Up, Down, Gone.

No one ever taught her how to tell time. Or what how to read. Her lefts and rights and norths and souths.

And all the one way signs are facing each other.
"I'm just looking for which way is up," she says.

But everyone keeps avoiding eye contact when they walk down the halls. No one will tell her if she's standing on the grass or hanging from the sky. The world was never meant to be so cruel. 

"Excuse me but can you point up?"
That's a strange thing to ask, and strange things should be avoided, like eye contact. 
You'd think she would know which way is up by now when everyone keeps staring at the ground. 

But her only logic is that either the cracks in the cement or the lightning must be pretty damn interesting. But she can't tell which one.

"Up, is that you?"

Up is a little busy right now. 
Up doesn't care if you recognize her.
Up doesn't know how lost you are.

Up only knows which way she is, and that she has nothing in common with you.

ESTHER.