Yellow daffodils

As she strolled through the green garden of her family home, her thin fingers grazer the yellow daffodils. Their bright petals reminding her of the sun, whose heat she embraced. Freya had always loved the piece and quiet of the countryside. Her sister, Charlotte, had always envied her for her connection to the country. Although the sisters were close, they were very different. Freya had never wanted to leave the country. She was colourful and kind and had always fit in. However, Charlotte had always said that it was the city she felt drawn to.

Walking back towards the large, white house Freya called home, she was suddenly hit with a feeling of dread. Using her frail hand to turn the cold handle, she slowly crept into her home. Freya could immediately hear her mother upstairs, crying. The reality of what had happened had not yet hit Freya. She walked into the kitchen to find her father sitting at their round, wooden dining table with his head in his large hands. Looking at the many bank statements in front of him, she understood why.

Charlotte used to work at their local diner after school to earn money and help pay the bills. The problem was, Charlotte wasn't there anymore to help out. This meant that young Freya would have to find a job to try to help out her parents too. Freya knew her parents wouldn't be too happy with their 15 year old daughter helping them out with the bills. She had no other choice. Freya would have to take responsibility.

Freya knew her sister would be back to the countryside within the week, but she wouldn't be the same. Despite the fact that they were close, Freya had made it very clear to her parents that she did not want to see her sister when she returned.

While her parents were upset and distressed, Freya was more angry and found that she didn't really know what to do with herself. She would walk into a room and walk back out. She would sit in her sister's room, looking at the last cardboard box there. Zoning out for hours on end became her new favourite hobby.

Freya did not tell the kids at school. Although, due to their small town, they were bound to find out soon. How they'd react, she had no idea. They never liked Charlotte much anyway due to her odd personality, which was very rare in the countryside. Her dyed dark black hair and wild makeup usually scared people away. Charlotte's piercings and loud music gave people the impression that she was mean. But Freya knew better. Freya knew that the loud music was to help drown out people's rude comments and that Charlotte really did have a heart of gold. Freya laughed at the memory of dying her sister's long, blonde hair to black for her. She had to dye it twice due to the first packet of dye ending up on the flood or Freya's dress. The sound of the Kettle being put on brought Freya out of her trance. Once the small, beige kettle was finished boiling, her father made a large cup of bitter tea and handed it to Freya with a few biscuits. Because of the mug, a large blue one, she knew that this tea was not for her, but for her mother.

Freya walked slowly up the creaky stairs, careful not to spill her mothers tea. When she got to her parents bedroom she stopped and lightly nudged the half open door with her foot. Freya quietly walked in, placing the tea and biscuits on her mother's bedside counter. Sitting on the bed next to her sleeping mother, she swept her mother's beautiful brown hair out of her face.

Freya looked upon her mother's tear stained face and Freya had almost began crying herself. None of them had ever been without Charlotte this long. They'd never expected this to happen. Freya had noticed her mother's subtle movements in her sleep and decided to leave. The weight disappearing from her mother's bed must have woken her as she called on Freya. She took her seat next to her mother once again as her mother engulfed her in a hug. This time, they both began sobbing. This was the moment that reality finally hit her.

Later, Freya's father came upstairs and, for the first time since Freya and Charlotte were born her mother said, Freya's father began crying too. This was the moment where Freya began hoping this was all a dream. A really bad dream. She didn't quite believe it to be true until her father had began to cry.

A noise disturbed them as their tears stopped. The sound of their doorbell filled the house as they all got up to answer it. Freya ran to a window and looked to see who it was. A black car was in the driveway. Charlotte was home. Freya walked cautiously to her front door as it was opened by her father. It was the funeral director.