A/N: Well, this a new story, it's short, i worte it for my english class. I had to write about a tragdey, and yea, this is what came of that. Tell me what you think.
Thanks.

- I don't know why it's all squished on teh side like that ... . ... damn computers...

The greatest tragedy in life is the realization of reality. Being thrown from the comfort of your own

fictitious world, into the cold, sharp, stabbing grasps of real life. I continuously look back and I

wonder. I wonder if thongs could have gone differently. I constantly look back and answer my own

questions. Obviously, things could have gone differently. Things can always go differently. There is

never only one outcome to a situation, there is always at least two. I could be dead, I could be

starving, but no, I am alive, and I am well. Everyone’s tragedies are there own, we have to accept

that. Tragedies come in different degrees, in different forms. I am Caleb Forrester, and this, is my

tragedy.

I sat down at my usual table, between my two best friends; Wynter Vere and Grant Glanville. The

three of us had known each other since seventh grade, and we were practically inseparable. As I sat

down, Wynter, slammed her hands down on the table, and looked at me. I raised my eyebrows at

her.

“What?” I asked.

“Have you heard about the essay writing contest!? It’s a cash prize if you win!” she exclaimed,

her pale cheeks tinging slightly pink in enthusiasm, and the corners of her eyes crinkling in

excitement.

“Cool,” I muttered, while taking a bite of my lunch.

“Dude, you love essays, you should be completely psyched! I think I’m gonna go for it too, I

mean, cash prize, who couldn’t use that?” Grant said, slapping my back and shoveling fork fulls of

food into his gluttonous mouth.

“Slow down your eating there bud, or you’re gonna choke,” I suggested calmly, with a smile.

Grant just shrugged and shoved more food into his mouth, and then eyed Wynter’s food greedily.

“No, you pig,” she spat, bringing her lunch closer to her.

“So, are you?” Grant asked me. I nodded, making note to swallow my food before speaking,

“Of course. What’s the essay on?”

“A social problem of your choice... I think,” Wynter answered. The rest of our lunch period was

spent chatting amicably. The bell rang and we collected our stuff and went to English class. The

teacher had her back to us and was writing something on the chalkboard. Once the whole class was

seated, the teacher turned to look at us.

“Okay. Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. First of all, today, I would like to tell you all about

the essay contest. The goal is to write one thousand words on a problem that we have in society

today. It is an opinionated or informative essay, and the first place winner receives a cash prize of

five hundred dollars. I would be very proud, if at least half of you participated. Remember though,

aim not for the money, but for the lessons learned and the knowledge gained, for it is a far better

reward. Now, onto the class...” she said, before droning into her lecturing class talk. I felt Grant

nudge my foot with his under the desk.

“Five hundred eh, I’m gonna make damn sure I win this thing,” he whispered excitedly. I could

almost see the dollar signs glinting in his eyes. I shrugged.

“I’m just gonna do it ‘cause I want to. Win or loose, it will be an experience,” I said, copying

notes from the board. I heard Grant snort beside me, and saw him shake his head out of the corner of

my eye.

For the next month, I worked hard on my essay, gathering facts, and writing down my thoughts

and opinions. I wrote and I wrote, draft after draft. My final copy was something I was immensely

proud of. Even if I came in last place, I had pride in my work, and that was enough. Three days

before the papers were due, I asked Grant how his was coming along, and if he liked it. He shrugged

and took a bite out of a cookie.

“Haven’t started yet,” was his casual answer.

“You do know that it’s due in three days right?” I asked, my eyes almost popping out of my head.

“ Yea, yea, don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” he said with another casual shrug. I sighed and

hoped to hell my friend knew what he was doing.

I presently find myself standing on a stage in a large auditorium, in front of a thousand or more

people, reading my essay. My first place, winning essay. I am proud of my work. I am happy with

my paper, however, I am not happy, standing here, reading it to my peers. Grant, my ex-best friend,

is glowering at me from somewhere in the large sea of people. He didn’t win, disqualified. His essay,

plagiarized. I believe it. The judges said it was good, but they’d read it before.

I finish reading my essay and the crowd applauds. Wynter stands up and whistles. I look to the

ground. I didn’t join the contest to win. I joined for my own pleasure, the lessons I learned and the

knowledge I gained. I didn’t join to have a friend turn against me, clouded by jealousy.

There is a lesson in all of this though. If you work hard, you will get the prize. If you don’t you

will surely fail. I didn’t join to win, and I did. Grant joined out of pure greed, and lost. Is my ending

a happy one? I don’t think so. I won money, but I’m lacking a friend, and money can’t buy

friendship. I am Caleb Forrester, and this, is my tragedy.