Not knowing what else to do, Angela got in the car and drove back home. She needed to be surrounded by something familiar.
However, upon arriving at her house, there was really nothing familiar at all. The neighborhood looked like a war zone. No, there wasn't any shooting or anything like that, but it was just the overall look of it. Houses were rundown, lawns had dead grass or no grass at all, cars were old and beat up. What had happened?
She parked the car in the driveway and got out in a daze. But her daze was short lived.
"Mom, what the fuck are you wearing?" a familiar voice asked. It belonged to her daughter Allison. But no way would she ever talk like that, especially to her own mother.
Angela slowly turned and looked at her, the shock that she felt earlier now returning ... only this time, it wasn't a good shock.
Her sweet young innocent daughter stood on the front porch, dressed like a hooker. She even had tattoos and piercings. Between her fingers was a cigarette. Allison never smoked in her life. She hated it just as much as her mother.
"Mom, what the fuck is wrong with you? Stop staring at me like that."
"What ... what's going on?" Angela asked, barely getting it out.
