The Bottom Shelf Review

Deuxième Place

Like a moth drawn to a flame,
She stared at the 101 rested beside the excellent,
In bright yellow ink.
It said “Excellent!” not “Good Job”

Her chest’s metronome slowed,
and her shaky leg reduced to a tremble.

She looked to her friend,
Showing them her grade.
Her genuine smile,
Became one that was stitched,
As she saw the 102 rested beside a perfect.

The light of her paper seemed to dim,
As she realized the ink wasn’t yellow,
It was black, just like it had always been.

A Shadow’s Company