WARNING: Slight violence in the middle of the story.

Willow~ I race down the street, away from Romeo, who is twice my size, an' therefore, frightening. Although I will be fourteen soon, an' I am quite tall, my strategy is to fight only when I absolutely need to. Although he don' like to admit it, Spot is the same way. He is tough, mind you, but the best fighting he does is with his cane (gold topped one, found in an alley) and his slingshot. Wese better aimers den we is punchers. But Romeo's a fighter, an' a flirt, two tings dat don' go too well. I skidd to a stop in front of a horse-drawn carrage, where a buncha nuns croud in the back, waitin' to give out bread to those "poor, lost, unfortunate, children." 

I look down the street, and see Spot jump on Romeo.

"No'un messes wid Will or me. You got dat? You got dat?"

Poor, lost, unfortunate children, my eye.

Spot an' I have always been best friends. Ever since his parents abandoned him, and he found me outside da kids jail, the Refuge.

I hated that place.

We decided to woik togeder, sellin' papes in Brooklyn. What we didn't know abou' was Jinks.

The King of Brooklyn. 

He was tough, mean, an' dounright nasty. He had a mean streak, an' never let us forget who was boss. Every week he'd pick on the smaller newsies, or small pardners, an' soak 'em.

We tried to stay outta his way.

Until, one week, he decided to pick on us.

He watched us, our sellin' spots, waht we did, every move we made. Spot was just over a year older den me, but we were small.

Small enough fer us to get soaked.

So he attacked.

It was a Wednesday.

He started wid me foist. He jumped me in an alley, grabbin' his can, an' ready to beat da snot oudda me, an' maybe all da life as well. Spot saw him, and jumped on his back. Jinks got to his feet, an' was ready to kill us, I don' lie, when Spot fired his slingshot. It hit him right between the eyes, an' he fell into the street.

We didn' stick around for the res' of it, but we heard dat he was run over by a carrage.

The King of Brooklyn was dead.

Woid got around, an' before you knew, Spot became the most respected newsie in New York.

The New King of Brooklyn.

I shake myself outta my flashback, an' run toward Romeo an' Spot. 

Samantha~I watch the cook turn the corner, to enter into the pantry, and I take the chance, slipping into the kitchen out of view, and out a door that leads into an alley. I then walk around the rest of the houses, in fear that one of our rich neighbors may notice me, and stop at a corner, hailing a carriage. 

"Take me to a church in the Roman Catholic Diocese of Brooklyn," I say as I get in, and he tips his hat.

"Right on, miss," he says in a heavy accent, and starts the buggy.

At top speed.

Mother would not be pleased if she knew I was here. I think, as the carriage skidds around corners, but, unlike almost every young lady I know, I did not plead for the driver to slow down. It is quite fun, going fast, I think. 

When we arrive in front of a church in Brooklyn, I pay the driver extra for his quick service, and may I add, the fact that he gave me a chance to have a jolly good time. I didn't tell him this, but you could tell he was gratified by the way his eyes gleamed.

"Tell ya what," he says, "I'd be happy to pick ye up any day youse comes about these parts."

I thank him, and walk into the church, where Sister Augusta is waiting for me.

"Dear child," she says, and I smile.

"I'm here to help drive the buggy, and distribute food."

"Bless your heart! Indeed, you shall help us. The carriage is out back, and we shall start soon."

I thank her, and walk out of the church to the back, where Sister Lavina and Sister Mary are waiting.

"Sisters," I curtsey.

"How are you, Samantha?" Sister Mary asks. "Please, get in."

I waste no time, and climb in the front, where a large horse sits in front of me.

"Pardon me Sisters, but what is his name?"

"Her name is Roberta."

Roberta.

Interesting name for a horse.

The sisters finish loading up their baskets of bread, and their buckets of coffee, and we're off.

Off to feed the hungry, and provide glory to God.

Or something. 

Here's Martyna(She doesn't have a face because I'm horrible at drawing them!)

It didn't show up. Here, I'll try again.

PLEASE TOP!

PLEASE TOP! 

Hey everyone! So…it's Willow here (you knew that) and I am posting a quick annoncement that I AM NO LONGER POSTING AS WILLOW. So, I love my charrie, Willow, but I have been searching for a nickname for a while, and I have decided on one.

I, Willow, am now Brooklyn Newsie!

So please, don't be confused when Brooklyn Newsie starts posting a story about Willow. I am an official fansie (Newsies fan) and I like this name.

Willow OUT. 

NAME: Juniper

NICKNAME(S): "June" "Fox"

JOB: Newsie

AGE:13

PART OF NEW YORK CHARRIE LIVES IN: Brooklyn

BACKGROUND: June's mother died in childbirth, leaving her father to look after her. When she was eight, her father became ill, and died shortly thereafter. She was sent to an orphanage, where she was the youngest girl, and everybody picked on her, including the man who ran the orphanage. She ran away after only two weeks by pretending that she needed to go to the market, then ditching her "chaperone" and hightailing it to the docks. She then lived for two years by sleeping in an old boat with a hole in the side, and stealing food from the market. Eventualy, when she was ten, nobody was looking for her anymore, so she became a newsie. She wishes she could do more, and for now, the strike is a major step up from the last three years.

POSITION ON THE STRIKE: June thinks that the strike is the best thing since the "Sherlock Holmes" adventure. She'll do anything and everything it takes to keep everyone going until the newsies get what they want.

Yay! We started! This will be short, I am very tired, sorry.

"Hey!" I spit out a mouthful of dirt, and looked up to glare at Martyna.

"Oh! Martyna! I didn' know it was you!" Martyna, as always, didn't smile as she held out her hand to help me up. I accepted it, and then scrambled to pick up the contents of her basket.

"I am so sorry, I didn' see you, an' I wasn' lookin' where I was goin', an' I REALLY didn' mean to run into you, an' I'm so sorry!" I babbled.

She shook her head, gave me a look that said "It's fine," took her basket, and was gone.

"Oh… okay then."

And I set off to join the rest of the newsies at work. 

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