Mr. Dinosaur answered the door and was surprised to see nobody there. He could have sworn he heard someone call out for help, but the calm and serenity that encompassed the scene before him said that could just not be so. Mr. Dinosaur shook his head in disappointment and closed the door as he thought about that little voice he had just heard. Was it merely his imagination finally deciding to over-react? Mr. Dinosaur had never ever been commended for his imagination. In fact, his lack of had often been criticised by teachers in kindergarten, who really wanted to see more than lines and lines of crayon. So, what could it have been? Well, whatever it was, it would have to wait. His cupcakes would be ready in approximately 15 seconds, and his favourite part of baking was taking them out of the oven and letting the rich fragrance of dedication and patience fill his nostrils.

They were banana this time, and Mr. Dinosaur had enjoyed picking out the bananas he would use at the grocery store, always the irregularly-shaped ones that no one else would normally even look at twice. Mr. Dinosaur loved those bananas the best because, in his opinion, every being deserved to be loved, no matter what first impressions may tell you – even bananas. People gave him strange looks as he placed each bruised, browned and tiny banana into his basket, but Mr. Dinosaur knew better than to worry about what they were thinking or why their stares hurt so much. He was going to make cupcakes.

Mr. Dinosaur feels like crying, but there are too many walls in this room. It made him uneasy. He shuffled his feet and twiddled his thumbs as he rolled his eyes around. This was a most peculiar room, but Mr. Dinosaur couldn’t quite figure out why.

Who the fuck is Mr. Dinosaur? The little voice didn’t know, and neither did I, but we were staring at him now and he was staring at us, and it all seemed kind of familiar.

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