Coby was small again.

Small, weak, and helpless. (Well, that 's nothing new.)

He wipes away his tears, and the screech in his ears is loud, loud, loud-- no, it 's not loud. It doesn 't sound like anything but his thoughts clouding over his head and choking him up, threatening to gouge his brain out.

Someone 's talking to him.

It 's the fishmonger down the street, worrying about him since he suddenly crouched down and began to cry.

But strangely enough, there was no sound.

His lips were moving.

But there was no voice.

No ' there was a voice. A dull, distant echo, almost inaudible in the cacophony of everything else and the loud ringing in his head.

Well, that 's been the only thing he 's heard for years, so Coby 's never really registered it. Except this time-- he doesn 't hear the world in the cacophony-- he just hears the incessant chatter of nothingness.

Something 's wrong. (Well, that 's nothing new.)

Ah. Right.