Take Me Home

3. Discovery

The rain continued throughout the stormy night, pattering on her window as Freya laid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She hadn't eaten dinner. She wasn't even hungry. Her eyelids closed slowly, then lifted, then closed again.

She opened them, once again looking up at the ceiling. The little specks of brown, unpainted wood in the ceiling were suddenly visible, the texture and detail of the design making sense. She hadn't actually noticed it before but at the same time she had never stared at her ceiling for this long. Sighing, She turned around, laying on her side. She didn't want to do anything. She just wanted to be alone. Her room was dark, the candles had been put out a while ago.

She had gone to bed as soon as she had dried off. After today, she just wanted to go to sleep. Someway, she hoped that it would help with the pain.

She listened. The rain echoed and pattered, splashed and tapped. There was something else she could barely here, though. Her eyes shot open, and she narrowed them in confusion. A high pitched scream could be heard outside. Then, a low rumbling joined it, the two sounds mixing together into a song.

She sat up. She knew very well what that sound was. She had heard it before.

German Bombers.

They hadn't targeted her village and home yet, but the surrounding places weren't as lucky. The planes wouldn't lock onto their targets, dropping the bombs and leaving smoke and fire behind. One bomb could destroy up to a few acres worth of land. Some less, some more. The planes had attacked the nearby villages recently, wiping out acres of land and leaving rubble and death behind. Freya sat up, hearing the village sirens come on, warning the village to find shelter. It was a familiar routine to her.

Jumping off of her bed, she grabbed a candle and lit it, exiting her room and walking down the wooden floors to the stairs. Once down, she looked around in the dark for her grandparents.

"Grandma?" She called softly, into the main room where her grandparents room was. The rumbling continued, and she felt a vibration under her feet. They needed to get to the safety cellar. The planes were unusually close, it sounded like.

"Grandpa!?" She yelled, her british voice frantic as she peered around alone in the dark of her home, unsure where they were. They both needed to hurry. The planes were getting louder.

Then, she heard a response and spun around. "Were right here. Let's get to the cellar." Her grandpas voice answered.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Freya followed her grandparents outside into the storm, rain once again soaking her. Her simple, white nightgown was dampening, and they made their way around the house to a small door in the side of the wall.

Grandpa stood near it, then reached out and pulled the doors open, allowing grandma to enter first, then Freya, and last him. Closing the metal doors behind them, Grandma lit a few spare candles that were down in the cellar. Letting out a shaky breath, Freya scanned the darkness, noticing the rats that were scurrying around in the corners and she looked away, knowing that she couldn't do much about them. The cellar was a few feet long, several wide. It was made to fit five people. Sitting on the stone floor, Freya could hardly hear the planes and storm now. Hopefully it wouldn't last long.

"D-do you think they will hit us now?" Grandma shakily said, voice weak and scared. Her grey, long hair was tied up into a bun and the once bright, green eyes were now dull in confusion.

Grandpa looked at her, the love in his eyes reflecting candlelight as he replied softly, "I don't think so. They target the more popular areas. They want to get closer to Great Britain. Hitler hasn't succeeded yet, though."