Emilia sat at her desk, her hands folded in front of her. She was in Mrs Richards� 7th grade Literature class. In her hands, she held a copy of A Tale of Two Cities, yet she held it shut, not wishing to peruse its pages. She lay her head upon her desk. This was not like her, the great writer and student. She was usually working, creating something, or showing off to her classmates, but not today.
"Bling" went the bell. The class flooded out the door. Emilia was the only one that lingered. She placed her book in her backpack. Not a word left her mouth. Anyone who looked upon her would hardly guess that she was blessed with any great gift, she held her head so low.
She lifted her backpack onto her shoulder and seemed to shrink under its great weight. She went to the door, yet did not go out. Emilia stayed there her face withered and pale. She turned back, not wishing to leave.
Her teacher came over to her, with a worried look about her. "What is it, Emilia?" she asked as she placed her arm around the girl.
"I lost! I lost!" she cried.
"Sshh..." Mrs Richards cooed. "It's alright."
"But...but I lost..." Emilia looked up at her teacher with streams of water flooding down her cheeks.
"Sshhh... It's okay," Mrs Richards held the girl close. "There's a first time for everything."
Emilia gasped for breath. "But, I never lose. I've always won, for as long as I can remember. I didn't expect this at all."
"Don't fret, dear. There is nothing shameful in losing, but it is the way that we lose that matters. Do you still consider yourself a winner for entering?"
"No!"
"Than you still have a great way to go, my dear. But, remember, you are only a loser if you give up or don't try your absolute best."
Emilia nodded.
Mrs Richards smiled. "Here, take this with you, but do not read it until you're home." She handed Emilia a piece of folded paper and sent her on her way.
* * * * *
"John Townsend Trowbridge (off: author)
If you will observe, it does n�t take
A man of giant mould to make
A giant shadow on the wall;
And he who in our daily sight
Seems but a figure mean and small,
Outlined in Fame�s illusive light,
May stalk, a silhouette sublime,
Across the canvas of his time
P.S. Keep at it, sweetie!"
Emilia bit her lip to hold back her tears.