I used to sleep quietly and peacefully at night, that is until I started doing harsh things to myself. I hated the skin I was within, I felt like I couldn't take another breath of air with out choking or breaking. I always was attracted to mean and grouchy people. It seemed like they we different than the rest.
My father used to be grouchy. One time it was Christmas and I asked him what Santa got for me, he laughed right in my tiny pale face. "Santa ain't real don't ye know that ye little prick." Then he chuckled evily as he went up the steps to his secret room. He always stayed in that secret room, well ever since my mother passed away. He didn't even cry at the funeral, just sat there with both arms crossed to his big chest. He had no emotion as people went up to the casket and gave him their apologies for his lost.
I some times wondered if he was a robot man. If he was in fact, maybe it would explain his little robot actions.