MALIA
It was quiet, too quiet. Making everything feel unnatural, because there were always sounds around, usually.
The TV across the room made no sound, even though it played a cartoon, the flickering of the changing images the only light source. Only when I concentrated could I hear the canned laughter, but it was distant and distorted, like something underwater.
Across from me sat my father in an armchair, a tray of food before him. Instead of paying attention to his food, his gaze was focused on me. He wore a smile, but it was anything but comforting. His eyes were a little too open, and his smile was too tight. It was nothing more than a mask—a scary one.
He looked like he would bounce at me any second now.
What did it mean that the light in the room grew darker and lost its col
