Kelsey was afraid to go out at night. Afraid of big, bad Bromley. When she told people she met online that she left in Kent, they always said she was lucky to live in such a nice, leafy Home County, nestled away in the undergarments of England's green and pleasant land.

But Kent had a dark, nasty side. That side was called Bromley. Yet another drive-by? Really? People didn't associate Kent with gun crime, or compare it to the LA ghettos, but Kelsey did.

Her friend Marie had also had enough of it. But Marie wasn't so scared.

"Kelsey, let's do something", Marie would plead over Skype.

"I'm not getting involved. I am not getting involved with this" typed Kelsey through gritted fingers.

But now Kelsey is involved. Because Marie got gunned down on her way home from an anti-violence rally in the centre of London. Kelsey is haunted by Marie's mother begging for the bloodshed to end as her tears fell on her 19 year old daughter's coffin.

And Kelsy can't leave her house. She watched a video of her own best friend's funeral because she couldn't face it.

What Kelsey doesn't know is that the fake gangstas can't leave the house either. Too guilty. Marie was innocent. They laid their guns to rest the day she was laid to rest.

Marie is vindicated but Marie is dead.