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Devastation
by Hart
Rated PG

At the corner of 44th and 2nd, a small boy with curly hair was selling his papers. "Extry, extry!" The boy waved the paper around his head as he yelled. "Read all about it!"

        A well dressed man walked up to the boy and handed him a nickel. "Hello, Curtis. Good headline today?"

        The boy handed him a newspaper. "Not really, but there will be if ya call me 'Curtis' again. My name's Tumbler, Mr. Johnathan, and don't you ever forget it!"

        "Alright." Mr. Johnathan chuckled and walked into the enormous building behind him. The plaque next to the door read "The Zenger-Pollack building, est. 1895." It was a fairly new building, built with all the latest technology, and it reached an astounding 17 stories high.

        Mr. Johnathan worked on the 12th floor. He was a lawyer, like most of the other people in the building. Lawyers or bankers, that's what they all were, for the most part. He sat down at his desk and opened up a file. It contained his latest, and most boring, case. His mind kept drifting away from the black and white before him; the words could've switched places and he wouldn't have known. Eventually, he dropped the paper back onto his desk and rubbed his eyes. 2 hours had slipped by, and he decided that he deserved a stretch. Mr. Johnathan got up and walked down to the deli on the 1st floor. It was just another day at the office.
~
        "Another nickel?" Race shook his head at Tumbler. "Dat Mr. Johnathan's a weird one. Every day, he pays for 5 papes, an' den he only takes one! Must be pretty stupid..."

        Tumbler's face reddened, and without warning, the 9-year-old slugged Race in the stomach. "He ain't stupid! He's the smartest guy I evah met!" And with that, he ran away, leaving Racetrack holding his stomach grumbling.

        Snitch grabbed his friend's shoulder to keep him from running after the younger boy. "Don't. Mr. Johnathan is more of a father den Tumbler's ever had. He loves that guy as much as if he was his father!"

        Race sighed. He knew, as did most of the other newsies, what it felt like to not have a father in his life. He and Snitch turned and headed back to the Lodging house.
~
The days came, as they always had, like a smile that was inevitable but still pleasing. The normal events transpired. People awoke, and went to work or play, in the streets and buildings of New York City. And at the end of the day, just as it always happened, friends and family reunited and spent the last few fleeting hours of the day together.

        It was always the same, aside from a small nuance here or there. The days spun round like an unchanging wheel, the cycle unbroken.
~
At 7 o'clock AM, Tumbler sat in Tibby's with some of the other newsies, grabbing a quick breakfast.

        Skittery put down his glass and asked, "Where are we goin' tonight? The Pub or Medda's?"

        "Pub!"

        "Medda's!"

        Itey and Mush looked at each other and started arguing their points.

        Tumbler interrupted. "I can't go to the pub. Dey won't lemme in until I'se 12."

        "Den you can stay at the lodgin' house."

        "Dat ain't fair!" Tumbler glared at the older boys and walked out the door with his papers. It was turning colder outside and the wind bit at his nose. The small boy made his way to his corner. He was an hour early, and almost sold all of his papers in 45 minutes. He was down to his very last paper and debating with himself whether to sell it or save it for Mr. Johnathan.

A man walked up to him. He looked Italian, and, Tumbler gave him a once over, had a black mark on his coat from the Immigration Center. He looked nervous, but was obviously trying to cover it up. "Hello. I like to buy one papier of you. How many is that cost?"

        Tumbler shook his head at the man. It wasn't just the fact that the man looked quite shady, or that Mr. Johnathan paid so much that made him refuse. The American truth was that Tumbler looked forward to seeing Mr. Johnathan, and today he felt very anxious to do so. Mr. Johnathan chose that moment to walk up with a broad smile and a nickel.

        "Thank you, Tumbler." Mr. Johnathan slipped the paper under his arm and walked toward the Zenger-Pollack building.

        "Welcome Mr. Johnathan!" Tumbler yelled after him.

        The strange man turned to Tumbler and sneered, "That man, he work up in that building there?"

        Tumbler nodded.

        "Well, you has better say 'bye' to you dear man." He chuckled and slipped a black box out of his coat. "I go in and fire a match. The box, it go bang. Mr. Johnathan and all him banky friends go 'way!"

        Tumbler's mouth dropped open. For a second, he ridiculed the idea, a man who could barely speak English destroying New York's tallest building. But then he remembered the look in the man's eyes; there was insane hatred blazing in that darkness. He looked around frantically for the man, but he had already gone.

        Tumbler started to back away from the building, stumbling over small rocks in the street. The people around him were clueless, unaware of the waiting tragedy.

      NEXT...