Pipsqueak (BEING EDITED)

Prologue

The soft pink dress fell around her knees, white tights hugging her slim legs. Her blonde hair was curled and fell just above her waist. Freya's fringe had been pinned back with two butterfly clips. Her chubby cheeks were a soft red with a gentle blush from a miserable pout. Her mother had clipped fake earrings on her lobes, too protective to let her have them pierced; after all she was only five. Her golden cross hung over her frock, shining in the sunlight as the faith embodied within her soul. The youth glowed in her face like a candle burning through the sorrow of night.

"There, now you look gorgeous." Her mother leant down infront of her, her gentle fingers combing through the curls around her waist.

Her mother was blonde, but her hair was naturally straight; whereas Freya's was curly. Freya believed that her mother was the prettiest woman in existence. She smelt of crispy baked muffins and cookies. The air that surrounded her was a passionate tranquility. She always had an answer. Mothers always knew best, especially this one.

"But mummy I don't want to go to church, it's for grownups and it's stupid." Freya objected, her small hands fiddling with the ruffles of her dress as her sadness drew her expressions downwards.

"Baby you have to go to church, how else will you be a good Christian?" Her mother asked, her voice as soft as silk. She glanced over her shoulder at Freya's father for support, but he was trying to tie his tie; his tongue between his lips as he bit down on it.

"Will God be mad with me if I don't go?" Freya asked, worry crossing her face.

"No baby, but it'll make him happy if you go. You see baby, God loves you, God created everybody, therefore we should be grateful to God and go to church on Sunday's."

"Oh, okay, will I make friends there?"

"Of course you will petal, you've already got a friend there." Freya's mum smiled, taking her small hand in her own. "C'mon."

The church was a small, local community, only fitting about twenty people inside. The benches were in four rows, fitting five people on each, maybe six if there was an infant. The benches were old and creaked whenever someone sat on them. The walls were covered with drawings, children's drawing of their view of God. Some depicted him as a tall, bold man with bold lights shining from behind him-illuminating his grace and strength. Others portrayed him as an old, gentle soul filled with wisdom and knowledge. Freya was amazed at how beautiful the stain glass windows were, she picked up various bibles just to feel the crimpled pages. At that moment, the moment she stood in the alter and looked up at Jesus's body on the resurrection cross, she was hooked into her family's religion.

At the age of twelve Freya was given a gift from her mum, a gift that she would cherish, a chastity ring. It was a small, silver ring that slid easily onto her little finger. But most importantly, it was a promise. A promise to God.

At the age of fifteen her father died in an accident at work, she was heartbroken, damaged to the core.

At the age of sixteen the girl moved in across the road.

At the age of sixteen, her life changed for the worst.