Arissa looked up through the class window.
Her autobiography was written in the sky. Font twelve. Font colour purple. Double-lined spaced. She wished that the actual font would have been Congenial Black rather than Aparajita.
She wondered why the sky had chosen that particular font because her life – as far as she could tell – wasn’t as a tight neatly-written arrangement of letters. It was bolder. Borderline explosive. She had gone from foster care to foster care with a big smile on her face. Each new household was an adventure to find and scour as many surreal entities as she could. Time wasn’t the matter in those situations because the number of miss-calls she had received would be justified once she managed to interact with the surreal.
Her autobiography in the sky was a little too high, unfortunately.
That didn’t stop her from reimagining how she could edit her life story. A ladder? A balloon? A kite? A pole? The tip of her finger grazed along her desk at each option, stopping once she heard the English class teacher, Ms Dansen, call out her name.
“Are you listening?” The teacher said.
Arissa nudged towards the window. “Reading,” she answered.
The teacher looked up at the sky, holding her gaze for a few seconds before answering, “Concentrate on what’s in front.”
Arissa tried but whatever was written out in the sky was far more gripping than the second scene of the third act of King Lear.