Test Of Time

• Elizabeth Mosmann, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2017

He looked up to the cold white roof of his bedroom, feeling lonelier than ever. He could feel an emptiness in his stomach knowing what was about to happen. He had not doubt that the news his father was about to discuss would yet again remind him of the weak, dumb, runt of a son that his father thought him of.

He could hear the short heavy footsteps of his father as he strolled quickly down the hallway. The large man entered the room, one of his broad shoulders leaning against the doorframe before he started his intense lecture.

“ Show me the test” His father's authoritative, voice ordered him.

His hands were shaking as he reached under his bed to take out the Math test with a red F on it. The mark seemed to be teasing him, rubbing in the fact that he had failed, that HE was a failure. He bowed his head in shamed as he passed the paper to the man before him.

“ You have been given everything you need to succeed. . One day you will have to come and work with me, but i only accept the finest workers, and you, my little runt, the weakling, might not make the cut.” The man took a breath before continuing.

While his father was talking, thoughts rushed through the teenagers head. Why did one little math test matter out of hundreds?It was only one little piece of paper, It could easily be destroyed, never to be seen again. Besides, Maths was hardly worth anything, he would much prefer studying Islam instead. He clenched his fists to fight off the desire to lash out at his father,. He could feel his face turning beetroot as the man continued.

“ You will one day have to make a living for yourself the real world, and i will not be here to help you”. His knuckles were turning white as he crumpled the piece of paper.

The blows kept on coming, and although they were only words, to the young boy it felt like a train running him over, again and again, until suddenly he couldn’t even hear him talking anymore. He looked at his father, the successful father that had built a business empire and couldn’t be anymore ashamed of himself.

His father was fuming, smoke billowing out of his eyes and nose.
“Son, you are nothing You will do nothing in this world , you are a fool, you are weak, You are worthless.” The words came spitting out. “I am ashamed to have you under my name, ashamed to have you as my son.”

At this he seemed satisfied , knowing how upset he had made the boy. He left the room, leaving the innocent boy, once again, alone. At the sound of his footsteps with his expensive Italian leather shoes getting softer and softer, the boy assured himself that one day everybody across the world would know and speak his name, Osama Bin Laden.