THIS IS MY FIRST REAL STORY SO IF YOU DON'T ENJOY IT, THEN I'M SORRY. I ACCEPT CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, BUT IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE RUDE, THEN I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT. AND EVERYONE PLEASE BE NICE TO EACH OTHER IN THE COMMENTS. THANK YOU.
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It's said that some parts of history are kept a secret by those who have witnessed it because if they didn't, it may have caused backlash. This is one of those parts that I think should be revealed to the public, just to show how much we have separated from our old ways of thinking and so that a little girl may have the justice that she deserves.
It all started when I visited one of the few coal mines that the public is allowed to enter in great Britain. It was called the Apedale coal mine and I believe that it was located somewhere in North Straffordshire. I decided to take the tour that allowed you to travel through the mines with a tour guide and see what it was like for the people who worked there, since the Victorian era is one of my favorites to read about.
As I traveled through the mines, I noticed that there were quite a few tunnels that the public was not allowed to enter and, against my better judgement, I really wanted to see a part of the mine that no one else had seen. My mind was boggling with excitement at the thought of exploring through the mines, possibly finding new things and making new stories to tell to my friends on Saturday nights.
So, while the tour guide was spieling on about things that I already knew about, I allowed myself to slip to the back of the group and quietly go through the boards that blocked people off from that part of the mine.
Unlike the normal path that I was supposed to take, this part of the mine was unlit and very damp. A lot more dust also hung in the air, so it was harder to breathe it in without coughing every few minutes. I turned on the flashlight I had brought, in case I got lost, and continued into the dark mineshaft that had filled me with such a child like curiosity only moments before.
There were so many paths to take that I thought I really was going to get lost in there, so I searched through my pockets to look for something that might help me find my way back. Luckily, I had in my pocket, a spool of thread I got from my grandmother, which is the reason I was visiting England in the first place. I tied the end of the string to a support beam and made my way through the path on my right.
I had walked for quite a while, it seemed, until I found something very interesting. An old book halfway buried in the ground and extremely old looking. I picked it up and gently brushed away the dust that coated the cover of the old thing. It was a dark crimson red notebook with no title and the edges were faded and frayed. I was surprised it had actually lasted this long, considering how damp the ground was. But here it was, resting in my hands.
Suddenly, I heard a long low scratching sound, like metal against metal, coming towards my general direction. I looked up and pointed my flash light down the long and narrow mineshaft when, just round the cornor, I saw a girl. She was small, pale, and looked around 11 or 12 years old. Her long black hair was tangled and reached to at least the middle of her backside.
The little girl walked out quite slowly, the end her long tarnished dress hitting the front of her bony white knees. In her hand she held a large rusty pickaxe, which dragged against the ground as she walked towards me. I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, but she ignored my question and kept walking. She stopped, not ten feet away from where I was standing, and muttered something. When I asked her to speak a bit louder, she looked up at me and just stood there. Looking at me. All at once I realized just how much danger I was in.
