Exam Results

I’m seated on a steel chair with plastic as a cushion. Dreading the moment, I settle; breathe
in, breathe out. I await the two digits that decide my future, the two numerical values that
will draw out my life on a piece of crumbled paper.
I had been seated on this back-aching chair for an eternity when my name gets called out. I
stand up, the chair screeching on the floor, a metallic sound being produced. One step, two
step, three step. My legs are moving but my brain is whirling, the machinery in it pulling into
a stop. The teacher’s face has a sad sombre written all over it. At this moment, I regret every
decision I have ever made in my whole life.
Slowly, I approach the paper, pulling it, feeling my life crumble with every pull I make. The
paper is now settled on my hand, breathing lifelessly, mocking me. I feel my eyes prickle with
water; am I crying? The printed ink is thick and dark, screaming my results; rubbing it in my
face. I first spot the four, then the nine – forty-nine. Forty-nine. One mark away, one digit
away from drawing me a decent life, a tolerable life. This can’t be. At this point, my
shoulders are shaking as I weep, weep my lost future self, my lost hopes and dreams. I laugh
and cry, tears drip and fall on the paper, making it suck in everything, suck in my soul; my
life.
I go back to my seat. Every step an eternity, every second a lifetime. My eyes feel heavy, my
nose dripping, my head spinning. The paper lays atop my knees, moving with every breath I
take in. I can feel the numbers pointing at me, laughing at me. I laugh back, hardly feeling
anything; I’m numb.
I look to my side, seeing a student laying on the floor, sobbing hardly; the tears falling on a
ceramic tile, meeting up with the crumbled paper – his doom. His eyes are crimson red, his
nose depicting the same colour. His cheek a bruised purple. He must have been beaten up.
I glance over the beaten boy to see a girl, full of glee and pride, a grin drawn over her face.
She’s crying, but we aren’t sharing the same tears; those are tears of joy. The ink gave her a
pass, gave her a life she has been dreaming of. Her tears paint a soft smile on my face, but
then I’m greeted by my dread as I look back at my paper.
I cup my face and start to weep even more. Ironic, how a simple thing as a number can paint
your life; paint your future.