What does it mean to be alone? Looking at the word structure , Mari traces out imaginary boundaries on the diary page where the word written "alone" now is split into "a" "l" and "one".

This is the only thing written on the page, she cannot write anymore as she ponders how she can write the definition.

She is sitting alone herself, against the school building wall, lost in the thought of what it really means to be alone, while her classmates are outside playing at recess. The universe itself is made of many celestial bodies, and our body is built on symbiotic bacteria, cells, and organs, but when you condense everything into any one catergory everything can be "one" or alone. Everything is contained in one infinite holding space. Every. Thing. What is some, what is one, and what is many?

Mari is stuck between complex thought and just accepting the way things are supposed to be, simple minded and fun for a fourth grader, until her parents start worrying about boys and she learns about politics, paying her taxes, and not knowing whether her feelings are justified or not.

Until then, Mari should enjoy her elementary school years. But her self-exclusion from the rest of her peers will soon set her on a mentally exhausting journey of identity, and whether or not "friends" are worthwhile.

Mari hadn't sat with anyone at lunch for three years, the seats next to her remaining empty; void of the friends everyone else in her class seemed to have. Her journal sat open on the lunch table next to her, the word 'alone' scribbled on the page over and over and over again. Connor, the new boy who sat next to her in English yesterday, walked up to her slowly. Before the whispers started. Another boy tapped him on the arm before he was within a few metres, whispering something into his ear while Connor's face slowly morphed into one of contemplation, then pure, abject horror.

Mari could only imagine what they were saying about her,

"She hasn't said a word in two years."

"She's the weird girl."

"Don't talk to Mari, she's insane."

Her classmates were all more silent as she passed them, walking out of the crouded lunchroom, journal still in hand. The page was open, black with inked words that overlapped each other. The door to the empty classroom swung open once when Mari walked into it, then shut before open again as Connor walked inside.

"Hi."

He said carefully, but with a smile.

"I'm Connor."