Beginnings are arbitrary, endings equally so unless the beginning has already been specified; middles ought to derive logically from the previous two variables, yet it is middles that have proven most difficult for her to quantify. It is a her attempting the quantification, that is the beginning she chose this morning: Blue Girl. That is the color and name and gender and shape.

In the little town of Weatherbee, in the southeastern part of Illinois in the corner and the curve of the Ohio River, there lives a little girl named Jacinda Obi, and she can see all of time and space, all that has been and all that ever could be.
Well, what’s so wonderful about that? you might ask. Lots of people can do that. Doctor Who, for instance, he does that every week.
Well, I say, Jacinda Obi sees all that ever was and all that ever could be--with her ears.

It is late, and she has school tomorrow, but she cannot leave, because the white carpeted hallway to her room will stretch out for miles, and the stairway has wooden railings that only come up to her waist and are completely inadequate to keep out the space that spills out below them, that used to remind her of a castle, especially with the chandelier. But the chandelier is too big, and the space is too big, and the house all around her is filled with an infinite sea of uncaring whiteness glaring bright against the lights her mother will not turn off. There is the warm July night outside, full of familiar sounds of cicadas and crickets and cars on the highway rushing off to faraway places, but to get to the outside she would have to go down the stairs, stretching out like an M.C. Escher drawing, and on the stairs are the stack of books on divorce that her mother checked out from the library, which she has sworn she will not read.