Doing the right thing – (by Siddhanth, 6.
4)
It was a typical morning at school, and I was in the school hall with my
classmates for the morning assembly. We stood up to sing the national anthem and
recite the pledge, just like we always did. But today, something unexpected happened.
As the final notes of the anthem faded, the prefect, Jessica, made an announcement
that caught my attention: there was going to be a running competition in two weeks.
I could hardly believe it! My heart raced with excitement. I had always dreamed
of being in a running competition, but I had never gotten the chance before. Without
thinking, I punched the air with joy. But then, just as quickly as the excitement came, a
memory flashed in my mind. It was from another race, a time when things had gotten
out of hand, and I had made a mistake. I had cheated. The guilt weighed heavy on me,
but I pushed it aside. This time, I promised myself, it would be different.
The big day arrived faster than I expected. The school had arranged a coach bus
to take us to the venue, and our teachers were on board as well. As I sat on the bus,
nerves twisted in my stomach. I had been training hard, but no amount of practice could
calm my racing heart. Luckily, my favourite teacher was with us, and I struck up a
conversation to ease my anxiety. Her kind words helped soothe my nerves as the bus
rumbled toward the competition.
When we finally arrived, I could see the other runners warming up. They moved
with such speed and grace, making me feel even more nervous, but I knew I had to stay
focused. I joined in with a quick warm-up of my own, trying to calm my mind and
prepare for the race.
The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and we all took our positions at the starting
line. The excitement in the air was electric. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood
there, ready to race.
"Three! Two! One! Go!" The whistle blew, and we were off. The other runners
shot forward like bolts of lightning, and I pushed myself to keep up. I was not about to
let this chance slip away. I was determined to do my best, to make my teachers proud.
As the race progressed, I dug deep, pushing my body to the limit. Slowly, I began
to pass the other competitors, one by one. The finish line was within reach. But there
was one runner ahead of me—just one. He was fast, but I could feel myself closing the
gap. I was not going to give up.
With a final burst of speed, I found myself in second place, just behind the leader.
The finish line was so close, I could almost taste victory. But I could not stand to be
second. In a moment of desperation, I did something I was not proud of—I pushed the
runner in front of me. He stumbled, and I surged past him, crossing the finish line with a
loud cheer of triumph.
"Yes, I won!" I yelled, my chest swelling with pride. But as I stood there, basking
in the moment, a pang of guilt washed over me. The runner I had pushed was limping,
and I could see the anger in his eyes. My joy quickly turned sour.
I stood on the podium, clutching my gold medal, but it felt heavy, like a weight
around my neck. I had won, but at what cost? The guilt gnawed at me, and I knew I had
made a terrible mistake.
In that moment, I decided. I walked down from the podium, approached the
runner I had pushed, and handed him my gold medal.
"I’m sorry," I said, my voice trembling. "I shouldn’t have done that." He looked
surprised, but I could see the anger in his eyes start to fade. I then went to my teacher
and confessed. She was disappointed in me, but I understood why.
It was not the victory that mattered anymore—it was the lesson I had learned. I
realised that winning was not everything, especially if it meant hurting someone else. In
that moment, I felt a sense of pride, not for the medal, but for doing the right thing. I had
made a mistake, but I had fixed it. And that, I knew, was the real victory.
