It was almost like a dream when Freja would close her eyes. She felt as if she was falling, but gently. It did not frighten her. She felt silky threads brush against her face in a warm embrace and she smiled because she knew everything was going to be okay. She was going to be okay. It was fine because it was like any other Sunday morning. Boring. Quiet. Familiar. Safe.
Her eyes fluttered open as the sun shone through the old windows of her flat. She was buried in the soft blankets of her bed, her yellow short hair a tangled mess. She sighed as she sat up and threw her blankets to the floor in disarray. Standing up she reached for the ceiling and then down to her toes as her joints popped back into place.
Freja was not a graceful sleeper.
She looked towards her windows, which overlooked her home city. She grinned. It was a beautiful cold day once again. She could wear her favorite sweater.
Slipping her feet into her slippers she made her way to her bedroom door to open it. She needed to get ready. She finally had a job interview today, and she was excited. She wanted to make her very best impression. Opening the door she looked down the hallway to her bathroom and made the treck down.
She thought to herself about her breakfast today as she turned on the lights to her bathroom. The electricity gave once again that warm familiar hum which interrupted her thought pattern. She needed to cal that electrician for the lights here. She smiled again at her absent mindedness.
Looking into the mirror, Freja sighed. She opened the cabinet and pulled out some detangler that she bought herself for her hair. The ads swore that this would do wonders for her. Freja decided to give it a shot because... What could it hurt?
And it worked. She gave a sigh of relief. Still, as she pulled a comb through her tangles, it hurt just a little. But it was okay, because Freja had a high tolerance for pain.
It was like any other Sunday Morning.
She made her way back to her bedroom and opened her wardrobe. This was surprisingly not as much of a mess as she thought it was going to be. With a sigh she pulled out her work-appropriate clothing for the day. Afterall, again, she wanted to make a good impression. After dressing, she turned around, and stopped.
Her bed was not made. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and got to work, smoothing the sheets of her blankets against her mattress and turning down the pillows, throwing some old stuffed bear she had ownd since she was a young girl onto the bed haphazardly.
She left her bedroom once more but not before grabbing everything it was that she needed to leave her flat.
She looked at the clock. She had been too leisurely with her morning so far and did not have enough time to make an adequate breakfast. Instead she opted for a generic toaster pastry and made her way out the door, grabbing her coat as she left.
Out on the busy streets of her city she nodded to the familiar people she was so used to seeing. The fruit stand owner; the traffic officer in the crosswalk, the dogwalkers and the delivery men and woman that littered the streets. She walked by a homeless man, made her way past him and then turned back. She made small talk with him and then offered him her breakfast which he accepted. Waving goodbye, smiling at each other, she continued her way to the stairs that would lead her to the subway, onto her prospective job opportunity.
She was lost in thought, and did not notice that the man she had just spoken to had stood up, and had followed her down.
However, other than this, it was like any other Sunday morning.
The underground was cold as always and had that same musty scent that she was all too familiar with. This was Freja's only means of transportation as it was fast, convenient and inexpensive.
She gave a startled gasp when a subway cart rushed past and stopped, as she was lost in thought, however it was not her cart to get onto. She was getting nervous. Freja wondered, what if the interview goes sour? What is she makes too many mistakes or her nervousness shines through.
She looked and her eyebrow raised. The homeless man was standing and waiting, it seemed, for the next train to come. Standing behind the yellow line it looked as if he was fumbling with something in his hands.
People started to fill up the underground. They were all quiet save for a group of rough looking and loud teenage boys. Freja gave a look over and then quickly turned away minding her own business. She knew not to give them any reason to bother her. As did anyone. They were known for trouble making, and being particularly vulgar...
and violent.
And even though there was no reason given, that did not stop those boys from noticing the vagabond standing by himself.
Behind the yellow line.
Behind the tracks.
You see, on top of everything else, they were also the type to believe that people like that were a plague upon society. And they saw an opportunity to deal with him.
Freja noticed this, and still waited.
The boys were gathered around him and were pushing him and pulling at the bag he carried over his back. Grabbing at whatever it was that he carried in his pocket.
She distinctly heard one of them say, something along the lines of..."..a branch? You're crazy!" .. "...something like that..." and a 'SNAP' and the man roaring and spitting and yelling at the group of boys.
No one was doing anything. Not as the old man lunged at one of the younger ones. The younger boy howled with laughter and pushed the man. Who fell onto the tracks.
No one was doing anything. Someone needed to put a stop to this. Who was going to help? No one made a move.
"Stop!" Freja yelled, throwing her belongings aside. "Leave him be! Why is no one doing anything?"
The boys laughed and shouted lewd comments at her. She got to the yellow line and stopped. She took in a breath, she was frightened. She looked down at the man, reaching up with one arm and the other holding his hip. He was hurt. And stuck.
She was frozen. She didn't know what to do. And then she felt it, a rumbling underneath her feet. People had gathered around and still no one was doing anything. A few people had their cameras out, taking pictures and filming, most likely hoping to be the first to give their input to news stations when what was about to happen was announced.
But Freja wasn't about to give them a chance with out at least TRYING to do something.
So she stepped over the yellow line, and onto the tracks herself. Everyone gasped and yet, still, no one else made a move.
And try as she might, Freja couldn't free the man, and now they were both stuck. She pulled and she lifted and yet none of her actions made any improvement.
And as the train rounded the corner, she closed her eyes.
It was almost like a dream when Freja would close her eyes. She felt as if she was falling, but gently. It did not frighten her. She felt silky threads brush against her face in a warm embrace and she smiled because she knew everything was going to be okay. She was going to be okay. It was fine because it was like any other Sunday morning. Boring. Quiet. Familiar. Safe.
Only, it wasn't. Because on this Sunday morning, at this moment, when Freja Lowes closed her eyes, and the silk brushed against her cheeks.
Today, Freja Lowes fell beyond the veil, and she died.