The bird of Manhatten

Chapter 28 - in which the story ends

Trigger Warning: Death

May 1901
Newsboys Lodge House, Manhattan, New York City
Elmer's P.O.V.

I'm woken up by a light touch at my hand.
Shit! I didn't want ta fall asleep.
I look up ta see Mags' hand layin' on mine.
I look at her.
She's awake an' slightly smilin'.
Her eyes is tired, her face pale.
Nothin' is said, but even wit'out woids I understand.
It's time.
I wanna cry, but I want ta be strong foa her.
I wanna run, ta call da others, but I's afraid, she'd go while I's away.
I wanna hide somewhere, never comin' back.
I wanna scream.
I wanna beg her, not ta go. Beg her ta stay.
But I know she can't.
She's in pain. In huge pain.
An' although she doesn't want ta go either, she must.
It will take her from us.
I feel tears in my eyes.
I don't wanna cry!
I wanna be strong foa her!
But I can't help myself an' seconds later I feel 'em on my cheeks.
Mags softly rubs my hand.
I hear da flutter of wings an' see Emma leavin' da room.
"She'll bring 'em.", I whisper. "Hold on. Only foa a minute."
She smiles sadly.
She won't stay.
She can't stay.
An' I know it.
"Please.", I whisper desperately, hopin' foa da boys ta come in time. I lay my other hand on hers.
"Please stay. They will be here in a second. Promise. Please. Stay."
She squeezes my hand.
Then her hand falls out of mine.
She's dead.
I hear da others comin'.
They'se runnin'.
As da door opens, I look up.
"Too late.", is everythin' I can say.
My voice's tremblin', my sight blurry from tears.
They'se in shock.
"NO!"
This little woid breaks da silence.
It's Jack.
He runs over ta da bed an' takes her hand.
"No! Please! No! Don't leave me!"
He breaks down, cryin'.
Never ever in my whole life, I've seen Jack Kelly cry.
Albert grabs my arm an' drags me wit' him an' da others outside ta leave Jack alone foa a minute.

Jacks P.O.V.

"No! Please! No!"
I can't believe it.
It can't be.
It jus' can't.
It's... it's simply impossible.
She can't be dead.
Not she.
Not Magpie.
She was so strong.
She can't be dead.
An' yet she's layin' there on da bed. Wit'out breathin'.
Her hand in mine's still warm. Her eyes is closed.
She looks so peaceful.
She seems ta jus' sleep.
It seems like she'd wake up tomorrow mornin', smilin' an' sellin' papes. Like before.
Da tears is runnin' unstoppable down my face.
I lay my head on her body an' jus' cry.
Cry because she's gone.
Cry because I couldn't do anythin' 'bout it.
Cry because I don't know what ta do anymore.
Cry because... because I loved her all along.
Because she had been my little sista, my family, my home. When I had been wit' her, I felt like I found everythin' I ever longed foa.
I never realised it.
But I do it now.
She had been my Santa Fe. She an' nothin' else.
She had been da reason I had stayed in New York back den.
An' I lost her.
I lost her because of dat illness.
Dat damn illness.
Dat god damn illness.
I wasn't even there when she went.
I was sleepin'.
Sleepin' while she fought foa her life.
Sleepin' while she couldn't sleep foa weeks, months, years before, cause of dat damn headache.
Sleepin' while she died.
Dat illness took her from me. From us. It jus' grabbed her an' ripped her from us. Simply killed her.
I's so angry. So sad. So... so tired. All at da same time.
An' then I fall asleep.

No one's P.O.V.
Time skip. The next morning.

It's quiet in the Newsboys Lodge House of Manhattan.
The usually laughing has become silent.
No one is running on the wooden floor.
Not even the flutter of wings is hearable.
The Newsies sit or lie on their bunks.
No one talks.
Some cry, some read the letters, Magpie left them, some are doing both.
Jack is in his Penthouse in the sky.
Alone.
Without Crutchie.
Mr. Kloppman comes in.
He wears his gardening outfit.
The boys look at him, and as he nods, they change in their best clothes.
Race runs up to call Jack.
Then they walk outside into the backyard.
It's a warm and beautiful morning in May.
The apple tree is blooming. The bees are buzzing through the blossoms.
But none of the mourners seems to care about the beauty around them.
The Newsboys are soon joined by Davey and his family, Mr. Denton, Ms. Medda and even Spot Colon.
Mr. Kloppman ruined his plot by digging a deep hole in it.
A grave.
Magpies' grave.
Then Jack comes out.
He's carrying Magpies dead body, wrapped in white sheets.
He walks past the crying and mourning funeral party to the hole in the ground.
There he takes a deep breath and lays her down on a rope. Mr. Kloppman and he lower the body in the grave.
Then the party (Such irony here.) throws flowers and soil inside and eventually fill it up completely.
Jack clears his throat.
"I...", He begins, wiping a tear from his eyes. "She wanted me ta read dat ta ya at her funeral."
He swallows, fetches an envelope out of his pocket and opens it. He clears his throat again and begins to read:

My dearest friends, (Without a comma after "dearest"!)
By the time you'll read hear this, I will be gone and you will be at my funarel funarell funeral.
Please belive believe me when I say, I never meant to leave you this early and that I'm really sorry, that I left you.
But enough of being sorry.
I want to thank ya you. I really do. So, here I go:
Thank you for your frindship friendship.
Thank you for your time.
Thank you for your cearin caring.
Thank you for your love.
Thank you for being there when I needed you.
And thank you for your smile.
Actualy Actually I wanted to say all of this to you in person... but I never did and I'm sorry for that too, because it looks like it's too late now.
I'm absolutly absolutely sure, that every sinl single one of you is cring crying right now.
Don't deni deny it.
I know it.
And it's ok to be sad and morn mourn... but I want you to move on.
I know it's hard. I know, how it feels to lose someone dear.
I also know, how it rips out ones' heart and crashes it in hundreds of tausand thousands of pieces.
I really do know how it feels.
Neverteles Nevertheless I still want you to move on.
And moving on doesn't mean to forget.
No, it means not to break.
It means to heal ones' wounds.
It means future.
And I want you to know, that I love you. Ech Each one of you. With all me my heart.
Please never ever forget that.
May be my body is gone. May be my body is burid buried and will rot. But I will be here. I'll still be here.
You were are my family.
You are my everything.
And I'm so sorry for all the stress I costed you. For all the nerves and all the money and the time.
And I'm so thankful that I had you in my life. (It's getting too chliche cleche clichy cliché. I should end here.)
Please don't forget me.

With love,
Magpie

P.S. I love you!

P.P.S. Oh, and Albert. Would you please take care of Race for me? Making sure he dosn't doesn't smoke too much? Would you do this for me?
Thanks in atvanc advance.

P.P.P.S. And Race, don't you dare smoking at my funeral! I can still smell it!