The Symbol of My Success

Friday morning I sat at the front of my senior class homeroom waiting for the school paper to be passed around. I waiting anxiously, knowing that once I received it I would know how good of a writer I really am.

The final school paper was printed in the school library just before the announcements began. Kyrie Parker, head of the school newspaper staff, along with his subordinates, carried stacks of newspapers around the building; thirty copies per classroom.

When the paper arrived to my classroom, I was the first person to get a paper. I nearly knocked down five of my classmates to get to the first paper. With a school paper in my hands, I returned to my seat, preparing for what was about to reveal the truth behind my level of my writing.

About a mouth prior to this, I had submitted one of, what I believe to be, my best stories. I titled it Symbol of Success. The story told a tale about a young boy who had achieve little success in his life but dreamt of one day of becoming a man of strength and courage. After receiving a lion's bite on his right leg, he was viewed as a man full of bravery and courage. His scar was his symbol of his success.

The head of the English Department at my school, Professor Cullen, who later confirmed that she would include a review of my story in the latest school paper, read my story. Professor Cullen was always known for her rough criticism. Impressing her was very hard to do but I wanted to be the first to do so. I wanted my story to be the first story to receive a positive review from the school's toughest critic.

I sat at the edge of my seat as I read through the other story reviews. There wasn't one story that got more than three stars. I flipped through the pages, frantically searching for the review for my story. When I saw the title of my story on the last page, I paused. Now that I actually found my story in the paper, I was no longer anxious to read the review. I believed that there was no way that my story would be any better than the other stories in the paper.

It was long after that I heard someone yell out "Five stars?! Five stars?! Seriously," from behind me. I turned around and saw the shocked expression of Gene Carlo Mera's face. "Will, you're story got five stars!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I turned my attention back to my story and saw the five stars at the end of the review that I had not read yet. The sight of the first fives stars in the paper had me puzzled. "Could it be true?" Is this for real?" I thought to myself.

I scanned through the review written by Professor Cullen. She wrote that I was blessed with an intellectual capacity for story writing that my school does not challenge that and that I am thinking much deeper than what my school had to offer.

I was proud: proud that I achieved what that I thought was impossible. For so long I believed that I wasn't as good as I thought I was, that my talents were a mere fa§ade I made to cover up my lack of writing skills. But this review proved me wrong. It proved to me that I am truly a good writing and that there is a future ahead for me in the field of fiction writing. Those fives stars meant the world to me. Those fives stars became the symbol of my success.