She stands gazing down the glossy saturated road into the hazy grey sky and auburn lights. Those lights illuminate the adventure ahead and inevitably along the way people will drop into her life. Some will help, some will hinder. Perhaps she’ll find another trip more fulfilling and take it. The twisted historians lining the path will chronicle her tale for the generations after that will also stare off down the same corridor. Her short chemically coloured hair flits in the breeze and blows bits of white snow moistening her pale, fragile, tiny hands. Deliberate hands that clench and release melding into the same state as the reflecting concrete. Auburn glints off her glasses and the next frame is captured, but she has not moved and yet is no longer there.