Well here it is guys, the rewritten story, originally Spot Conlon: 1882 to 2009?

Just for your info, if you go to chapter two right after I get this chapter up, it's going to be completely different.

It'll be crappy and in third person.

So yeah!

Enjoy, my good readers!


One Hundred and Ten Years Apart

(Originally Spot Conlon: 1882 to 2009?)

Chapter One;; Pick Pocket

Monday, June 29th, 1899

I guess you could say I had everything I could ever want: a roof over my head, the whole of Brooklyn at my finger tips, somewhat good food... I was sixteen year old Spot Conlon, and leader of the Brooklyn newsies. I'd been leader for a while now; since I was twelve actually. There wasn't much to say on the matter of my "ruling", other than everybody knew Brooklyn, and Brooklyn knew everybody. That was my nickname. You never talked about Brooklyn without talking about me. I took over for the old leader after he left. He and I had been great pals, and he had taught me everything I knew today, and even more. I ruled and everyone who didn't know it found out soon enough.

Take the Walking Mouth, for example. Didn't know who I was because he wasn't a newsie, and then the first thing he does once he meets up with Jacky-boy? Comes to see me.

Brooklyn was power. Brooklyn was strength. We knew how to fight dirty and sweet talk the ladies.

Brooklyn was my only family I really had. My mother had died shortly after I left to become a newsie at age eight, leaving my kid brother to me. I had to raise Charles, and he turned out all right. He acted a lot like myself, but I wasn't that surprised. I had a dad, but he walked out on my mother, brother and me right after Charles had been born, the prick. Guess I should have expected it. Damn, and I could even see myself ending up like him. Getting married, having a couple of kids... and then leaving the dame like she was dirt. Not that I wanted to... but I saw it in my near future.

"Common kid." I called over my shoulder, the stormy blue eyes, searching the crowd for the shrimp.

The young kid poked his head out from behind a guy he had gotten stuck behind before he pushed passed him and raced to my side, his light gray hat falling from his curly brown hair. He quickly picked it back up, stuffing it back on his head and racing to my side, his brown eyes wide as he stared up at me.

"Would ya hurry it up, kid? Or do ya want me ta leave ya behind foah da bulls ta pick up?" I growled to him, pulling him out of the way of some racing pedestrians.

"Wheah's ya takin' me, mistah?" The short kid asked, looking up at me with nervous eyes. Good. He wasn't some goofy kid who trusted every street rat who seemed nice.

"Wheah's I takin' ya? I'se is savin' yoah ass, so shut ya trap an' I'wl tewl ya evryting in a sec." I told him, putting a rough hand on his back and pushing him in front of myself so I could keep a better eye on him. Man this kid was shrimp. But who am I to judge? I was short for my age... still am, but that doesn't matter.

I wore usually clothing for a newsboy; dark brown pants, red suspenders, light button up with odd colors... But at my side was my cane, my neck a key necklace, and in my pocket rested my sling shot.

All three things had a value to me: first the cane. My father, Liam Keegan Conlon, had given it to me when I was just a kid, telling me that it would always come in handy, but since he left mom and us behind, I had planned on beating him to death with it. Second was my necklace. Mom had given it to me when I started to work as a newsie, and she told me that I was always welcome. And my sling shot? It was lucky as hell. I hit usually nine out of ten, if not the full ten. Chase, the leader before my had helped me make it when I joined, and I never let it leave my side.

But getting the kid away from the bulls, I had lost my last hat. Great. The kid would get a good soaking for being so foolish as to get caught.I'd seen him pocketing a gent's wallet, and wondered if he belonged to a borough, because he was pretty good, when the cop spotted him. And being the kind hearted person I was, I helped him get away. He'd be put to good use when taught well.

When I started to see the salty river me and my boys lived by, I told the kid what I was going to do. He asked, after all, so I'd give him an answer.

"Listen ta me kid. I saws youse tryin' ta steal dat gent's wallet, an' ya woulda gotten aways wit it if dat bull hadn't been 'round. Now I sees a good potential in youse kid, and dat's sayin' a lot fr'm me; so how'd ya like ta join me an' me newsies?" I asked him, giving him one of my infamous smirks with a quirk or my eyebrow.

"Join youse and yoah newsies?" The kid asked, stopped momentarily by what I had asked him, "But dat must mean yoah Spot Conlon!"

Good, he knew about me. That would make things go lots faster. But then again, who in New York hadn't heard of me?

"In me own flesh n' blood, but gets a move on; dat bull might still bes hangin' about." I said, pushing the small boy in front of me onto the beginning of the dock. No, not just a dock, my dock. Don't believe me? Check any one of the wooden boards on this one dock and you'll find the word 'BROOKLYN' carved into each and every one of them. No it wasn't my name, but- Nope, wrong again. Brooklyn was my name. You couldn't speak about Brooklyn without thinking about me. That's just the way it was.

"Ah coise mistah Conlon!" The kid said, a wide grin painted across his young face; he couldn't have been any older then eight, but he was sure classy.

"Dat's Spot ta youse, kid. Now do ya have a name?" I asked him, walking down the wooden planks that made my dock, my boots tapping against the old weathered boards. The docks were empty about now: too dark to go swimming and hang out, but too light for it to really be called night time. All my boys were already at the lodging house we all called home, either playing poker or drinking before bed.

"I'se do't haff a name, Spot. I'se nevah hads anyboidys ta cawl me a name." The eight year old sighed, turning her head from me to look down into the murky waters below us.

Poor kid, being left on the street as such a young age without a mother or father to teach him how to live. At least I had a mother... but no getting soft, Spot. He'll live.

"Then wese'll call ya Pick Pocket, foah yoah amazin' woik back dere." I told him, coming up with the name right on the spot. I was good at that.

"Ah coise mistah! I mean… Ah coise Spot!" Pick Pocket said, his eyes widened in disbelief. He just got named by a newsie lord. I'd be impressed if I named myself as well.

"Gets a move on kid. Get in da howse an' find a bunk ta sleep in. An' if dere ain't any open, shaeh a bed wit da kid dey cawls Mouse. He's small an' youse is bound ta fit on a bed wit him." I told him, pushing him back towards the beginning of the dock, making him stumble a few steps before he regained his footing.

Pick Pocket raced off inside to meet the crew while I stayed out to watch the water beneath me.

I walked lightly over to one of the edges of the dock, watching the orange sun in the blueish green water that swam beneath me. It had become a tradition of mine to come to the water and watch the sun set when I was troubled, and right now, I was troubled. I was thinking about her again, and I shouldn't be. She haunted my dreams every night, but she was long gone; never to be seen again. Then another thought rushed over my as my feet dangled from the edge of my dock, my cold eyes staring down at my reflection.

"I'se is da most hated poisen in Brooklyn…" I whispered to myself, glaring down at my own glare. And it was true. Sure I'd been nice with the kid, Pick Pocket, but I soaked anyone who decided they didn't want to listen to me. I banged any girl I wanted to and got my way, without any hassle. because people hated me. Feared me.

I gritted my teeth before hissing, "But wut do it mattah? I do't caeh if dey hate me, I caeh is dey feah me..." I lied to myself, and sometimes it worked, but now... it seemed useless.

"Wut wus dat, boss?" A voice asked from behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was, so I didn't. I just continued to glare down at myself.

They boy, uhm... young man that stood behind me had medium longish golden hair and crystal blue eyes. Spot and than man behind him had been friends forever; ever since eight year old Spot found him shivering on the bank of the river that they now stood over. That's how he hadn't gotten his name; Shivah.

"Wut do youse want, Shivah?" I asked sourly, watching the setting sun longingly. The sun didn't have to do anything but rise and set. What an easy life that'd be.

"I'se jus' wanted ta tewl ya sumtin, Spot." Shivah said softly, coming to do sit as my side on the edge of the dock.

"Oh? An' wut may dat be?" I didn't have to ask; I knew what was coming, but I might as well let him speak.

"I jus' wanna say dat I'se is sorry, and dat I'wl miss ya guys; youse been my family foah 'bout nine yeahs now, and I'se owe ya so much... I'se would stay, I mean I still gots a few good yeahs in me till I gotta woik at a fac'try, but... Alice needs me, Spot, an' her pa won't lemme mary her 'til I gets a job. A real one. Youse can undahstand dat, right? Youse can undahstand why I'se is doin' dis?" Shivah asked earnestly, almost begging me.

True, I did know what it meant to sacrifice for the ones you loved; the best act of it had taken place in front of me only a few months ago. It was so fresh in my heart, it hurt. It hurt that someone would actually want to die for me... and she did. She died for me and because of me, and now that she was gone... I had no where to turn. I felt so empty inside. It started with a little game I always played. Like I said, I could get whatever girl I wanted. But not her; no, never Miss Lonely. She didn't feel the need to have love in the form of a boy friend. She knew the pain of loosing people she loved, and didn't want it to happen again. So, after three failed attempts by Jack, Race and Kid Blink, I went in for the kill. Of course, she didn't take my crap, and I didn't expect her to, but after saving her from some goons on the streets, we started to get to know each other. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, she loved me, and I loved her. I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I loved her. Sure, there was that love for the body when you had a one night stand, and maybe a love for the way someone acted, but the love for the whole person couldn't compare to either. And she had been so sure about everything; it was like she could see the future. "You'll be the death of me, Spot Conlon." She had told me once... and it ended up being true. Some leader from another borough had something against me, and to get to he, he got her. Shot her to death as well. Of course, he didn't know they were related.

Shivah didn't know why I was so tough on him. Of course he knew the story of Lonely... but, he was so convinced that Alice would always be there. Boy was he in for a rude awakening.

"No, Shivah; I can't undahstand youse. Youse of all people should know dat!" I answered him, turning my head to look him straight in the eyes.

"But Spot... youse gotta." Shivah argued, running his hand through his hair.

"No, Shivah, youse gotta undahstand!" I snarled, my eyes turning icy cold, "Yoah leavin' yoah only family, yoah bruddahs foah some skinny liddle goil!"

Shivah opened his mouth as if to argue back, but closed it with a snap, his jaw hardening in defiance.

"Fine. If dats wut youse want, den fine." Shivah said without one ounce of emotion in his voice, "Youse mean nuttin' to me; youse owr yoah newsies. An' I ain't Shivah, no moah; youse, Spot, can cawl me mistah William."

And with that, Mr. Shane William stood up and left his family behind to make his own living.

I watched him go with one of my glares before I, too, stood up and made my way over to our warehouse quickly, slamming the door as I entered, and then marching up the stairs, each making a loud thud.

By the time I reached the door that lead to the room where my boys slept, they had all fallen silent, hearing me coming in. I opened the door, and all eyes went on me.

The room was simple; a rectangular wooden room with bunk beds lined up against the walls with clothing and apparel spread about the floor.

Walking slowly down the middle of the bunk beds, all eyes stared carefully, evenly at me. They wanted to know what was going to happen now.

Shivah had been my second in command, and that now meant tat position was up for grabs. Everyone wanted it.

"Shivah, owr, as he now cawls hisself, mistah William." I sneered, my eyes darting back and forth between the boys, and our one girl, "Has decided dat a goil, no 'fence Peppah, is moah impo'tant den us, his bruddahs, so he is no longah a membar ah da Brooklyn Newsies, ya heah?"

"Eye." They all called, none of them blinking.

"An' I'se'll pick a second in a couple a nights; I need time ta t'ink. G'night boys." I turned and left the room to go to my own, private one.

Everyone told me it was more honorable to sleep in the same room with my boys, but there just wasn't enough room.

After shutting the door behind myself, I sat down on my small bed, my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. No, I wouldn't cry. I would never cry. Crying meant defeat, and defeat just wasn't an option for me. I might have cried once, but never again. So without even bothering to change, I laid down on my bed and fell into an uncomfortable and light sleep.


Better? I think it is.

In first person, anyway. It's the same info, with a little extra, then last time... so review!

I love you all my awesometastical reviewers!

Much love always

~Scree