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My hands felt bloody cold, though the sweat trickled down my neck from the heat off my body. My fingers carefully touched the mouth of the seal and began to rip it open, with every pull shrieked a tear. My heart beats faster. In a minute's time, the result would be obvious.

A silver hope of confidence burst out of me as I ripped the last flap of the seal from the paper folder. I kissed the seat and opened the envelope that reveals two of the most important paper of my life at this point. I took a deep breath, shoulders and chest high up in the air. My fingers shivered a little bit, then I drew it out.

Perhaps I was expecting too much that I am subconsciously prepared for the worst, or at least what was expected. My shoulders fell pulling down a hunched back as if a crate of rocks tumbled on it. My eyes were dead when I spotted the C's, then completely stripped from its liveliness when the two subjects I hoped for had rested with Bs. I looked into the envelop for more paper, surely this isn't just it? Surely I had more As? I was sure I had worked for it!

None. I fell back to the cushion seat as soft as leaning against splinters. All the heat rose up to my head, and I was drained in confusion. The sun shone brightly against the empty sky bristled and blinded me. My ears were could not receive anything. Numbness was felt and I could not move my body as freely as I want. Everything had no life.

It was only those few seconds of deep silence and remorse did I realise that I'm in for it. Trouble is waiting at bay and I am drawing nearer to it. I pulled all my energy to focus on Dad in the front seat. He did not move, he did not flinch. I could not tell the emotion out of the man. It was then he turned his head half to my direction and asked for the papers. Hesitation held me, but to hold it for longer is to sign a death warrant. So I drew a white flag and surrendered.

He read it out loud. His confidence was significant though my hearings were frail. I was unsure what I could make of it. He did not look happy, he did not look sad, nor driven by anger. What's really on his mind? Is it bad?

He gave back the paper to me politely for me to keep in the envelope. I did, and with all my anger gushing in a moment, I wished I would have brought a match with me to burn it.

Dad was surprisingly ok with it. He joked a little, and tried to make things better. Even so, such devices at such times could not avoid the heavy silence that followed right after, prolonging most of the journey home.

I wasn't too sure if I am in a land full of mines, or that my safety was well assured but I sure was lost. I could not decide where to rest - my bed, the computer table, or on the sofa. I was itching to forget, but I did not know what to do. I turned on my iPod, but it just sounded like a radio full of anonymous songs clearly not suited to the mood. Nothing was right, and it was a cycle I've grown to hate over the years. It has gone on for hours.

One thing was clear... Mum cried. Of tears of happiness or sadness, that has yet to be revealed.