The Chosen Few[reboot]

Wynnie

Wynnie Pipaluk sat by the fire place humming to the sound of her favorite band resonating through the living room. Her brothers Bear and Eider sat quietly as they watched the thin snowflakes fall soundlessly to the rocky Greenland soil. Alaska sat beside her mother and twiddled with her phone.
The room was cold as... well, as cold as ice and Wynnie couldn't stand it. She scooted closer to the fire and stared at her family. They just sat there sporting short sleeves and no blankets. How they had become chill resistant was a mystery to her.
"Wynnie, turn down that noise, I can barely focus with all that ruckus," her mother twisted her needles through what would soon be Aja's new sweater. The preteen with a phone addiction glanced up and scowled at the yellow yarn that made up her mothers creation. It looked like a train wreck. After all Lila Pipaluk was not a knitter.
Exasperated, irate, and extremely cold, Wynnie slapped on her parka and grabbed her gloves heading for the door. On her way out the door, she slapped in some ear buds and listened to Snow Patrol walking down the cobblestone drive. Of course her mother and siblings didn't ask where she was going, she usually did this kind of thing. Stormed out of the house without a word and came back before dawn.
The night sky was full of stars, but their dim light could not compare to the borealis. She stopped for only a second to gaze upon the strips of purple and green trailing along the sky. When she was a child, Wynnie had lay in the grass outside the house and imagined how the northern lights had gotten their. Making up stories about angles trailing through the skies on their flaming wings and leaving scorches as they went, forever leaving their mark. Or of a little girl who was given a set of paints by fairies, used them to make the sky even more beautiful.
Wynnie pulled her keys out and revved the engine to her bike, childish thoughts disappearing. She was going to her favorite spot and the best thing about it was that she would be warm.
She rode past the old creaky houses and past Old Gregory's beat up diner, everything that made up her life. She wanted to get out of this dreadful little town as fast as she could. The rode crunched suddenly, her wheels running over an increasing amount of gravel. Wynnie let out a worried breath. A giant pothole was coming up and her brakes were not the best.
The asphalt cracked under her tire, and water splashed up at her. Pure terror sent ice through her veins. Everything seemed to slow the speed up again. She pulled and yanked on the jammed breaks, but they wouldn't help her now. Her tire hit the rocky soil and slung her into the ice.
Her bike catapulted towards her and crushed her ribs. A sob toor from deep within, the pain incredible. Help, she thought as tears stung her eyes. But there was no help because nobody was there and nobody would come.
The night sky still radiated with that same beautiful light, as she lost consciousness. In that last second before she blacked out, all she saw was borealis. Her northern lights. The cascading and swirling paint from a child's enchanted paint set.