You've been gnawing on your knuckles for the past ten minutes, eyes glued to the television. Colorful, happy fruit dance along the screen to a song you didn't know.

Simon Riley, your father, sat on the couch with the newspaper in his hand. Like you, the dancing fruit had his attention as well. Having him so occupied with the dancing fruit gave you the chance to waddle away.

It wasn't until he heard a crash when he realized you were gone.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." He scrambles to his feet.