December night in Lower Manhattan A novel

Jenny Marlowe is a nine year old girl whose parents ignore her. When she finds out that all of the children are also ignored, she insists on getting a campaign to get them power during the month of December.


1. Jenny Marlowe-Part One


The​ beginning of the trouble started when Mom and Dad ignored me. It was a cold, wintery night on December 1, 2017; it was something Mr. Jacobson, our neighbour, told me. He was also dressed as Santa Claus every year. I smiled at him. The Christmas lights were turned on; the lights illuminated the house next door. My house was dark, as if my parents couldn't afford a spectacle of being festive. I was poor like Oliver Twist in Charles Dickens's novel. "Jenny, here's a present for you", Santa said. I smiled at him, and I gazed at him admiringly. I grabbed it; I saw it was wrapped in inexpensive green wrapping paper. The orders would be busy until December 23, (the day before Christmas Eve); the orders weren't going to bother me; my orders would come by December 26, (Boxing Day). I had short, brown hair, brown eyes, and petite. I wrapped my small hands around my long, grey, sweater. I was warm. It was fifty-eight degrees in Lower Manhattan. Snow started to fall as I gripped a lamp in my right hand; I felt the burning heat as I walked towards Times Square, and sang Christmas songs by the huge tree that was in the middle. I knew the words to 'Silent Night​'. By seven o'clock PM, I saw a middle-aged woman dressed in a rich fur coat. She was a millionaire. "Where's your parents?", she asked me. "In their poor house", I stated. And she shook her head. "Oh, that's sad. I'm Emily Pryce". I nodded. "Jenny", I answered. And I shivered from the eternal cold, and smiled.


Emily, who was a socialite in New York, was radiant. 

She gazed at the snow that was falling. 

"You mustn't be out at this time of night in December", she told me.

"I'm well. I have a lamp with me to see in the darkness".

"I see. It's beautiful", Emily said.

"Yes, it is. If your parents won't take you back, Emily, then I will let you into my house", she said. And, she grabbed my right hand, and let me open the passenger-side door of the grey limousine, and as I sat down on the black, leather, seat. I put my seat belt on, and closed the door. Then I waited for Emily to sit down next to me. An African-American driver smiled at me. "Welcome, Jenny. I'm Morris". I nodded. I nodded. I was wary of strangers. But Morris cast a friendly welcome. "Hello. Merry Christmas!", I said. He nodded. And, as we all relaxed after putting on our seat belt, Morris drove towards the Mansion which was in Lower Manhattan.


The Mansion was three hundred years old. 

It had eight rooms, two toilets, a huge lounge room with high-definition cable television, and a laundry room. I gazed in wonder at it. Morris grinned. He opened the doors. "Miss Emily; Miss Jenny", he said. And I stretched my legs. Then I followed Emily up the stone steps of the house, and let her open the grey double front door.


Emily opened the door.

"Tracey, my servant, is away because of the holidays", she informed me. She grabbed a silvery key in her small, right hand. The door creaked. Then, as she let me inside, Morris walked inside. It was something I wasn't used to. I remembered Mom and Dad ignoring me when I was six years' old; I remembered the way they were ignoring my crying when I was hungry. I knew what being poor was. There was no humour in the way things were panning out; there was no laughter in which I would celebrate Christmas in December until I was forced out of my house tonight. "It's late, I'll show you to your bedroom", Emily said. And I nodded. And walked down the thin hallway towards the room.





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