Post by oceansand588 on Oct 8, 2009 0:28:22 GMT -5
The afternoon light was waning when Shane stepped lightly past the newly erected signpost marking the southern limits of Brooklyn. The white letters emblazoned on the dark green background gleamed brightly in the fading light, reflecting the light cast by a nearby streetlamp. To her right, the East River lapped gently at the wood pier, the first of several wood piers that jutted out into the river like a set of false teeth--the wood piers being the few teeth and the water between them being like the gaping space of the mouth.
Shane stopped walking abruptly, so lost in her thoughts that she was oblivious to the shadowy figures that were loitering by one of the piers ahead of her. She was mulling over several possibilities in her mind. Clearly, twilight was fast approaching. Judging by the gradually lengthening shadows, she had approximately an hour left before all would be cloaked in the shadowy veil of darkness brought on by the mundane passage of time.
Time.
Time was another matter that she was contemplating. Time, or the passage of time, was concerning her. It seemed that life was moving so fast, perhaps too fast. It had been a year since she last ventured into Brooklyn; a year since she appeared before Spot Conlon acting like a runaway hospital patient. And it had been a little over a year since she last saw her brother.
Madden.
Shane recalled her brother's stubborn, rebellious, yet protective personality. He always had been rather protective of her, a good big brother. He was born in Ireland, and had wanted to return there. He had promised to take her there and show her their family land, their grandparents, whom she had never met. He was born in Ireland whereas she was born in Brooklyn. Even though they were on the same continent, they were still separated by a whole ocean, metaphorically speaking. Where was he now? Was he still in Jersey, or had he moved on to other, grander places? Shane frowned. It had always been his desire to travel. I'm gonna see the world, Shaney! he cried, as he walked backwards, away from her, when they had parted.
Conlon.
It actually made her shudder to recall how weak, naive, and vulnerable she had been last time she spoke to the leader of the Brooklyn newsies.
"Alright, I'se standing, but not well mind you..."
"Don't mind me if I fall down. An' that's not t'be disrespectful or anythin'," she had said.
Delusional. That's what she was, or had been. She had thought that being a Brooklyn native, coupled with her "tell-it-like-it-is" attitude, made a difference. [In reality, a Brooklyn newsie was made of such elements and more.]
The one thing that had not changed was her want for food. In the lower east side of Manhattan there had been a soup kitchen where she occasionally got a meal. She preferred to buy her own food when she could. Her preference was rooted in her fear of being sent back to an orphanage where she would once more be subjected to the confines of propriety. God forbid that she be sent to another orphanage run by nuns! Her reluctance and opposition stemmed from her past experience at the orphanage with her brother--one run by nuns who, although nice and kind, strictly were against daydreaming and wasting time. No imagination!
Shane shook her head as if to clear her mind, as if she could shake the very thoughts and insecurities from her mind. She turned away from the river to face the street, pivoting on the balls of her feet as she glanced first to the left, then to the right, scrutinizing her surroundings. Idle musings were gone from her mind for the time being, and her insecurities prompted her to be alert, to act cautiously, not impulsively. As she glanced to her right--the direction in which she would resume walking in order to reach the Brooklyn newsies' lodging house and the dock where the aforementioned newsies usually lounged--she spotted the several shadowy figures loitering by one of the piers.
Were they newsies?
Or were they some other denizens of Brooklyn out for an evening stroll? Every cell in her body seemed to be electrically charged as adrenaline coursed through her veins. It would be necessary to cross the street and hug the wall in the hope that doing so would help her avoid being seen.... There was one major complication, however. There was a streetlamp positioned on the sidewalk, directly across from the huddled group of figures. The street was wide enough that the pool of light cast by the streetlamp did not illuminate the figures, yet it would be like walking into a spotlight if she crossed the street. In her mind she struggled to define the best course of action. Should she take a backstreet and go through the allies? No, Shane thought firmly, the allies are off-limits at night. I made that rule when I was with Madden and I'm gonna stick to it.
Suddenly, her foot rolled out from underneath her and she collapsed hard on her legs--sitting partially on one while the other eg was caught in the hem of her long skirts. Sharp pain licked its way up her left leg, her eyes burned and her throat constricted. The pain was unbearable--intensified by the continued pressure upon her damaged left leg by her awkward position--left knee pressed against right leg, right shoe-heel caugh in rip in skirt hem. Shane strained her eyes, breathing heavily out of pain and fright--trying to see what had caused her slip. Several feet away was a small rock, or overly large pebble, that had presumably become stuck in between the grooves on the bottom of the shoe when she had taken a step and then proceeded to rob her of her balance. The pain had not receeded--in anything, it had intensified. There was no light now to illuminate her huddled form. She slid backwards, pulling or pushing herself with her palms until her back met the brick wall of the building and she attempted to curl up in a ball to stay warm. There was nothing she could do but to wait for morning--first light--and try to find the lodging house or another such building. The best she could do for now was to not draw attention to herself. Within minutes, sleep had claimed her distraught mind and she was shielded from the pain of her likely broken leg.
Shane stopped walking abruptly, so lost in her thoughts that she was oblivious to the shadowy figures that were loitering by one of the piers ahead of her. She was mulling over several possibilities in her mind. Clearly, twilight was fast approaching. Judging by the gradually lengthening shadows, she had approximately an hour left before all would be cloaked in the shadowy veil of darkness brought on by the mundane passage of time.
Time.
Time was another matter that she was contemplating. Time, or the passage of time, was concerning her. It seemed that life was moving so fast, perhaps too fast. It had been a year since she last ventured into Brooklyn; a year since she appeared before Spot Conlon acting like a runaway hospital patient. And it had been a little over a year since she last saw her brother.
Madden.
Shane recalled her brother's stubborn, rebellious, yet protective personality. He always had been rather protective of her, a good big brother. He was born in Ireland, and had wanted to return there. He had promised to take her there and show her their family land, their grandparents, whom she had never met. He was born in Ireland whereas she was born in Brooklyn. Even though they were on the same continent, they were still separated by a whole ocean, metaphorically speaking. Where was he now? Was he still in Jersey, or had he moved on to other, grander places? Shane frowned. It had always been his desire to travel. I'm gonna see the world, Shaney! he cried, as he walked backwards, away from her, when they had parted.
Conlon.
It actually made her shudder to recall how weak, naive, and vulnerable she had been last time she spoke to the leader of the Brooklyn newsies.
"Alright, I'se standing, but not well mind you..."
"Don't mind me if I fall down. An' that's not t'be disrespectful or anythin'," she had said.
Delusional. That's what she was, or had been. She had thought that being a Brooklyn native, coupled with her "tell-it-like-it-is" attitude, made a difference. [In reality, a Brooklyn newsie was made of such elements and more.]
The one thing that had not changed was her want for food. In the lower east side of Manhattan there had been a soup kitchen where she occasionally got a meal. She preferred to buy her own food when she could. Her preference was rooted in her fear of being sent back to an orphanage where she would once more be subjected to the confines of propriety. God forbid that she be sent to another orphanage run by nuns! Her reluctance and opposition stemmed from her past experience at the orphanage with her brother--one run by nuns who, although nice and kind, strictly were against daydreaming and wasting time. No imagination!
Shane shook her head as if to clear her mind, as if she could shake the very thoughts and insecurities from her mind. She turned away from the river to face the street, pivoting on the balls of her feet as she glanced first to the left, then to the right, scrutinizing her surroundings. Idle musings were gone from her mind for the time being, and her insecurities prompted her to be alert, to act cautiously, not impulsively. As she glanced to her right--the direction in which she would resume walking in order to reach the Brooklyn newsies' lodging house and the dock where the aforementioned newsies usually lounged--she spotted the several shadowy figures loitering by one of the piers.
Were they newsies?
Or were they some other denizens of Brooklyn out for an evening stroll? Every cell in her body seemed to be electrically charged as adrenaline coursed through her veins. It would be necessary to cross the street and hug the wall in the hope that doing so would help her avoid being seen.... There was one major complication, however. There was a streetlamp positioned on the sidewalk, directly across from the huddled group of figures. The street was wide enough that the pool of light cast by the streetlamp did not illuminate the figures, yet it would be like walking into a spotlight if she crossed the street. In her mind she struggled to define the best course of action. Should she take a backstreet and go through the allies? No, Shane thought firmly, the allies are off-limits at night. I made that rule when I was with Madden and I'm gonna stick to it.
Suddenly, her foot rolled out from underneath her and she collapsed hard on her legs--sitting partially on one while the other eg was caught in the hem of her long skirts. Sharp pain licked its way up her left leg, her eyes burned and her throat constricted. The pain was unbearable--intensified by the continued pressure upon her damaged left leg by her awkward position--left knee pressed against right leg, right shoe-heel caugh in rip in skirt hem. Shane strained her eyes, breathing heavily out of pain and fright--trying to see what had caused her slip. Several feet away was a small rock, or overly large pebble, that had presumably become stuck in between the grooves on the bottom of the shoe when she had taken a step and then proceeded to rob her of her balance. The pain had not receeded--in anything, it had intensified. There was no light now to illuminate her huddled form. She slid backwards, pulling or pushing herself with her palms until her back met the brick wall of the building and she attempted to curl up in a ball to stay warm. There was nothing she could do but to wait for morning--first light--and try to find the lodging house or another such building. The best she could do for now was to not draw attention to herself. Within minutes, sleep had claimed her distraught mind and she was shielded from the pain of her likely broken leg.