He leaned over as far as he could and stared into the dark river running beneath his feet, it looked like glass, solid and beautiful. Like nothing could break it, he felt like he was watching himself from somewhere else, he saw a single tear break at the edge of his reddened left eye and fall, in slow motion into the water below. The flawless surface was broken in a second and a few small ripples darted from the point of contact.

So that was what it all came to…

A tear…

A tear with a story…

Bumlets was his name, he couldn’t remember how he’d got it, he’d just been called it since he could remember. He’d been a newsboy forever; it was a living, just like everything else. It wasn’t what he wanted to do though, he wanted to be a dancer, he wanted to be on the stage. That was what everyone wanted, only a few people get the chance, they’re the lucky ones, he mused to himself. He loved to perform… that was how he sold papers a lot of the time, by getting the attention of anyone standing nearby. One of his earliest memories was sitting by the side of a stream, under an apple tree. He used to get leaves that had fallen on the ground and hold them tight in his hands, shut his eyes, and make a wish, then, still with his eyes shut so tight, he’d place it gently in the water and watch it float downstream. It was childish but he used to believe in it so badly. He’d never wished to be a Newsie, who would, it was hard work, all weathers he was out there, appealing to the people to buy his papes, they could keep him alive, if they stopped buying he’d die. That’s how easily it could all go wrong. But he had some of the truest friends he could ever want; they’d die for him, he’d die for them. But still, he wanted to be up there on the stage.

He woke up with a strong feeling of déjà vu it was another morning; he didn’t know what day it was, that didn’t affect him much. He chucked an undershirt on and yanked some pants on, then he grabbed his shirt and headed for the bathroom, he got in there and cuffed Blink round the head

"Ow" Blink cried as he cut himself on his chin with his razor

"Sorry Blondie" laughed Bumlets,

"How am I ever meant tah find a bird with you lot about givin’ me scars?"

"Wid your childish good looks? It’ll be a breeze"

Bumlets laughed again, he didn’t fancy a shower, having cold water poured over your head at this time of the morning wasn’t really that appealing. He yanked his shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his hair then tucked a few lose strands behind his ear and brushed his fringe out of his eyes. He grabbed his stick from against the wall and ran out of the bunkroom door and down the stairs, he had a feeling it was going to be a good day, for once…

Why did he have no character…Everyone else had something distinguishing…Something that set them apart, that made them a person. Jack wanted to go to Santa Fe, Crutchy was just…well he was Crutchy. There was Race with his cards and Blink with his girls…and then there was Bumlets. Nobody knew him; he was just, ‘da one wid da hair.’ And he hated it, he hated everything, why was he so unlucky? What was the reason that he couldn’t perform? It would make his life amazing, perfect, all that he wanted. Yet it wasn’t happening, he couldn’t justify it. He just trudged through his life doing what he needed to.

He was right; it had been a good day…in one sense-he’d sold all his papers. In the other sense he’d had frustration building up inside him all day, stiffening his muscles. He’d had to get it out somehow, so he’d put his heart and soul into selling the next paper he’d just told himself that if he could sell one more then everything would be okay. Like the leaves in the river, he’d been convinced that if he put one more wish aside to float down that stream then they’d all come true. Little did he know that he’d just been putting himself into them, his hopes were always dashed, he’d sometimes wished for stupid things, fairytale endings and magic spells, things that he’d heard about but never seen. Maybe that was what powered the burning desire inside him to be on stage, he’d be playing someone else, someone who lived surrounded by the things he’d wished for. And now as he stood on the bridge and cried that tear he made one last wish, he wished for someone to care.

It was like he was hiding in the stars up there, it was so dark and no one could see him, standing alone on that bridge. When he died would anyone remember who he was? Would anyone care that there’d been a newsie called Bumlets who had stupid dreams? They’d forget, he knew that. Maybe that was what he was afraid of, that one day the fact that he had ever existed would not matter to anyone.

As Bumlets walked through the lodging house he whistled ‘carrying the banner’,

"Awww…shut ya noise" said Race

"Excuse me, you are incredibly lucky, I’m gunna be da next big thing in the theatres wid my talent, you’re lucky to hear me without paying…" Bumlets said confidently, with a sweep of his hand, in response to this Race burst into fits of laughter

"Yeah, whatever…In ya dreams," he said, Bumlets turned around and walked out of the door so the others couldn’t see how much this upset him. Why did no one have any faith in him? Well No one except Gina, she’d always believed in him, she told him so all the time, he really needed her…He didn’t know what he’d do if she wasn’t there. But she was wrong, he couldn’t make a career with one person supporting him. Besides, he had to believe in himself, he tried to be confident but inside he was falling apart. Well, he’d show them all, one day he was going to be big, bigger than they’d believe!

"Hey Bumlets…" he heard a quiet, familiar voice behind him…it was Gina, he didn’t really feel like talking, he could tell that she’d know he was upset without asking, she could always tell things like that. He just looked at the floor and waited for her to say something, he could feel her eyes focusing on him, she was wondering what to say…She sat down next to him and just gave him a hug, that was all he needed.

Several days later everyone in the lodging house got together for a poker game, it was their only source of entertainment, there was nothing else to do. Bumlets lost every game, he wasn’t concentrating, he never did nowadays. Half way through the evening he muttered an excuse and left as quietly as he could, he wanted to be alone. He walked across Manhattan, without looking at where he was going, then he broke out into a run, the sharp air rushed against his warm, soft cheeks as he picked up speed, still not caring where he was going, until he was exhausted and stopped running. He stood perfectly still and looked around, he realised that he was in a park of some sort, there was a lake in the middle of it, he walked over to sit down by the waters edge and stared at his reflection. His skin was flushed with red and his hair was loosely strewn across his face, casting long, linear shadows across his features. He looked around him quickly, almost immediately he saw what he was looking for, he ran quickly across to a tall tree and fumbled, clumsily on the ground, and in the quickly closing darkness he found a leaf. He gasped air into his lungs slowly and the panic passed over him and the creases passed from his face into a relaxed smile as it all came back to him. He enclosed the small, tattered leaf in both his hands and walked back over to the smooth lake. He clapsed on his knees on the ground and made a silent wish, then he plunged the fragile leaf into the freezing water and released his fingers, one by one, from around it. He focused on it, through the dark water, it’s shape became less contorted as it rose to the surface and then the current carried it across, away from him, he watched it until it was out of sight, lying on his front on the damp grass. Before he knew what was happening he was woken by sunlight creeping through the shadows of the trees and the footsteps of people, taking early morning strolls and staring at him, disapprovingly, as he lay on the ground trying to catch some more sleep before he had to go back. Their eyes were cold, and they looked down at him as they would at a rat, his last thought before he stood up to return to reality was ‘I’m gunna show them all some day soon.’

He woke up on a day in December, it was nearly Christmas, it was getting colder and the nights were getting longer, leaving less selling time. He left early and silently to go for a walk and try to wake up, He strolled calmly through the square and past the distribution centre, then over towards Irving Hall. Many people he knew asked Medda for jobs if they wanted to be on stage but he just didn’t feel happy about doing that, he needed to get there on his own merit, however long it took. Besides, Medda couldn’t offer jobs to the entire population of Manhattan. He knew where he was going, he walked all the way over to the main theatre district, as he strolled past the billboards and theatre doors he fell in love all over again. The wood around the doors was so dark, the velvet curtains lining the windows were so close he could almost touch them, He could smell polished wood blending in with the same old smells of the city but is was magical…

Still, this was one dream he’d have to leave, at least until tonight.

As the lights dimmed and the tense, strained, haunting music started to break through the air, a hush came over the whole theatre. Red light crept over the stage, forming twisting shadows across the scenery. One by one the characters came onto the stage, poising themselves perfectly and holding their limbs in place, like machines, only agile… and beautiful. When they spoke their voices were clear and beautiful and…perfect. As the texture built the story was conveyed by every move made, the suspense grew and grew everyone knew it was coming…but what was ‘it’? Finally as the music rang around the theatre, and the crowd of actors fell back to clear the centre of the stage, the curtain at the back of the stage opened slightly. The gap grew wider, so smoothly you could hardly see it move, then a single, dark haired figure moved forward slowly to the centre of the stage and inhaled slowly through his parted lips. The music built and he began to sing, playing with the minds of the audience and creating anything he wanted in their minds…it was such power, he could make them laugh, cry…He could make them fall in love…just like him…