Just a quick one-shot about Crutchy. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any of its characters.

Crutchy, they called me. Crutchy one-leg, Crutchy the gimp, Crutchy, Crutchy, Crutchy, you-go-too-slow.

It's a "term of endearment" now (as they say), but it wasn't always.

Those dumb kids. Did they think I didn't know I was a gimp? Did they think I didn't see my crippled leg wobblin' 'neath my pant leg?

I always did. I always do. I always will.

They called me names but I don't care. See, I don't see things like dem other kids do. I had a leg, an' now it's bad. I ain't sad 'bout it. My good leg is better 'cause of it. I bet none of those guys could spend one day in my shoes. They'd go cryin' to their lost mother's, beggin' for their leg back.

I ain't tellin' ya this so ya feel sorry for me, alright? I'm just tellin' ya so ya understand. Folks think I don't know I'm different, but I do. But different ain't always so bad, 'specially if yer a newsie.

After all, I can sell more papes than dem kids anyhow.

My ma always told me to keep me head up, so I'm gonna. I'm gonna smile, I'm gonna be happy. It's the least I can do fer her, an' fer meself.

I don't wanna be one 'a those bitter crips.

See, there's two types 'a crips, usually. Some of 'em walk 'round all sad-like, makin' ya feel like it's yer fault they're crips. Then there's dem crips that don't ever leave the house 'cause they're so ashamed.

But I ain't either 'a those. I ain't pitiful an' I ain't ashamed.

I'm a smilin' crip. I'm Crutchy, Crutchy, Crutchy.

"Yeah, but how'd ya get to be a crip anyway?" you ask.

When I was a kid, I saw my leg go bad from polio. Poliopoliopolio, it sounds like a game, but it ain't. It sure ain't.

Boy, how it hurt. They make fun 'a me but it don't matter 'cause I know their names ain't nothin' compared to what my leg hurt. Muscles twitchin', day an' night, always ebbin' an' flowin' wit hurt. When my ma tried to touch me, to make me feel better, it burned worse than any ragin' fire.

(Is that how the sun feels? I always wondered.)

I don't care 'bout the sun, anyway. I gottta live. That game of poliopoliopolio is long gone, but I'm stuck wit me bad leg. Guess it's to remind me of the game I lost.

(But did I ever git a chance to play?)

I'm pretty lucky, though. Some 'a those kids got it in their brain, in their spines. I heard those kids didn't have a chance. I saw the look in the doctahs' eyes when they told the waitin' mothers their kid wasn't gonna make it – it was kinda odd, a sorta tight sadness, like they'd seen it too many times before, but remembered how bad it was the first time they had to gave the bad news.

My ma didn't have to see that look, so I'm pretty lucky. My ma seein' that look woulda hurt me more than my leg.

But here I am, sellin' papes an' smilin'. That's what I'm best at.

So, Crutchy slow-poke, eh?

They can call me whatever names they want – I'm gonna smile. I'm gonna live.