Imagine being a child, and your whole family dies, and it’s just you and your dad. And he starts locking himself in his office, claiming he has work to do, so you sit and you wait and you grieve. And then one day your mother is there like nothing ever happened, making breakfast and cleaning the house and homeschooling you just like she used to. And your dad is acting like this is completely normal. And this works for a while, but then this twisted version of your mom stops just cooking breakfast and cleaning the house and begins trying to have hobbies. And suddenly your mother is gone again and there is a new mom in the kitchen the next morning. And you realize that you will never get the closure of fully losing your mother, but you will also never get the satisfaction of having her back. And soon your mother, who used to adore you, is pampering these two new children that behave so well and aren’t sad and angry like the poor little .5. And you watch as every new version of your dead mother begins to view you with more and more disdain as you look into the lifeless eyes of a woman who used to sing you songs before bed every night, and you know there is no one who will ever believe you. Imagine being Timmy Trout.