Author's Note: I realized the other day that I hadn't done one of these in a long time, and I figured I ought to have at least one more in the Newsies fandom, seeing as how that's where I'm writing these days. So, check it out, a Sarah fic. Who knew? Sarah is a very under-appreciated character, given what she is. She needs a story to ... shall we say redeem herself for her ... self, you know? Alright, so she's not a very good character, but I've decided, instead of targetting her for it, I'm going to write why. This is fanfiction, right?

Pretenses

I am a stupid girl. I am mindless, I am insignificant, and I have no future. I am cheerful because I'm supposed to be; I am brainless because I was born to be. I kissed Jack Kelly because everyone expected me to. I want to get out.

I could leave tonight. I know where my father keeps his money, if my savings aren't enough. I could go to Santa Fe. I could go anywhere. But then what? What do I know about the world? They kept me from knowing, so I am ignorant.

My parents figured David was the only one with a chance. They made him go to school. He doesn't even want to go. He hates it; he has no friends there. What about me? I wanted to learn. I still want to learn. Of course I can read, and write, and figure numbers, but what about science? What about art and literature and philosophy? Why is David the only one to get an education? Excuse me, but what makes him so damn special? Why should he be the only one with a chance to get out of this slum and better himself? Is it just that obvious that Les and I couldn't make it, anyway?

Sometimes I hate them. Sometimes I really, truly hate them. Am I just going to make lace the rest of my life, then? Is that all I'm worth? No, I suppose I'll get married, and have a few children, and pick one to send out into the better world and the rest to their deaths in the slum. That's it is. It's death. Les and I are the dead. We'll get typhoid, or get mugged, or get a hand caught in a machine, and we'll die.

There's got to be something better. There has to be some other way. Even for the poor, there has to be ...

Maybe there was, and I missed it. Maybe there's a hole in my cage that I'm too big to fit through anymore. I'm trapped for good, and I could have left. I wonder when. I wonder how long it's been since I've been caught for good. I'm just like my mother. I always thought ... but I am. I've got no choice. I'm going to die here.

But I don't want to die! Not here; not in this dirty city with its dirty people and its dirty streets and its dirty promises ...

I hate New York. I hope it burns to the ground and everyone forgets it was ever here. It won't, though. Hell can't burn down. It's charring me. I'm screaming but nobody looks up; I'm crying but nobody cares.

I'm dying ...

I wish I were a stupid girl. I wish I was oblivious to everything and smiled at my future. I am smiling. I'm smiling so convincingly, and laughing so mindlessly, and going about so naively that you can't see the dead woman in my eyes.