It’s come to my attention that there are things that need to be said that I haven’t said, or in some cases was just too lazy to say. One of which is what exactly these three-eyed people do all day. You probably hadn’t thought about it, but now that I’ve said it, I hope that you’re at least kind of interested. I’m sorry if it bores you terribly, but that’s why I left it as a deleted scene—so you don’t have to read it.

I suppose a better name of this would be a “Deleted Chapter,” but that doesn’t seem very modern—I mean whoever heard of a “Deleted Chapter.” The whole idea of that sounds a little corny.

Now none of this doesn’t really pertain at all to the story (except for the fact that they are the ones who grow the library tree, which is what this stories about…at least I think it is, but I may be wrong; I’m open for suggestions if you think this story is about something else), but it’s interesting—that’s why I’ve included it, but only as a deleted scene, or if you insist I be technical, a deleted chapter.

Enough already with the explanations…as I was about to explain before I paused to explain why was going to explain it (I can’t believe I got “explain” three times in a single sentence! I am impressed), the day in the life of a three-eyed person(s):

Wait, wait, wait…before I go on explain three-eyes, I think another explanation is at hand. I promise I’ll be quick about it. That explanation being how I know so much about the daily life and rituals of the three-eyed people. The explanation is quite simple: after I decided to expose this story, Gatsby invited me to spend a few days living with them. He suggested that living with the three-eyed people would help me to understand the tree better. After living with them, I now know that they are complete insane, but nonetheless their lives are fascinating, so without further explanations of the life I will explain, let me explain it:

The three-eyed people live lives not so different from our own…they drink peanut butter soda through there nose, write with their toes, and sleep on a bed that’s upside down—okay so they’re lives are nothing like ours, but that’s what makes reading this so interesting.

The normal three-eyed day starts at exactly 5:34 a.m. That’s when they wake, and take a hot peanut butter bath (that’s why they all smell like peanut butter), which last exactly six minutes and thirty-eight seconds.

After their peanut butter shower, they run (literally they run as if they were being chased by monsters) to the cafeteria for their peanut butter breakfast. Now you would think their breakfast would consist of some sort of peanut butter cereal, pancake, or waffle, but it consist of known of these—these, I learned, were all dinner items. For breakfast they had mustard and peanut butter corndogs and peanut butter coffee.

At precisely 6:02 and fourteen seconds, breakfast was over and work or school began.

Gardiner:
This was the most respected job a three-eyed person could get. They were the people who nurtured the trees. The people who knew just how often a library tree needed to be watered to grow a bestseller.

Pickers:
Pickers were the people that Jake saw walking to the cafeteria. They were trained experts in knowing when a book was done growing. Understand that if a book is picked too soon, then the ending is lousy, and if it’s picked too late ending makes no sense. They knew how to get those endings just right.

Deliverers:
This is what Gatsby and Arthur were. They were experts in normal human behaviors, and were one of the few three-eyed people who could fit into a regular society. They went to a normal college to study normal humans, and that’s why no one ever notices them when they deliver a library tree—they fit right in. I once asked Gatsby what the hardest part of learning how to be human was, and he said, “learning how to not be happy.” Three-eyed, as you have already seen, are always happy.

Cooks:
Cooks were trained doctors. They were the people who made breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday, but they were also the people who parents consulted if their child’s third eye wasn’t functioning right—they knew just how much peanut butter a three-eyed needed to keep that third-eye healthy and functioning right.

Students:
Students are what three-eyes call their children. Students are expected to attend school right when they are born until they are 46—unless they are meant to be gardeners, who have to attend school an expert 7 years. And you don’t you had to go to school forever! You should realize, however, that three-eyed people live to be exactly 124. No one ever lives shorter or longer than this, and to top it off nobody ever ages—peanut butter is the only medical explanation for this age.

Teachers:
I list teachers last not because they are not important, but because everyone knows what they do—no explanation is really needed.

Now the three-eyed work day ends at exactly 6:02 and thirty-seven seconds. At this time they race to the cafeteria for dinner (I did not mention, because it is such a minor thing, that lunch is from 11:50 to 12:53).

After dinner the rest of the day is spent telling and writing stories around a peanut butter burning fire. At exactly 8:12 and eighteen seconds they go to bed, and at exactly 8:12 and fifty-two seconds they fall asleep—except for the students who are in bed at exactly 8:09 and three seconds and have follow asleep at exactly 8:09 and fifty-nine seconds.

So like I said, it’s a quite interesting life, don’t you think? Or maybe it bored you…I’m sorry if it did. In either case, it’s over now and you can get back to the more important story at hand—that of the library tree. But before I leave you, perhaps (or perhaps not) you were wondering about why they follow such a precise time scheme. I can’t answer that—I don’t know why they follow such precise time. I can tell you that they don’t where watches, which makes their precision to follow time even more amazing. The cooks say it’s the peanut butter that makes them know exactly what time it is, but I’m don’t sure if I believe that.