If one could decide when to be born and when to die, life would be a lot more easier. Anastasia stared hopelessly at the ceiling of the private ward, it is a little room with a toilet and bath tub, painted in blue colour and oozing of ethanol.Her parents, Mr and Mrs Gerald had long given up on her condition, it's neither good nor bad. Day becomes weeks, weeks becomes month as her clock of life ticks. Rejoice always beems in joy, her sister's condition never gets on her way of happiness, she constantly reminds herself that it is well, as she shares her sad experience with Anastasia