by Doll
Entropy- all things tend toward destruction; Refers to the degree of disorder; increasing entropy means increasing disorder.
SARAHJack had told me I didn't want to hang around with him and the guys but I honestly didn't mind it. The August night was warm and comforting, I felt content and happy on the small stoop with Jack and the rest of his friends. IT was a cozy side street and you could hear music leaking out of a small pub around the corner. Jack kept his arm tightly around me held me closer when a breeze passed. All the guys look so peaceful like the night is sinking into their skin and flowing through their veins changing their whole chemistry...to make them forget. All except for one of them. He is distressed I can tell, he looks like he's trying to keep from crying but I have no clue who he is or where to direct my eyes. The others are aware of his display but face the common dilemma. One tries to comfort him but he recieves no recognition. The boy is just sitting there and looks like the sky is falling on him. I look to Jack but he doesn't understand either. I want to do something...the mood is changing everyone is shooting one another strange glances. I need to know what's wrong with that boy. What could have brought on such emotion? I keep my lips shut tight and my eyes on the stars until I hear his voice. He's standing up and has the horrendous unthinkable inevitable in his hand. He is waving it in all directions forcing its terror on all of us. All I can do is stare at the mechanical horror that could spew death at any moment. He looks like he isn't even here, like something else has taken over, something inside of him most people keep a firm grasp on. He's let go and now he's disintegrating before our eyes, the demons have taken over, and something deep within him, something suppressed is aiding in the eroding. I have to shut my eyes now because I know what is about to occur but it doesn't become real until I hear its loud crack. My eyes open and it's over he's lying in a pool of blood, his hair possessing the same silvery glow that glinted off the steel barrel. The black disk is leaking over the ground challenging geometric perfection. It's not red but I know it is, its black death represents the fiery norm that brings that feeling in our stomachs. The dark that's masking it is making the possibilities even worse in its absence like the pain is almost magnified in the unknown. Now it is simply left to our imaginations. Jack left me in the shadows of all the other boys even though I am beyond hysterical, all I can see is the brilliant crimson mangled in the folds of my father's hand seeping out of the canals of his being. The black pool flashes red for a moment in my mind, all of a sudden the sun is shining on the boy and everything is viewed in harsh bluntness. I see my father gaping in horror at the massive gash and my mother crying. Why did we go to the factory that day? Jack looks at me through the night and runs to me, he is crying. I can't handle this and I turn to run...God I didn't even know his name and now he's gone.
JACKI told Sarah not to come tonight because I knew she'd get uncomfortable but she seems fine. I think it's the night, August has real nice nights, they can't really be explained but they unearth a lot of nice memories. When you dig those up it's like you're living them again...and these nights bring them back and cultivate the same feelings. This night just sems the epitamy of childhood, like your mother's going to call you inside any minute because supper's ready...you can almost see the orange glow from the kitchen complementing the cool blue and green of summer and baseball in the field. That died long ago but there are still August nights to be had. Everyone seems to be revelling in the night except for one. I look over at Skittery, he looks real bad. He looks like he's trying to keep from exploding, from breaking down in front of all of us. Sitting there, his head leaning into the masonry, staring into the sky. Sarah looks up at me but I don't know what's wrong either, I just hold her closer. Blink pats him on the back and whispers something. I think he knows what's wrong...wish I did. I hope it's not his brother...he'd die if anything happened to his brother. Maybe we better bring him back to the Lodging House. I knew somehow the following would happen, but not the gun...I never saw the gun coming. He's waving it around...but damn, of course we have to interfere, any decent person would attempt to. Blink and Race are trying to grab the gun but he's threatening to kill them both. It's not him anymore...he's letting it take him over. He's not swallowing it down like we've all trained ourselves to do. We battle it every day but none of us newsies have actually experienced what happens when we let it possess us. It all lives within us but some of us are more optomistic than others, because there is happiness in our lives, but you have to learn where to look. Skit was never very good at it, or maybe no one ever taught him, or maybe his memory escaped him when the events that pushed him into his present life occurred. Who knows, but all I can see or understand is the cool piece of machinery pressed against his temple. For a moment it's me then his face flashes back to the tear-streaked face of my friend. My feet are glued to the steps and my eyes focus on his, squeezed painfully closed and then it happens. I watch even though I know the event will repeat itself forever in my mind and I will wake up sweating after witnessing it again and again. His face doesn't show pain...like it happened too quick to register. Some of the guys closer to him are staring at the blood on their clothes and fingering their moist cheeks. I just cry. It's too much to handle, and I run to him. He is lying on the ground in his own blood, God he's really dead. He's really gone. I don't even know the reason. Blink is crying most of all, he has his face pressed into the concrete moldings of the building, not allowing us to see his eyes. The eyes that usually sparkle with happiness like they've never looked upon sadness, and they can't bare to face this tragedy. He knew more...maybe that's why. Maybe he saw this coming...I hope he knows he couldn't have stopped it. Most of the boys are allowing the tears to flow without embarassment and fear of them demeaning their masculinity. They all have their hats pressed against their hearts as they watch the gun travel in the flow of deep, engulfing blood. I look to Sarah- she is completely terrified, too scared to show any emotion except for fountains of tears. I run to her, I can't handle this alone, I need to remind myself why I don't just perform the same action. She runs from me and doesn't look back and all I can do is face it again and try to understand and swallow it down.
RACEI don't want to be here right now. I know I'm addicted, I have to play with this piece of string to keep my hand busy and keep this rapid tick going in my leg to keep from bolting away. The only consolation is this cigar; it calms me for now but all I can see is the long stretch to the finish line and the possible money in my pocket. Now I only got two quarters...why, I could make near four dollars tonight. Course it would only go towards cigars and papes. It's a vicious cycle I tell ya, vicious. Jack's with Sarah, they look happy, a happiness I envy. Nothing seems to be going right in my life but hey, at least I'm alive. Besides life seems to go through phases anyway. Like the roller coaster at Coney Island, and even though it's cliche, it's kind of comforting if you think about it. The smoke is twisting in my lungs...suffocating them, twirling, strangling my throat. Gotta stop smoking these, but what do I care. I'm never seen without one of these hanging out of my mouth or so they tell me. They've gotten used to the hacking but I got enough troubles aside from trying to live without something I wake up with swimming in my brain killing off every other thought. It's just not worth it. The next drag is smoother and my mind immediately drops the subject. The sky is purple, it reminds me of something my mind has almost completely let go of. Lying to itself telling itself it wasn't important any longer. It was probably more important than the world and I thank God it's not here to taunt me, to drive me mad with envy for what I once had and took for granted. The rest of the guys all look pretty content and I remind myself we do have it pretty good. Freedom, the city at our fingertips, food in our bellies, and most importantly and most forgotten...each other. Everyone seems to be contemplating and thinking and soaking in the summer night except for Skit. He's behind me on the stairs and even though I can't see his face I can hear him breathing. Ragged and discreetly masking a quiet sob. Dutch shoots me a look and I shrug. I ain't too keen on consoling some guy who's crying...never encountered the situation. I look across the street to Jack who's on the stoop of Whitticker & Lundy. They both look equally concerned. Blink whispers something but all I can hear is the words "brother" and "go." So I just keep my eyes on the purple sky and try to wait the thing out; the awkwardness is stifling. Suddenly he springs up and hits me in the back with his shoe, then proceeds to trip over me into the open street. His tall, willowy shape is silouhetted by the street lamp and I can make out something in his hand. Then it hits me, this isn't happening. It can't be. I just shut my eyes but his meek sobs are driving me crazy, like my conscience is stabbing me in chest. Do something, for God's sake, do something. I jump up and try to reach for the gun, Blink is doing the same he's looking at me and I'm looking at him, fear without parallel in our eyes as we reach for the gun. Suddenly he snaps and the barrel is in my direction. I can't tell you for how long, it could have been two days for all I know. I look into the cold, empty silver 0, and Skit's shaking fingers on the trigger.
"I'll kill you. I swear to God, I'll pull this trigger."
Please don't let those be the last words he ever speaks to me. The gun slowly leads to his head and Blink slowly, in eerie calm, walks away to the side of the nearby building. I don't, I can't move, I'm paralyzed, I truly am. I couldn't move if my life completely depended on my moving from this space. I close my eyes and I don't even hear the damn thing go off. I try to get rid of the blood on my shirt and my face, but that's the thing that made the whole event real. I held it in my hands, the proof that the whole thing happened. I'll block it out one day, my mind has a way of doing that. But right now he's face down in a pool of blood and I have to face it and it hurts more than anything. I took it for granted...like everything. The fact that I would wake up tomorrow and my friend would be there.
DUTCHYLook at Race, he can barely sit still, he couldn't stop talking about some horse today. Maybe we just did it for kicks tellin' him he shouldn't go to the tracks tonight. Just to see him go through the withdrawl. Skit, now he looks bad. I can almost feel his emotions just by reading his face. He's always upset about something though, he'll be fine. Maybe I should suggest gettin' out of here, go down to the pub or something. I think Blink already suggested going home but Skit didn't seem to hear him. He just looks as if he's shutting Blink out. He is staring at the pavement, mesmerized, I know his mind is moving a mile a minute. God, why does he always have to do this? Makes us all concerned and brings us down for one thing or another, then he's fine the next morning. A whole Friday down the drain, I wish he'd put things in perspective for once. I know I'm being selfish but we all got our problems. If we just sat there letting them saturate our minds they'd poison us. I feel in my pocket for a deck or cards, being careful not to let Race see them. If he catches sight of these things I'd lose my money and smokes in little under an hour. I reach out to get Skit's attention but he throws my arm back with an outrageous force. The cards fly, catching the light of a street lamp and disappear, eventually hitting the ground but I'm only left to guess. He's in the center of the street sobbing, trying to keep the whimpers silent, trying to appear calm. A pang of guilt slices at my chest. I see the gun and I feel completely numb. The pierces of guilt disappear but it's as though I'm beyond any kind of emotion you can place or register. I watch as two of the guys try to get the gun but I don't know who they are, my mind is too preoccupied to handle a simple task like recognizing someone. Eventually everythng happens and everything is over and I'm standing over Skit's body with my hat pressed against my heart and the tears won't stop coming. Why does it have to feel like nothing will be right anymore, like my mind will always drift back to this moment? It feels like someone is stabbing a dull blade into my stomach, teaching me never to think that way again. Never to demean anyone's feelings, to not care, to not appreciate my family because they could be lying in a pool of blood in the blink of an eye.
BLINKI don't know what to say or do. I mean, what do you do when your friend's brother dies? He told me this afternoon, that's when he got the last letter he'd ever get from this guy named Kern. He lives at Bayside Orphanage along with his brother. Skit lived there for a while too before he busted out and came here. Kern wrote him every month or so telling him how his brother was doin'. Skit would a' brought his little brother to New York too if he hadn't had Polio. He figured he should stay in the orphanage- that way he would be taken care of. I don't know what I'd do if someone I really cared about died, let alone my only living relative. Skit has been on the verge of tears all day and I don't blame him that he can't keep it in any longer. I suggest we go home if he's not feeling too good, but he doesn't respond. He practically looks suicidal. He loved his brother so much, he was always talking about how as soon as he had enough money saved he'd go get him and take care of him on his own...he didn't even get to say goodbye. It always has to happen to the guy who deserves it the least. Skit, he deserves to be home with his family and his brother, thinking about going off to some university. He's the smartest of the lot. He didn't deserve to have his whole family pass away, not Skit. I should do something. I should bring him back to the Lodging House, or Tibby's, I should do something to help him take his mind off of it...I should at least talk to him about it. I can't let it build up inside of him anymore. I'm too late though, he pushes himself off the stairs and walks into the middle of the street as though it were his stage. I just keep looking at the tears he left of the stair, until I hear gasps and Sarah's terrified shreak. It's a gun, and I can't help but blame myself, but maybe he would have done it anyway. If I'd a' let him talk to me I could have prevented this. The pain sat inside him too long, it fermented, and now he's in some kind of emotional haze. I jump up and grab the gun, I can feel my finger brush against the cool steel, but he snatches it, it's still in his firm grasp and instead he points the gun at Race, in fear he'll do the same. Race is frozen. All I can do is walk away and lean against the nearby building, the rock is rough against my skin. I hear the snap and the hard thud, and my body trembles...maybe it was only a matter of time. He had it in his head, I knew he thought he had nothing to live for. His death will live like a weight on my life, pulling it down when it's drowning, offering it no hope of survival.
SKITTERYThey all don't realize. What will they think? I will never know but I know they'll remember it...remember me. It's in my pocket waiting and there's no question about whether it's going to happen because it will, if not tonight, tomorrow. Why live when you have nothing left? I can't believe he died. I haven't seen him for a year and I didn't even tell him that I was going to leave. I told Kern to tell him I was going to come back for him...but I never did, he probably thinks I just forgot about him. Now what do I have? A loud throbbing in my conscience and day after day of selling papes just so I can survive...I have nothing. Blink tries to talk to me but I can't hear him, he's too far away to be understood. He puts a hand on my shoulder but I can hardly feel the pressure. I'm not going to die slowly and become forgotten. I want to be like an electric light that suddenly dies and your left in darkness and confusion. I don't care what happens after, what those priests mumble about, they never went through this. I'm sure they would take the same route and stare their demons straight in the eye.
Somehow I got from the steps to the middle of the small, narrow road. They're all scared and two of them try to get the gun from me, I'm not sure who. It's time though, and I place it against my head and take in their faces. I would thank them for being there, for being my friends and family for the little time I spent here but I can't speak. I just shut my eyes...
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