It often disturbed and amazed Stephen Donald that the world defined him as an adult. He taught English at the local high school and knew that amongst the myriad of opinions of his students, that their teacher was an adult was one of them. He was 33 years old, to those kids he was probably an old man.

His six year old daughter Macy saw him as a grown up. He was daddy, and daddy’s had jobs and provided homes and set the rules along with mommy’s. These were adult things. These same adult things made his wife Liz see him as an adult. Working and paying bills and maintaining hygiene. These were societies recognized standards.

Stephen was writing a horror novel as well, when he had time, and although this was something a bit out of the ordinary as far as most people go, this was still the actions of an adult.

What disturbed Stephen was that rather than feel like an adult he spent most of his time feeling like an alien or a child watching an adults life. He was like an E.T. who’d lost his home phone number.