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This is a little "cleaner" than my previous entry for Mia -Chapter 1. There is one particular line im struggling to decide if i should take it out or keep it, I put three parentheses around the sentence. Its using 3rd person narrative omniscient point of view...the problem is i rarely use that in my story. I just don't know if it fits or not. I really would love to hear more from people's thoughts on my story, any tips on improvement, encouragement, or grammar errors would be appreciated.
There’s a magical place that I often visit,
where all my dreams come true.
A special place where I can be myself,
where happiness always seams to follow through.
-My Secret Place, by Jeremy Torres/Jeremy 0826
Mia that night crawled inside one of the rainbow painted tubes, and huddled herself in the cramped sheltering space, wrapping her navy blue hoodie tightly across her shivering shoulders. The nights seemed to darken sooner, and become colder quicker. ‘Maybe,’ she thought to herself, ‘Denver isn’t such a great place to go too…’ She tightly closed her eyes, and fell asleep just as the bright moon emanated throughout the green-leaves of the think oak trees, casting silver moonbeams down on Mia’s face; watching over.
The next morning Mia slept in late. And forgetting she was in a tube, accidentally bumped her head, grumpily she crawled out to the warming afternoon light. Mia felt beads of sweat starting to collect on the top of her forehead and behind her neck. Pulling out her backpack and throwing it onto her stiff back, she stretched in the afternoon sunlight.
Mia made her way down a long twisted street that had no street sign. She walked on the overgrown brick sidewalks, noticing the weeds and the thick grasses that made themselves a comfortable home in the deep crevasses. She looked deeply and inspected the high walls on old crumbling buildings that where rich with history. Nearly every home on the long street had its very own plaque of history, which the colorful homes embraced with pride, like prince in shinning armor clutching at furtively and protectively to their Princess before they charged into a fierce battle.
Mia watched as a busy mom with 3 soccer girls climbed in a purple mini-van. She watched as the pretty smiling soccer girls giggled and ripped open a bag of pretzels. Looking at them, Mia had never felt more alone, more hungry; starved for someone to just look at her and tell everything was going to be okay. She turned and walked further down the long contorting street, until the sidewalks disappeared and the houses grew fewer and trees looked taller and more ancient than any other kind of tree Mia had ever saw. She pressed her hand firmly to one of the trees. It was thick with age, it looked like it had been here longer than any historical home could compare too.
Looking behind the old decrepit tree Mia saw a green garden, baring the most fragrant of smells. Two overgrown paths of stones had curved its way between two rose-of-Sharon bushes, and there stood an old white gate. The hinges were rustic and held together by thin pieces of wire woven tightly around its broken clasp. The paint was crumbling so you where able to see the rotting wood chipping from underneath the white paint.
Silently, Mia moved stealthily across the over grown green grass. Moving slowly to make sure know one was around, peering gradually around the wild Rose-of-Sharon, she saw a whole new world just beyond the decrepit gate. Letting her fingers move over the bumpy surface of the gate’s latch, she pulled up the rustic iron bar, and the gate creaked open.
(((It was not the gate, but what lied beyond the gate that awaited her so quietly.)))
Mia walked inside a world of extreme décor, fragrance, and splashes of color. Marble stone statues stared at her from all angles, while mosses grew and slowly hid parts of their faces and arms. A round pebbled fountain stood dry in the center of the overgrown garden, a metal black gate, paint chipping off the sides, had protectively kept unwanted seers from stopping by and falling in. A few pennies and nickels and dimes had been left untouched at the bottom of the fountain, Mia, swung her leg over the black fence, and jumped in. Scooping up the change, Mia felt her hands tremble at the weight of it. She hadn’t touched a dime in what felt like forever. $2.03 was what Mia counted out. Not even enough to buy herself a meal. Sighing, Mia slipped the change into her pocket. She thought to herself, ‘I had no money at first, now I have some,’ breathing out heavily, ‘and some is better than none.’
Mia looked about curiously in the garden. Blood red roses grew wild and thick, a dying pear tree stood nearly fruitless as the only single golden pear stood alone on its only branch. Weeds overpowered the little orange and yellow mums, vines tangled and choked the house, small purple, pink, and red flowers where hidden by the tall weeds. The garden had once been long ago a beautiful place, Mia could tell just by placing of the flowers and the statues, but that was a very long time ago, she thought wryly to herself. Looking over the white lilacs was a stony path. It was over grown with weeds and moss, hiding parts of the trail, where it would sometimes reappear and disappear back under the grasses. As she walked she smelt mint in the air. The smell made her hungry, and it reminded her of home. Mia didn’t exactly remember or know why mint always sparked something in her memory, but the very sent of it made her thrilled, and she looked for the minty source. Mia liked to believe that her mother made mint tea every morning for breakfast, or she wore a peppermint perfume to church every Sunday, she often told herself lies like these that she would have wanted to believe. But a part of herself, a small piece of Mia’s heart would never believe in theses lies, she would believe in them for a short time, but then come to reason with herself later that it was only a matter of silliness.
Mia smelt the pepperminty air, but she could not find the plant, she turned, forgetting altogether about her hunger and her desperate need to find food. Walking humbly out of the garden, Mia found herself staring at the old home, marveling at how both age and time had crusted its sides. Slowly, she walked up the cobblestone stairs and laid her hand firmly on rusty knob. She looked down at her shoes, and then up at the sky, ‘please,’ she prayed, ‘Please, God just for tonight.’
She closed her eyes and gripped the knob, turning it, the door creaked open.
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