Sunset and Skycrapers ( Reupload!! )
So, as I wanted to write more, I put together chapter 1 and the prologue, but it wasn't too long anyway, as always and always, enjoy!
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Who said he wanted to spend his life in a state that was specifically designated to house people like him? It was like they were a different universe from the rest of the United States, a place for Mexicans to have a place to stay without mixing with the "original citizens". He had parents, yes, and a little brother he loved with all his heart, but what was the point of having a family if they had to watch their parents deny them food so they could have something to eat? They had no clothes, their mother had to sew them with whatever she could find around, and it was difficult to see a woman so bright and radiant, full of songs and arts to share, so thin and aimless. He had to find alternative means to get what was considered basic, if you know what I mean. He knew old Santa Fe like the back of his hand, every small business and alley, he had to hide to eat, while somewhere else, people had food to waste, see how unfair that is?
And it only got worse as she grew older. At age 8, her mother began to lose more and more weight, her thick, frizzy hair, now dry and unkempt, her normally bright brown skin now tinged pale and just... Lifeless. Her eyes no longer carried that contagious happiness, she didn't look like that enthusiastic dancer or singer anymore, now she was too weak to even getting out of bed, and it was hard to hear his brother ask, his voice still echoed in his head to this day.
Why doesn't mommy get up?
Why does she sleep so much?
I want mommy to tell stories, Francis, you tell me every day!
He was too young to understand, and he didn't have the heart to say, that Mommy wouldn't be able to tell him stories anymore, it was hard for him too, he wanted his mother to teach him one more recipe, or tell him one more story about her life in her home country, but no, it was all over in a single day. As they ran back home, Mike holding his hand tightly, they arrived home. His father had a traumatized expression, and in the bed? Was the woman who gave them everything, and even more than she could handle, now dead like just one who lost to hunger, Mike filled him with questions, and he couldn't answer any of them, he just wanted to cry, or just one last chance to hear her voice. His father yelled for them to get out, he covered Michael's ears and picked him up, because that's what he saw his mother do when he cried, they stayed out that night, picked up the sweets that they liked the most, everything to try to comfort themselves, but nothing worked, their mother was dead and his brother still begged for her.
But it didn't take long, at the age of 10, he was still trying to move forward, his father went to work to try to support the three of them, he also had to do his jobs, selling what he had, having to steal from small businesses that wanted the same thing as him, survive. In one of these thefts, they were running from the sight of the police, when they didn't notice a wagon coming, it was too late for him to pull his brother's hand. He had to just watch in silence the fragile little body of his brother lying on the floor, lifeless, everything happened so quickly, he didn't noticed his father arriving, him dragging him to the hospital or the attempts to resuscitate him. He just saw the scene unfolding in front of him in slow motion. His brother did not die a peaceful death, he died like a criminal. His mother died like another person who did not survive the famine.
Next was his father, at that point there was no communication in his house, who was Jack Kelly? His father didn't know, he was preoccupied trying to put food on the table, just like him. It was just a dry "Good morning, don't get into trouble," a "Good morning, good day at work," and a good night. He missed his father, he missed his family. Now he was a criminal, at 12 years old he was already wanted for petty thefts, the only problem is that the police see a child trying to survive and a drug dealer with the same look. So his life was, work, sell what he stole, and sleep, on repeat. Until one day. One day he arrived and his father was being detained, apparently the police had discovered another way for him to support them, he even tried to help, he begged them not to take his father, the only The only thing he got was a blow to the head that knocked him out, and when he woke up, he was alone in the house, it was as if the house that was once his comfort, his shelter and source of warmth had become just... Cold.
For the next 5 years, he spent his days in hatred, because he saw the newspapers, everything seemed so perfect in the other big cities, while he had to watch his people work manually for even more than 12 hours just to get penny, it wasn't fair. He was known in his small neighborhood by that point, but he always found his own way to get what he needed. He just wanted a chance to see if big cities like New York were as great as people said it was. At that point he would accept anything, he had nothing to lose anyway, he worked with what he could get and what they would accept, he was 17 years old and had nothing but stories to his name, do you understand how that must feel? Probably one of his bosses heard him, because he received extra money to pay for the train trip, he had three days until the day of departure.
The days flew by, on the first day his suitcase was packed, he didn't have much, just a few cents, his clothes, his mother's old sketchbook, which she insisted on passing on to him because according to her, he inherited her talent, a small picture and only picture of his complete family, and things to eat, which were not many. In the second, he could not even sleep for anxiety, he worked with such enthusiasm that his colleagues found it strange, and he even stopped stealing so often. On the third day, there he was at the station, a small suitcase in his hands, a sign above the tracks: โ Train to New York.โ, he received some judgmental looks, probably because of his skin tone, he didnโt care much. As soon as the locomotive arrived, he hurried inside, he had a good feeling about that trip, it was his opportunity to see new places.
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In that city it was as if there was a big wall dividing the upper part from the lower part. Unfortunately, his "kind" boss sent him to lower Manhattan, where it was like his neighborhood, but with bigger buildings, rats and paved streets. He took advantage of his day to just "admire the view", there wasn't much to see, just some unsuspecting rich people who looked at him with great disgust, as if he were a red stain on a white shirt. He was used to the stares at that point, but that didn't mean he liked it, he knew he wasn't welcome there, well, where was he at that point? He was simply walking, aimlessly, just trying to get used to the visual, noise and light pollution, he could complain all he wanted about his quiet little town, but in this? It won.
During this careless walk, he felt something bump into his shoulder, he stumbled forward, catching himself for a few seconds to avoid falling, He was ready to say "watch where you're going!" until he noticed who the unfortunate boy who had bumped into him. Despite being an artist according to his mother and some people in his neighborhood, that boy who awkwardly picked up things that had been dropped on the floor was a work of art that even if he spent his whole life painting he wouldn't be able to replicate. Everything about him was extremely drawable, the perfect ringlets that clustered in little curls on his head, freckles scattered across his neck like so many stars, he had the perfect silhouette, not too thin, not too fat, his skin tone was perfect for the rest of his features, it was a beautiful pale that complemented the almost black brown in his eyes and hair. And God, What beautiful eyes, even though they were currently nervous and guilty, they were still so drawable, yet it seemed very difficult for him to replicate. He shook his head, he never had these thoughts about anyone, what was happening to him? This wasn't normal, he was just a stranger, just someone passing by.
He sighed and went to help the boy who was repeatedly apologizing as if he had committed the greatest crime in the history of humanity, even though he himself was shorter than the boy and the most I could do was kick him in the sensitive part, but that was out of the question. Once everything was collected, he saw the boy adjust his glasses and in an insecure and clearly introspective manner he muttered a; โ " Did I hurt you?โ โ He arched an eyebrow, the boy seemed to be afraid of him, he was sure he wasn't that scary. He shook his head, trying his best to look less threatening, after all the boy next to him was practically melting with embarrassment. He took a moment to look at him, he was coming from the small school a few meters away, and because he was holding books and sheets, It wasn't very difficult to know that he was a student. The boy seemed to remember something and extended his hand, obviously trying to sound more polite, he said trying to sound a little more confident; โ โMy name is David, David Jacobs.โ โ Before shaking the boy's hand, he pondered for a bit.
He could tell his real name, yes, but he wanted for a moment to abandon Francis and leave him in Santa Fe until he needed to show him again, and so with a smile he shook the boy's hand, who he now knew was called David. โ โ Nice to meet you, Davey, I'm Jack. Jack Kelly.โ โ The boy's hands were a complete contrast to his, they were pale, again full of freckles and he had the hand of a pianist, that was a fact, what surprised him was that despite his hand being soft, apparently he wrote on the right hand in a forced way, because on that same hand he had a small callus, which he could only assume was from writing. The boy seemed a little disconcerted by the nickname, well, he seemed disconcerted in general, but he seemed a little more comfortable in his presence.
Davey suddenly let go of his hand quickly, and at that moment he felt a strange sadness, but he let it go, he smiled, and said, again, kind of softly; โ โ I should go, my little brother is waiting... But it was really nice meeting you, Jack, and again, thanks so much for your help. โ He waved at him and left in a hurry. Well, that was strange, during that whole conversation, he felt a blurry feeling in his stomach, like butterflies, but that couldn't be anything, right? After all, he liked girls, it was the right thing to do, he would get married and have children, it was what his family would want, but he couldn't help but wonder. Could it be? Anyway, he didn't have time to think about extremely handsome boys he definitely wanted to meet. He had to take shelter somewhere, and well, the next day he would start selling newspapers, so, His boss recommended that he stay at a lodging house for newsboys, specifically.
He went back on his way, thinking about everything that had happened in the last few days, the boy, the trip, the new job. It was all new, what would Michael think of New York? His father would be proud? Could his mother find a job she liked in this cynical city? He thought and thought about his family, which was slowly becoming just faceless memories, just sensations, sensations of warmth, like a hug, that gradually disappeared, being replaced by the cold of the harsh reality he now lived in. During these thoughts, he had finally arrived. He entered the small lodging and quickly became part of the crowd. The newspaper vendors were nice, but there were a lot of them, probably more than 60, and of all ages. He knew their preferences, so when he discovered the roof, that's where he went. He placed his things on the large platform where the ceiling was the sky, and soon noticed company; A boy with a crutch, had a kind countenance, and began to talk to him enthusiastically; โ โ You must be the new kid, right? Welcome to the family! I'm Crutchie.โ โ A bit of a dubious nickname, if you asked him, but the boy seemed kind, and he probably had a reason. He smiled and introduced himself as well, after all, they were technically "roommates"; โ โ Nice to meet you Crutchie, I'm Jack.โ โ The other boy nodded, as if committing his name to memory.
They spent the next few hours talking, getting to know each other, Crutchie was a good friend and listener, someone he definitely wanted to keep by his side, but unfortunately, they needed sleep.The problem with that part was, he couldn't think and rethink about everything that had happened, his parents, his brother, the boy, the new life, everything was spinning in his head, making him anxious. He turned and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, he didn't find one, but probably because of his own exhaustion, He finally managed to fall asleep. Was it a light and troubled sleep? Yes, but it was better than not sleeping at all, especially since he needed it if he was going to work all day and only get home to sleep, It wasn't like it was much different from his life before, the only difference was that it was on the streets and not in the fields, and that it was newspapers and not hoes or any agricultural tools.
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I'm not very satisfied because it was short for me, but that's it for now, I hope you liked it!๐ผ
