Freda

The wind was howling. The rain battered against the barn house door and Freda shivered in the cold. She wrapped her dirty, torn blanket about her person and huddled into the corner of the barn hoping that she would be able to stay warm through the night.
A burst of lightening sent her into a fit of uncontrolled tears. She was terrified. She curled into a ball and rocked herself gently hoping that it would soothe her misery. Eventually, after hours of what seemed to be hours of endless torment for the cold, frail, miserable Freda, she finally fell asleep.
The singing of a nearby blue tit awaked her. She opened her eyes and saw that the rain had stopped. The scary noises had ceased, and that she was still alive. She pushed herself up onto her elbows with her small amount of strength and glanced around. She saw that the place that she had taken refuge in last night had been a large barn, derelict of any barnyard equipment, or hay bails, or even any animals for that matter.
She started when she heard the patter patter of feet running towards the barn. She stared in astonishment as she saw a young boy run into the barn and slam the sturdy wooden door behind him. His little face was wet with tears and his leg looked as if he had had a nasty fall. Bruising was running along his thigh and was turning a nasty shade of green. She stopped examining the boy when she realised with a start that he had noticed her. The tears had stopped and he was staring at her in astonishment.
“Who are you?” He asked bluntly, bravely taking a step towards Freda.
“My name is Freda. What’s yours?” She asked smiling at the little boy kindly so as not to give him any reason as to fear her.
“My name is George. What are you doing in here?” He asked, taking another step forward.
“I had to find shelter last night,” She said, trying to stand up, “from the storm.”
“Why didn’t you go home?” He asked, this time walking towards her and sitting down next to her.
“I don’t have a home.” Said Freda sadly. She smiled at this young boy. She reminded him of her little brother who had died from the cold only one winter ago.
“But that’s terrible!” He exclaimed. “Everyone must have a home!”
“I did have a home George,” she said, explaining to him why she had no home, “but my parents and my brother died and I was the only one left, and as I was a girl, with no real uses, they chucked me out onto the streets.”
The little boy gasped. For him this was a truly dreadful idea, unfortunately for Freda it was her harsh reality.
“George,” she said, seeing that the little boy was close to tears again, “could you do me a favour?”
The little boy nodded.
“Good,” she smiled, “do you think that you could possibly get me some food and water? I feel as if I might collapse right here if I do not eat or drink.”
The little boy did not answer but got up and walked out of the barn. It was some ten minutes before he returned and Freda had just about given up hope. He placed the bread and chicken down in front of her and handed her a mug of water. She ate readily. She could not remember the last time that she had eaten. When she was done she looked at the little boy and smiled.
“Thank you George.” She said. He smiled and blushed. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. Although the sunshine was bursting through the cracks in the barn falling onto her bare flesh she started to feel cold again.
“Tell me George,” she said, shaking off the coldness that was creeping over her. “What were you crying about when you came in here?”
“I was crying because someone is about to die.” Freda looked at him and saw in his face only sadness that could be caused by such grief.
“Who?” Asked Freda, clutching at her blanket, for now the cold was passing through her body with an alarming rate.
“You.” George said. Suddenly, much to Freda’s disbelief, she no longer saw a young boy with bruising running along his leg but a tall man who was 6ft tall and was cloaked in white robes, surrounded with a glowing light.
“George?” Asked Freda. “What’s happening?”
“Your dying Freda. The cold has caused you to fall into a coma, shutting down your body. There is nothing that you can do now but come with me.”
He held out his hand. Freda, hesitating, took it. Whatever lay ahead of her had to be better than what lay behind. With George. Her angel. She stepped into the light.
In the cold barn, with rain beating down on it. Freda died. Alone and cold. A lesson in just how harsh Mother Nature can truly be.