Literature
Burnt
‘What happened? You were doing so well before!’ The red-inked words stood out as if in stark relief to the rest of the exam paper, like a temperature switch being flicked downwards with a startling snap in Thomas de Lemos’s heart. At his desk beside the classroom window, he sat, words in hand, with all the eerie weight of a wax statue in a museum. ‘Thomas?’ He turned to see his classmate Oliver Lau standing by the doorway, hands in front of his waist. Fumbling with his fingers and brow furrowed, he asked, ‘Are you all right?’ Thomas drew his lips into a tight line, staring down at the floor. Eventually, he held out the paper, and this started up the clacking of a pair of shoes. The paper was tugged gently from his grasp. ‘Oh no,’ said Oliver quietly. ‘That’s awful. What a horrible thing to say. I’m so sorry, Thomas.’ Thomas looked up at him, eyes wide. Oliver smiled uncertainly. ‘At— least there’s next time— right?’ Thomas’s eyes dimmed as he took the paper back
