Young Love, Old Pain
Never one for self-reflection, it was truly one of Mal’s weakest personality traits. He was the local’s favorite fifty-year-old grumpy man. He could’ve been a veteran; he could’ve worked in coal mines for all they knew. The people who lived around Mal knew very little about him. He wasn’t interested in letting them get to know him at all. All they could figure out about him, is that he is one of those old men who do old men things. Like fishing, yelling at children, sometimes he even camps, although he’s thought he is too old for it. He wasn’t incredibly good at fishing, or even scaring children. He lost his respect when he lost his voice. Years passed and he gave up on scaring the children. He turned himself into a hermit. Not the type of hermit that stays in it’s shell all day, but the type that goes out into the world, only to remain as small and unnoticed as possible. Mal didn’t want these people to talk to him or even look at him. He hated all of them. And he certainly did not need them, and they certainly did not need him.