Freya Quinn was uniquely herself despite the events of the apocalypse she was thrown into. She was a paradox to understand and a combination of heaven and hell thrown together to create such a woman. And the only person in the whole wide world that...
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Freya could see the outline of her fairly decently sized home coming up on the cul de sac. The brown-ish red tiled roof that Freya couldn't help but hate. She always hated the colour choice, especially with the white house walls and the peach coloured drive way.
But Freya couldn't bring herself to think of her dislikement for the house she lived in, because she was finally home.
After how ever many days it's been, Freya was finally home. The last time she was in her room -in the place she called home, she was 12 and now she was 13. It had only been roughly two weeks, and the first day she was gone, was her 13th birthday.
But Freya wanted to push it all behind her, for she was finally home. She wanted nothing more than to listen to her 4 year old sister's babbles, and her 7 year old brother's constant monologues of the different types of hot wheels he got. Freya wanted nothing more than to feel the embrace of her parents, because Freya thought they would at least be surprised and joyful when they saw her again.
Freya kept on running, ignoring the sharp pains in her calves and the blistering pains on the bottom of her feet. She wanted to feel her mother's love and to wrap her arms around the tall woman. Freya wanted to be held and picked up by her father while he told her everything would be fine.
Because it really wasn't fine. Nothing was fine. Not the things Freya had seen -what she did to her classmate's father. And with what happened to Dakota -the sound of the bullet whirling through the air and Freya watching her best friend drop to the ground without a single sound passing through her. Not a scream of pain, or a terrified yell. Just the thud of Dakota's once lively body.
Freya could still see it. Dakota's wide open eyes, bluer than the great big sky that she and Dakota were looking up at earlier that day. Dakota's pink stripes of hairs she barely had for long. And the blood that slowly seeped out from her body, pooling around her, swallowing her whole and staining her blonde hair.
But Freya tried her best to think about that. She just tried to think of Dakota's warm smile, and kind eyes. Her loving personality that made Freya feel like she was worth something. Her eyes that held such kindness and warmth that it seemed like Dakota -even before knowing a single thing about Freya- was already proud of her. Freya admired that about the girl, and maybe that was why she wanted to be her friend so bad.
Freya's near raw and bleeding feet, covered in dirt and mud started to petal along the peach driveway, the smoothed over rocks sending Freya's feet into a world of pain as the uneven pressure only made the tears pricking at the corner of Freya's big grey eyes grow more heavier.
"Mom!" Freya yelled out, her voice raw and breaking as she fought against the wind to reach the woman she wanted to hug more than ever.
Freya's thick, greasy and frizzy hair that used to be well cared after and straightened every morning was anything but perfect as she ran like hell into her home. Freya ran through the tall hallway and ran to the kitchen, finding her family -the people she loved and lived with sitting around eating breakfast.
