folklore

- 5 -

Felix sat on the curb of the sidewalk, skimming through the newspaper that he was going to sell for the day. Even though it was much easier to yell whatever comes from the top of his head, he didn't want to miss any actual interesting news. Suddenly, he felt as if everything around him had stopped and only his heartbeat rang through his ears.

Refuge For Kids Reopens.

His eyes were filled with horror as he stared at the column with a photo of a smiling Snyder beside it. He suddenly found himself back in between the brown, peeling and dusty walls. The familiar stench of the Refuge flooded his senses as he ran a finger across his scar, wincing upon feeling the pain that the whip had caused him. He brought his knees closer to his chest while he heard the voice of Snyder calling him from the distance.

"kid!" A man in a suit waved a hand in front of Felix's face, sucking him back into reality. Hot Shot stood behind the man with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm sorry?" He looked up at him, squinting at the bright light the sun brought.

"what's the news?"

His numb expression was maintained as he refolded the paper that he had skimmed. "psychopath reopens death trap. Page 3." His voice was monotoned while he traded the newspaper for a coin.

"you alright, Felix?" Hot Shot asked and sat down beside him.

He stared ahead. "they reopened the Refuge."

"I heard."

"I don't understand..." His melancholy sandpaper-like voice trailed off, but Hot Shot didn't need to know what he was going to say next. He didn't understand why they would reopen the Refuge either. They all saw what a horrible place it was, yet they still reopened it.

"you'll be alright, Felix." Hot Shot spoke quietly and patted his back before standing up. "we'll be alright."

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧

"ay Specsie," Race ran up to the tall, dark skinned newsie.

"don't call me Specsie." Specs begged as slowly shook his head.

"aw come on, ya love it!" Race exclaimed and patted his back, making his eyes roll.

"whad'ya want?"

"what does Rosemary mean?" The Manhattan leader wondered as he lit his already-chewed cigarette.

Specs scoffed in disbelief. "wha- what does it look like- like I's some walkin' dictionary? Or ya think I has a dictionary on me jus' 'cause I like learnin' new woids, is that what ya think? I ain't some- fine." He sighed in defeat upon Race's blank expression, pulled out a small dictionary from his newspaper bag and searched for the word in question. "theah's 2 meanin's. Foist one is the actual plant wit' a real nice smell and second one's from the language of flowers. It means remembrance. Why do ya ask?"

"jus' wonderin'." He shrugged in response and went back to his selling spot. His eyebrows furrowed as he pondered on the appeal of the name to Harley. Sure it was a pretty word, but the meaning was so simple.

And maybe that was it. That a simple thing could still be beautiful because of it's simplicity. But anybody within a 20 foot radius would know that Harley Vaughan was anything but simple. In fact, she did anything she could to draw away from simplicity.