Mum says its the war, but daddy hasn't been to war, so I don't understand why that makes him so sad. Last night, I saw him down in the lounge, alone in the half dark, the light of the T.V glowing softly on his sad face. I crept down the hallway and then stood right beside him.
"Daddy, can you read me a story," I asked him. A long moment went by and then he pulled his head up like it weighed more than a house, and he stared at me with his grey empty eyes.
"Not now, darling...I'm busy," he said.