AN: This is a one-shot and a drabble. For those of you who don't know, drabbles are supposed to be extremely short. Also, I'm trying out present tense third person. Tell me how it worked out.


She knows the world is supposed to work a certain way, slowly draining into itself; part of a certain flow. Yet she's not in on it. The rest of the world and all its wonders had always seemed far apart. At least, in the past year or so. As she later on recalls, she felt as if she was slowly drifting apart from what she used to acknowledge as reality.

She watches as mean people come and leave her life, some staying much more obnoxiously longer than others.

And as she watches, observes furiously, anger washes in like a tidal wave, burying her thoughts full of ferocity and temper, evilly controlling her mind; her body; and what felt like her soul.

Her arm arches out, just waiting to punch in the gut, and her mouth snaps open to reply back with smart-ass disses. She's angry at the world for doing this to her. And the people. And so forth. But what is one young girl who's just been admitted into foster care oh so recently supposed to do? Not scream at the world, or every once in a while doubt the morals she'd been raised knowing?

Her parents, before they'd been awfully stripped from her life for whatever reason, had attempted to raise their children well. Sabrina knows this, too and is ecstatic as to the horrible fact that they'd been stripped from her life; without even a reason why, or what had happened.

She watches she rest of the world moves on, struggling herself to stay put in the past.

She remembers when she was little; she'd climbed atop the arm of the couch, slowly leaning herself back and arching her arms. There had been just enough time for a slight panic to course through her icily before she felt herself falling, approaching the ground. She remembers feeling her mother's firm hands grasp around her waist just in time, pulling her up to safety. She remembers her mother's comforting words as the tear streamed down her face, her mind still shrouded in shock.

Sabrina had only been five.

But now, many years later, Sabrina's mom was gone. 'Twas almost as if she'd been whisked away along with the wind, taken in the passing.

And now, just like in the current situation of being in foster care, her mother would never be able to catch her whenever she falls again.

So who would?