Mary was an ordinary girl. She had an ordinary family, attended an ordinary school, slept in an ordinary bed, ate ordinary food, thought ordinary thoughts, and played an ordinary piano in an ordinary fasion. Her atire was ordinary as were her manners. Her appearance and personality were also of the ordinary variety. Everything about Mary was ordinary, until it came to her mind. You may ask, What was so extraordinary about Mary's mind?

I shall tell you: she controls everything. The air you breathe, the color of the sky, the number of fingers on your right hand- she controls them all. This entire world is just a figment of her imagination and all of you could be killed off in a fraction of a second because she believes you to be too ordinary.

Now that is ironic.

What is that? You wish to know how I know this? I control Mary, thus I control everything about you. Facinating isn't it? In effect Mary does not exist unless I say she does, so let's just assume she does for a moment.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes… Mary.

Mary was a nondiscript girl of an avarage hight, and avarage weight, and avarage intelligence. You may notice that I say WAS not IS… she is different now, I am sad to say. Becoming more individualistic and expressive has killed all possibilities for her present or future.

Actually, she has only one hope for survival. In her world where grass looks like cod, the sky is pink, men wear tea cosies as shoes and animals live in metalic cylindrical containers, she controls what is ordinary or not. If she says the world is small enough to fit inside a pine nut, then it is so. There is nothing that can stop her. She thinks in colors and shapes and dreams in grey and sound. There are violins and horns and multilingual elephants that skate on spoons. Nothing is ordinary. Her imagination is vivid, don't you agree?

Well her English teacher does not. And that is why we find Mary sitting in the middle of a lake teaming with tigers and photos of Frederic the Great. Her teacher says she has no rhyme of reason.

Mary says her teacher no longer exists. She does not.

Nor do you.

Nor I.

Nor Mary.

The purple stars twinkle in the orange sea of English horns. There is nothing quite like a mug of hot chocolate.