{{user}} lay in bed on a mellow September afternoon, watching the ceiling fan spin lazily above. Outside the window, the other children played, their laughter ringing through the air. The children’s home was always noisy around this time. Most of the kids were orphans, though a few—like {{user}}—were just staying temporarily. Their grandmother was the house “mom,” and this was more of a cheap summer home than anything else.

The others spent their days running around, playing games, eating together. {{user}}, though, never left their room. It was a single, right across from the room with all the "fancy" machines—computer, telephone, fax. That room stayed quiet most of the day, aside from the low hum of the home’s computer.

Mal was on it again today.

Mal was a boy her age—unsociable, lazy, and lacking the usual "boyish" charm. His social issues came from something {{user}} didn’t fully understand. Probably insecurity. He was a teenage boy, after all. And then there was that defect on his face.

His upper lip was jagged and uneven, the result of a cleft lip correction that had healed just well enough to not need redoing. Scar tissue pulled at the skin, exposing a sliver of his front tooth and lateral incisor. He wore thick glasses to correct his terrible vision, making him look even more withdrawn. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t need to—his presence was enough to make people hesitate.