Brimming with confidence, there was nothing that could take him down, nothing that would break what he had found and in his rush to understand the simple wording that would cover his mind he almost lost himself in the rush of his daily learning. He wanted to impress everyone, wanted to show off what he felt confident about and would try and be as precise in his revision of everything he wrote. Yet as good as things can get, they seem to remind you that this is a double edged sword and to fall upon the blade was a dirty deed. Excited to receive the marks of the next written piece, he was left in shock as he opened up the folder to reveal a D, His grammar had been subject to stringent examination, his process of written word torn apart and as he read the different remarks he slowly dropped his head for it was the edge of the sword that came down upon him.

His disappointment in the grade reflected on the day as it seemed the sun had melted away and was replaced by the clouds and the dampening of his spirit was such that he was not able to think. Even seeing Mrs. Miles made his day seem worse and he could not have been in a worse place for it seemed to him that every time she looked at him it was in a tone of pure disappointment. His heart was at breaking point and his mind ready to explode, he had no answers, no revelation as why it seemed that everything that he had built up and all his work was destroyed by this simple singular paper. What had he done wrong? He did not know the answer to the question nor the answers to all the other questions that were swimming all over his mind. Distraught he headed home after what felt like an eternity of thought with in his mind and as he reached the door he hesitated for he was afraid of what might be said to him this day.

As he opened the door his “mother” stood there smiling with his favourite lunch time meal and with his head bowed down he felt like retreating to a dark corner to never being seen again until he heard her soft voice say to him about how glad she was that he was home. He slowly looked up and she could see the mark of sadness upon him to which she could no longer hold back, she pulled on him and tugged him into he embrace. She did not say a word to him nor expect any in return, for all she wanted was for him to revel in the safety that her arms provided, the security that she could offer if he would let her and after a an initial moment of shock he accepted the embrace and even allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment until he stepped back and apologised to her. He pulled out the paper and handed it to her as if it was a cursed item and fighting back the tears he looked into her eyes as she smiled to him and said that he had no reason to fear a D, it was a letter of the alphabet that followed after C and went before E and that no matter what she was still so proud of him.

He could not understand how she was not disappointed him, why did she not scold or scream at him or punish him in some way? Did she not notice the remarks written on the page, or the mistakes that he had made. Why was he safe and not cowering as he was expecting to have to do, hiding away from what was to him the inevitable disappointment that to him was meant come, why did she still seem so happy that he had arrived safely and had been in her arms?

Again he felt that he had done wrong that night as his father walked through the door and again he wanted to run, to find some sort of hiding space, but this time it was different, he wasn’t scared nor worried for the fear of punishment. It was his father and his greatest hurt was that he would be ashamed of him, ashamed of what he would hear and how disappointed his father would be. Instead he was called to supper and it wasn’t even spoken of, there was no mention of it, not a single word and at the end of the meal Zach could no longer keep it in and turned to his father, “Why are you not angry with me?” he asked as if it was something that was he was expecting to be ravishing him with insults followed by the blows that he knew so well. Yet this gentle man took no pleasure in the pain that he saw in this young mans face, it saddened him to no end, for he knew that for no fault of his own, Zach was a scarred little boy and it would take years to deal with each separate scar on its own.

He called the boy to his study and asked him to sit down and as Zach sat down in front of this old wooden desk, his father asked softly if he knew where he had gone wrong between the first paper and this second one that he had received. Zachary had no response, no answer to the question for he felt that he had prepared for this paper longer and harder than the first and with a simple shrug he softly answered how he could not understand what he done wrong. His father softly pulled out the paper from his draw and asked Zach to read each comment carefully to him.

The first was a simple one and easy enough to understand it read – What went wrong? The second and third were for more worlds but boiled down to almost the exact same thing – Why was this so different? But it was when he read the fourth when something hit him and it too was very easy to understand – what happened to the mind that could scale the Highlands of Scotland and who replaced it with a book of fact and no fun? I guess it was at this stage that he sat before his father and read out loud what he had written, each fact, each detail, each undeniable reason and it was like he, himself, did not know who had written it. There was no creativity in the piece now thought of his own, he could just as well have written out the exact book that he had studied from for this was nothing but an geographic article on an animal. That was went it hit him, they did not hate the writer but the way it was written and as he stared at that piece his father cleared his throat and as he returned his gaze to him, without saying a word. Zach replied that he had found his fault, asked to be excused and without a word he headed back up stairs.

An epiphany had dawned on him, he had taking in so such learning that he had lost himself in the words that he was not able to produce the same level of exciting work that he done before, he had this time not allowed his mind to wonder in the deepest realms of what be and what he, he left no choice but for fact to be seen and was upon the fact and not the ability to leave the reader in aw use vivid descriptions of things but explaining them in such a bland way that even the best of readers would not be able to stay awake to such a boring and dull indication of what he was describing and therefore it was as if he had known what everything was but had not seen it himself.

It was boring and dull, with none of the flair as if he had found no interest in the topic and had just thrown it together in a mad rush to finish and it made no sense to him why he had done it in such a manner for it was not who he was, it was not how he wrote. As he walked down the stairs that next morning he walked with a heavy heart and a mind filled with confusion as to why he had lost who was and why it seemed replaced it with a completely new entity, a robot if you will.

His father was waiting on him as he reached the bottom of, what felt to him, his mile long staircase and without words he walked him to the breakfast table, to an already prepared breakfast as it usually was by the time he rose from the slumber of death. He had very encouraging words that both went in but at the same time they seemed to leave him just as fast and were not helping at all. He heard his father say something about rules and about the way things change in different times. He reminded him that he was himself and that no one on this planet could be him or write like him. He reminded him to never lose himself in the statistics or the reasons for he was not an analytical writer but a emotional one and that was what described him the most and it was made him unique. He explained that in this day and age it was quality in a person that was not always shown or revealed for it never truly gave way to the scientific minds of the 21st century and it was a very sought after calibration. After his long speech about how writing had the ability to change the world he very politely asked Zach if he would like help.

Zach did not answer immediately but let the question simmer within him, letting it reach him slowly delving its way forward. Did he need help or was he fine to do as he wanted; did he want some weird person telling him how to do what he believed he already was a master at? But isn’t that the problem with the young generation? They think they know everything and they may yet get something right but unfortunately that is the extent of their genius and once that moment of brilliance is over, they brood in agony over what once was and how it had affected their lives but they would also not accept any help from anyone. As the day wore on he seemed to think more about the word help, more about the action of helping and being helped and more about the humility it would take for him to accept - let alone ask - for the help that had been offered to him.

He arrives at home and it continues to haunt him whether he would have the ability to admit not only to others but to himself as well that he needed help, that he was at fault or weak, for all these things continued to cross his mind on a regular basis. Was it that he was weak, unable, or just not ready to take on what he thought he had mastered? How was he to say yes to the help without seeming completely hopeless? These questions he pondered all day until his father arrived and as he walked in the door Zach felt it necessary to be the first at the door waiting for him to arrive and as he entered he asked if they could talk privately. His father understood each word that was spoken to him and it was nothing that he did not expect and almost had the best reasonable answers. He told him that it was not weak to ask for help but the sign of being strong, it did not mean that he was hopeless but that he had hope and best of all it was not a sign of him being immature but a sign of maturity. As all this happened Zach felt a sense of relief fill him up and weight lift off his shoulders; he asked if his father knew of anyone that could help him and his father said he would speak to the teacher and ask for a list of names.