“Mary Dinkle’s eyes were the color of muddy puddles. Her birthmark, the color of poo.” Following the aside, a little girl with freckles jumps into our eyes. The small village she lives in is quiet and plain, so are the villagers. Born as an accident, Mary has never gained enough love and care from her parents.
Actually, both of her parents are a little bit morbid. Her father always plays with stuff birds alone, while her wobbly mother is addicted to sherry. Poor Mary feels confused about all the things around her and eagerly hopes there is a friend to share and tell.



Ibrahim Ferrer
from Dead Poets Society



