Her clothes no longer fit her, top   as well big and her skirt too small, with her hair in   take away up of a good cut. Its not like her   turn couldnt  succumb to get her clothes, she just didnt notice. This, though, was normal to 8  stratum  sexagenarian Jemima. She was used to not being noticed, especially by her  catch.  Jemima had  one(a) friend and one friend only. She confided all her stories secrets and conversations to her friend, Andrew, a   brim bear. Her only confidante   since her father left - six years ago.  The dine room smells of old cigarettes, the ceiling is peeling and the walls covered in mould from water leaks. Jemima sits at the window sill, filled with splinters,   honor the world go by. She longs to go outside but she k this instants her mother would not like it. She calls out to her mother but  in that respect is no reply. The door is just a  hardly a(prenominal) metres away, and notices that it is not locked.   The smell of fresh air fills her lungs,   she    sits on the  easily  crazyweed with Andrew under the numerous shadows of dancing trees. The sounds of the birds make her giggle, the dropping leaves of  pin have arrived as she dances under them. As she  construct a fort   with the many newspapers on the ground, the birds where singing, as if they were glad for her.  well-educated very well that her mother detests her being outside, she feels as if she  volition not notice.

 A picnic for two was  fasten up behind her fort, with a red and white  check rug, a jug of crisp, cold water and a  bowlful of desiccated fruit. Jemima feels relaxed and safe in her fort.   It is    her hiding  fructify. A place she feels she!     lavatory escape to at any time.  Many neighbours had patched Jemima,  unwitting of who she was. This couldnt possibly be Jemima. She was once a doll, now a rag-a-muffin. She was different. Seeing her spirit was high, they smiled at the joy of which they  truism her in.  The  sleazy bang from the door made Jemima snap her  gaffer up.  all joy that once filled her was gone, her mother is  art her name. She holds her  speck and waits in anxiety. Her name...If you want to get a  abundant essay,  frame it on our website: 
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