When everybody is extraordinary, nobody is. 

   As humans, we live with the expectation to do great things: some of these based around great things in the smallest of ways, great things in the largest of ways, or nothing because we don't see the greatest we have within. Unfortunately, some, if not most of us, reside in the third category because, while we love to see great things happen, we often lack the courage to do them ourselves. This is the particular reason for which we strive to find the greatest of all things, something truly extraordinary. 

  I, for one, am NOT extraordinary. 

WRITER'S NOTE : All of these books are written with funky migraine brain, spelling mistakes or grammar errors are to be expected. Welcome to my brain on migraine. 

The day I saw a man fly 

    I live in a place where the sun shines abnormally bright, and the rain falls incredibly fast. Each year breaks a new record than the last because there is simply no pattern to the odd occurrences that befall us. The people here? They're just like the weather, strange, and atypical, for lack of a better word. Some are freakishly lucky or unlucky, while others have quirky abilities indescribable by science or words; if you were to try to describe it, I'm sure you'd be at quite a loss. Some people are ingenious, where others are ingeniously stupid; most of us lack the 'common sense' humans are meant to have, precisely because that is too ordinary. So, just as science lacks the answers to quite describe the world, just like our lack of words, the universe seems to change it's rules every so often too. 

  Like that one day, I saw a man fly. 

  To be honest, it wasn't truly flying, nor was it any day long ago. It was simply the shift of ordinariness, that which pertains to the abundance of ordinary, or simply the lack there of. Just like all the people before him that had become changed, he had become something else.That man became extraordinary that day, he was no longer bound by the whims of the Earth we call home, but broke records for something he would have been born with if someone else hadn't been. 

  That day, I watched the man flounder about the sky as he reached and panicked for all sorts of things. People of all sorts began to stop and stare, their eyes were drawn to the man. I watched as a woman, with the hair of a hedgehog, removed her phone from her purse and let go of her green coloured son's hand to take a picture. While they too were remarkable, they were also drawn to others of their kind. Even so, it had never been so prominently apparent that those who stopped and stared quickly became bored with the scene. It went to show that the extraordinary was lacking the same 'umph' that it once had. 

  Once we had all become accustomed to a new member of the extraordinary, we went along our merry ways; well, except for me that is... My eyes were locked with the flying man's pair, it was as if the sheer incredibility of the act of floating portrayed had stunned me to the floor, anchoring me to the ground. Every scream he brought made me think, every flutter of stability made me question.

  Why doesn't he simply grab the lamp post that remained stationary beside him?

  After pondering for a moment, I had come to no conclusion and decided to satisfy myself with his fright. As someone lacking anything extraordinary, he had become the peak of my interest of the day; that being said, he would surely not be the last. So, I took a moment to wait, at least until he had become less attracting, less interesting to watch. The children gathered in the playground below, including the child he had initially been entertaining, had only found the sight briefly entertaining, resuming their previous activities without a care. It was then that I took notice of other interesting things like: the one child with a large dragon tail, and another, not a dragon, but breathing red flames at another. The little monster giggled and ran after one another, leaving me to wonder...

  Does anyone ever receive third-degree burns from him? 

  Regardless, that too became dull rather quickly, and so I continued along my way. Ultimately, my destination was rather dull, a school. At least for today, I am to work at a school building. Just like everything else in this city, the school itself isn't ordinary either. Built in the middle of a fountain, it's sticks out like... well... everything. If I hadn't been there two other times in the past, I'm sure I'd still find myself stuck staring at the structure like many of my predecessors. A glimmer of some brilliant, yet brilliantly ugly, architecture. My purpose for being there would be to write, something mediocre I'm sure. 

  Today, I decide it would be a good day to walk to the school building. It never occurred to me how long it might take, particularly because I never know. Whenever I walk to the school, some days it takes me hours and others a few minutes. Distance is a ratio between speed and time, unfortunately, I have control of neither. Unlike those who are extraordinary, I will never adapt to the change in ordinariness. As such, I am left to be completely at a loss for the situations around me, so sometimes I am extremely late or, consequently, irritatingly early. Never have I ever been exactly on time, not once in my life; unless you don't view time linearly, in which case you're peculiar. 

  It was exactly three in the morning when I began my walk, which is also three in the afternoon because of the sun's indecision today. Sleeping is troublesome too, if you wouldn't have guessed. If my estimation is correct, and it never is, I'll never arrive at my destination. 

  I'd say it's my pessimism talking, and I'd be right. 

  Leaving home is the worst part of my existence, always had been and will forever be. Please forbid me from every finding myself lost, because I'd never find my way home. It has happened once before, and that is precisely what happened. The last home I had found was small and sweet, dangerously strange. Because it was small, it was huge. Like a house built on a small foundation but expanding underneath, the town had an intricate and secretive underground... garden. So, like any other day, I had been sent to write about it. On my way there, reality caved in and I became lost in a bush, the bush went on forever and not at all. 

  Before I knew it, I was exactly where I needed to be, as well as on the other side of the planet. 

  Accepting my new fate, I wrote about the garden in my journal, posted it on the internet and received an imaginary influx of cash in my deposit box the next day. While imaginary, it was also very real, after all money in this world is guided by the same laws as that of Schrödinger's cat. Whether it be a thought experiment for the likes of particle theory, or that of imaginary real money, it was all the same. The cat definitely stole my money, and left a couple hundred dollar bills behind. 

  I can't be sure, but I think I'm paid by the government. Though, I'm not too sure whether they exist anymore because they too change along with the scenery. Even the tile... no, cobblestone... no, dirt path that I'm... it's wooden now? Well, whatever, even along this ever changing path that I walk, I'll tell everyone just how I've come to be and will later become, the world's most infamously ordinary citizen. 

  But, until then, I guess I'll just go to school. 

  The cat that spoke german 

  Every cat speaks its own language, which is all languages because they are highly proficient in tongues. I've heard that once you've learned all languages, just like the cats, you'll find that you're one of a kind. Because cats are so proficient, learning all languages will lead you to learning one new language, which then you'll need to master as well. That new language will in turn breed more languages, because languages, just like Earth, are ever changing. So, in order to keep up with the cats, you'll need to become a language learner, and modifier extraordinaire. There was once a time that I decided to try, but not really try, to learn a language in effort to talk to my sometimes invisible cat.

 I chose german. 

 I was neither good, nor bad at learning the new language, simply ordinary enough to be able to understand it. Unfortunately, I had decided the  day to learn it should also the day that everyone disappears, and the day all cats came home. It was also the same day that the school reopened, the day of my new government given writing job. When I arrived I learned that the school was turned into a school for cats, the language barrier was astounding. All surrounding the school was a large wall made of all the languages carved in broke. 

Who ever took the time to carve all the bricks must have had numb hands when they were done. 

The language barrier was, for all intents and purposes, to keep any person who didn't know the language outside. That included any ordinary teacher that was assigned to teach the cats that day. While I looked up at the amazingly underwhelming barrier, I watched many ordinary teachers bang on the wall for entry.  

In that moment, I met my first cat friend. The cat I met was a super friendly calico who seemingly understood my german, which would have been a surprise in itself if not for the fluency in all languages that cats  possess. The calico met me at the door within the wall, and opened the brick inwardly so I could enter the school. Calico welcomed me inside with a push of his tail, but I couldn't take a seat as all the seats were missing. The school had lost all its chairs and desks; they had been replaced by large cat towers and chew toys, all of which were ignored. 

These cats, just like the dogs of the town, were strange. They preferred to play in the fountain in which the school was built. A dislike for water had become uncommon, or rather they simply became attracted to it because others were not. A lack of people enjoying water, was balanced or replaced for those who did. 

My friendly calico cat decided that it would be that day for which he talked to his first human. I was that human. He spoke one word before realizing he didn't like talking very much. I'm beginning to think that that is the reason for which no one hears cats talk. Perhaps they simply don't like to hear themselves speak? Just like I don't enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice, the cats sometimes try to anyways, but are never understood, because in all truthfulness, they dislike communicating. 

Calico's meow became distorted as my ordinariness waxed like a moon running towards the fullness of a cheese wheel before a dinner party. For what reason I made that connection, I will never know, after all, everyone knows that cats love cheese. Or do they? Maybe that's simply that cats here, in this town, village and sometimes city. 

Either way, Calico ran up a wall that was beginning to bend under hid weight as he ran towards me. Incidentally, as the wall continued to sway downwards, he gently fell into my lap, (the one he wanted to get away from) scratched my arm before finally resting for a moment in his food bowl. 

His comfort was short lives as it suddenly filled with water and he was swarmed with thirsty kittens that, coincidently, also spoke german. 

This time, I didn't quite understand what the kittens were saying, but I'm sure they meant for Calico to stop sleeping in the food bowl. It was the perfect time to take a picture, so I did. The image from my phone was rather impressively shot; well, as impressive as someone with an ordinary camera. 

The image that formed consisted of one thousand and one kittens sleeping around a highly discombobulated Calico. Just as quickly as they came, the cats disappeared as it was time to go home. Their visit was short lived because they were also known as Migrating Cats. Just like regular house cats, they would return eventually, but no sooner than the day of their desire. Humans, extraordinary or not, know that cats work on their own clock, but I've found they enjoy food o'clock the most. 

At the same time as they disappeared into a cloud of white smoke, I took up my pen of invisible ink and wrote my impressions of the extraordinary cat visit. While everyone is missing, because they aren't allowed to see the cats, ordinary people like me must fill them in. 

Cat Visiting Day is the day that all cats want to be left alone. So, all humans decide, except for those who can't, to journey somewhere far far away, that is rather close by. For all I know all humans could be in the room next door, but because I am not a cat, I won't see them. Which is good, because now I know that they aren't next door, because if a cat could see them, it wouldn't be Cat Visiting Day. 

So, as ordinary citizen A, I write my experiences of Cat Visiting Day in my journal that no one will ever see, unless they have a convenient Black Light. Unfortunately, that makes it not-so secret as well, because I know no-one who doesn't have a black light hanging around, unless they don't need it, in which case it isn't around. 

Taking up my pen, thoughts flowed from ink to paper just as quickly as a backwards waterfall reaches the sky. It doesn't take as long as you'd think, just that it takes long enough for the people of Earth to return and crowd the streets. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that rush hour traffic had begun, and, just like every other day, I was wrong. 

Rush hour traffic has begun.