Freya’s P.O.V

I watched the waves crashing onto the shore; the stormy winds sweep my hair back from my face violently.

It was five thirty in the morning and the sun had yet to rise, but there was still light in the horizon and it was enough to help me see my way around the broken pieces of wood and other debris lying on the sand.

This area of the sea-shore, at the back of my house wasn’t a beach. I don’t think it could ever be considered one with the amount of rubbish lying around. There ...