Aw, I'm "the great Cat"? You flatter me, Marty 🙂

Ricky~ 

I've only been back to my spot at the mill for a little while before a boyish shout of "Caaat!" comes ringing down the line again. 

I glance at Valeria apologetically, but she just laughs softly and takes my end of the thread. "Hey, what can a guy do?" I joke, and she shakes her head. I go down in the direction of the call and I find myself standing in front of Marty's station.

I stiff up a little. I try to steer clear of Marty, a little afraid she'll drive me off like she's done to a lot of other guys I've known. Steeling myself, I wait for her to tell me the problem.

"Here." She motions to a stuck roller in the machine, and then sucks in a breath and puts her hand back in her pocket. But I've seen it; she has missing fingers. Probably from a factory accident. Sadly, it's common. I look at her a bit warily, hoping she won't mention it and put me in the rather awkward position of talking to her, as I un-stick the thread from where it's jammed in the spool.

"Thanks," she mumbles, turning away from me. I'm about to go, too, but on a spurt of emotion, I turn back to her. 

"Hey…" I say nervously, and she sends me a questioning glance.

"That thing you've got?" I motion to my own hand. "It's…it's OK. There's nothing wrong with it. Hey, it happened to me–" I point to the scar on the bridge of my nose- "–and I turned out fine." I laugh. "Was my first time fixing the machines, thread sliced me. I was ten, but it was deep, and it left this.

"My point is," I continue, searching her neutral face for expression, "it's not something you have to be ashamed of, even though people may point and laugh and stare. They'll try and get you down but you're worth just as much as they are, if not more. I know, 'cause for me, it's not just a few missing fingers, but – well – my whole skin. You've got the same right to a spot here on Earth as anyone else. I just don't think you've seen that yet."

I offer her a fleeting, nervous smile and turn before she can say anything back, darting through the lines of kids back to my spot at the mill.

"So the hero returns," Valeria says dryly as she hands me back my thread. There's no venom in her words.

"I'll make it up to you someday," I say, grinning.

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Martyna~

"That thing you've got?" Ricky motions to his own hand. "It's…it's OK. There's nothing wrong with it. Hey, it happened to me–" He points to the scar on the bridge of his nose- "–and I turned out fine." He laughs. "Was my first time fixing the machines, thread sliced me. I was ten, but it was deep, and it left this.

"My point is," He continues, searching my neutral face for expression, "it's not something you have to be ashamed of, even though people may point and laugh and stare. They'll try and get you down but you're worth just as much as they are, if not more. I know, 'cause for me, it's not just a few missing fingers, but – well – my whole skin. You've got the same right to a spot here on Earth as anyone else. I just don't think you've seen that yet." 

I think about what Ricky said. Times right now are really bad for Mexicans and people of color, and I never thought that- well, maybe I have been to focused on myself lately. The rest of the day is uneventful, except for another girl's machine that gets stuck and fixed by Cat. His words stay in my head all day, even as I walk home tonight.

It's not something to be ashamed of.

I feel bad, because Ricky has it so much worse than I do. He's right; his whole skin prevents him from doing things that us white people can. Maybe not girls and women, but we can probably still do more than the people of color. (I'm really sorry if I get lots of things wrong, I don't really know much about this time period) 

If the rumors of the newsboy strike are true, then maybe it could help us, too.

As I open the door to our tiny apartment, I notice my mother passed out on the ground, my father towering over her with a broken wine bottle in his hand. "Father," I growl, hiding my fear under a very-practiced poker face. "Put down the bottle."

He turns toward me and grunts, a terrifying, oppressive look on his face. I almost cower and back away, but if I do that, he'll have won. I stand my ground and stare him in the eyes. "Shut up, stupid girl. Where's your money?"

The weight in my pocket suddenly seems heavier. I remember that we were payed today. "I'm not giving it to you."

"What?" He snarls, his face inches from mine. His breath reeks, and I almost give in to his cruelty. "No," I say. "I am not giving you money to buy more alcohol!"

He slaps me across the face. "Hand it over, girl, or I'll do worse."

I rub my cheek, and resolve that I will never give in. "No. If you need it that badly, get a job and earn it yourself."

His fist collides with my right eye, then my nose, then my stomach. I double over, but I've made it this far. I cannot give in.

"Hand it over!" He shouts in my ear. I shake my head, and he throws me to the ground. The broken bottle is smacked across my forehead, and the last thing I see before blacking out is a gnarly hand reaching into the pocket of my apron, taking the money that I'd fought so hard to keep.

~~~~~~

I awake to a cool cloth resting on my forehead. My mother, my poor, badly-bruised mother, sits by the stove next to a pot of something warm and delicious-smelling. The sun isn't up yet, but you can feel it getting light and lighter. "Ma," I say, my voice cracking. Not because of the pain, but because I don't understand how she could be caring for me after all that she's been through. If anything, I should be tending to her wounds.

We both get up and embrace each other in a tight, fierce hug. Both of her eyes are darkened, from father's hits and sleep deprivation, and a long cut slices across her forehead. I remember everything. The bottle. The money. My insticts kick in, and I pull away. "Where is he?"

I don't need to specify who 'he' is. "I woke up, and he was gone. Your brothers have already left, and you'd better be leaving soon, too." Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry. You aren't safe anymore. I wish-"

I put a hand on her shoulder and kiss her cheek. "We'll find a way to get through this. Ma, you need to get as much rest as you can before work. Let me do something for you, for once."

She starts to say no, but her eyes are clearly grateful. I take the spoon from her and stir the broth, handing her the cold cloth and forcing her to sit down. When it's finished, I take a little for myself and give her the rest. "I have to get going, Ma. Goodbye."

And, it's back to the factory. Oddly, I feel safer in the place that caused me to lose half my hand than the place I call home.

Willow~

We got our papes, like 'dere was nuttin wrong, and set off to Sheepshead, swingin' our papes like 'dere was no tomorrow. I anticipate just making money normally today, an' with Grin frontin' fer me, I should be able to.

As we walk along, one of my braids slip out from under me hat, an' before I could tuck it back in, a couple of rowdies, stepped out of a groggry, and grabbed me by the arm.

"What you done, eh?" they sneer, staring deep into my eyes, their's shaking slightly. I yanked back, or at least attempted to, as the larger one gripped me so tightly, I could feel my very veins collapsing. "Leavin' me fer 'im?" They pointed to Spot, and I felt my hear skip a beat, as he grabbed me, an' pulled me close.

"Youse is got da wrong goil!" I scream desperately, and before the sluggish men can react, I've kicked him in the family jewels, and slammed my fist deep into the other's tender stomach. Spot and the others crowd around me, as I kick them to the side.

"Don't ask," I mumble, as Spot pulls me aside, and asks me what happened.

"Youse is getten' older, Will," he says. "It's dangerous. From now on, keep yer hat on when youse is away from me, okay, Princess?"

Princess.

For some reason, the name changes the whole command.  

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This is awsome!! Top

Oh, I hope this isn't dead. I'll try and keep it going in the meanwhile.

~

Wally walks me to the factory again the next day, after tales of what he'd done with his friends, the newsies, from the day before. He'd given me a whole silver dollar from some nice lady who'd stopped by the place and just handed them out! "I tells ya," Wally said, eyes wide. "She had on fancy clothes and went off in a carriage! And gave us these!"

"Must be from Uptown," I observe. That was curious. People like those usually didn't care much for those like Wally and I.

As my friend stops in front of the doorway, I continue into the factory, waving him goodbye. I turn and nearly trip over Valeria, bending down to adjust something in a basket.

"Oh! Sorry, Val, I didn't notice you." I say as she gets up.

"Obviously," she says, rubbing her side. We walk down to our rows, positioning ourselves in front of the machines. Poor kid on my other side is already half-asleep again.

"You know, there's something my father likes to say," Valeria starts as the machines whirr to life.

She thinks for a moment until it seems like the right translation of her words click into place. "When the masters are fighting, the servants are hurting." She finishes.

"So…when the rich make war…it's the poor who suffer." I say. She nods.

I laugh dryly.  

I have traveled back in time! Let's make the present time like Dragons of Tarkir! Wait, that is an MTG reference that makes no sense.