Floating

I'm floating. I'm floating in the bubble of insecurity, or I'm not - I don't know. I don't care what happens in my life anymore. If I die, live, survive; whatever - it doesn't matter anymore. So I'm floating: going where people tell me to go, wearing what people tell me to wear, isn't that just like insecurity? The only difference is I'm half awake.

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Ali's mum died a year ago. She moved to scotland with an aunt and uncle she bearing knew, her sister left for college, and frankly, she's lost the will to live. But then she gets a car, she can go where ever she wants, her guardians even encourage her to go for a drive.

You'd think the first place she would go would be her mum's grave, but no - her dad's old house, where so many memories lie, but none of her mother. You'd think a man with his family might open the door, but no - you wouldn't believe who answers that old wooden door.