cause.

"That so?" Jack asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the stair railing.

"Yeah, I'se got a gamblin' thing. You knows how it is," Race chuckled a little. "Don' bothah waitin' up for me. I dunno how long it's gonna last."

"Whatever you say, Race," Jack said, swatting Race away.

Race began to slip the coat he had retrieved from Spot over his arms. It was a nice material and Race found himself growing jealous of the King of Brooklyn, and how he had all of these clothes at his fingertips.

"Nice jacket," Jack commented as Race pulled his cigar from his pants pocket.

"Thanks," Race mumbled.

"Where'd you get it? Coats like that don' typically get left behind," Jack reached up and removed his hat so he could itch his scalp.

"Yeah well, gamblers luck," Race stated, working his way over to the door.

"You ain't too lucky, though," Jack said, his voice growing stern.

"I didn't steal it, if that's whatcha askin'!" Racetrack snapped back.

Jack just shrugged. Race rolled his eyes and slammed the door to the lodge shut behind him as he stepped out into the streets of Manhattan. The sun was working its way down, but it hadn't quite hit the horizon yet. Racetrack hoped he would have enough time to make it to the Brooklyn docks by the time the sun began to set.

Race walked leisurely down the streets. Buildings line the roads and seemed to stretch on forever. Carriages and horses rode down the ever-winding streets, each of them waving to each other as they passed by. Small families tread the sidewalks with kids who would stop every now and again to goggle at something in a store window.

Race never knew his family. From what he understands, he had a mother, father, and twin brother. Not that he had any memories of them. The closest thing he had to a family photo would be the newspaper clipping he kept hidden under his mattress. Race was 5 years old when it happened. It was a house fire- the entire apartment building burned down. Race knew that it started in someone's kitchen, but nothing more. His parents and brother died in the fire, yet Racetrack somehow managed to survive. It's because he was in the bath, or so they say. The story goes that his mother was bathing him, but heard a loud noise and went to go check it out. That's when the whole building had erupted in flames. Race didn't know if that was the truth, but it was the combination of the stories he had picked up off of the streets.

Race chuckled at the thought: Little 5-year-old Racetrack, wandering the streets of Manhattan after being dragged out of a burning building by a fireman. Race can remember the heat, the flames, he knew he had to get away. So he ran, and he ran and he ran all the way until he bumped into a boy that went by the name of Jack Kelly. From then on, he was a newsboy. Kloppman taught a class where he would teach the younger boys how to read, and Race can remember being desperate to read the obituaries of his family all by himself. The first time he ever did, he was 9 years old. Race was a little slower than the rest of the newsies, but he got it eventually. The first time he read that newspaper about the apartment fire with his parent's obituaries he cried for close to the whole night.