THE VIVID STRANGENESS of today perplexes me, although it was surely not noteworthy, to begin with.

I awoke and washed as my regular routine begins, sifted through my neatly-arranged, colour coded closet (I cannot live in an environment of disarray), to find my favourite article of clothing; a black hooded sweatshirt with thick blue horizontal stripes, a dark pair of tight cotton denim and burgundy sneakers. I chose this particular attire because I wished to achieve a casual, yet classic look for when I received perhaps the most important letter of my young life, telling me I have won an all-expense-paid education at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. Casual as to not look too eager, like I expected to win, but classic to leave a positive impression on others of my appearance.

I was highly confident that the reward was mine. Why would I not be? I have always had a profound effect on people; I give them a new outlook on their lives, simply by speaking. It is what bred to do. It seemed only natural to expect to win this contest like I have every other one before it.

I retired to the cafeteria with ease, completely calm and collected, dreaming about the limitless intelligence I would gain in the next few years, and the prestige that would follow it. I grinned at the thought.

I greeted my peers as I seated myself at the table with the top students at Campbell, making sure to smile politely at each one, but not saying a word as I stirred my cinnamon and flax seed porridge, my regular breakfast, attempting to appear as though nothing out of the ordinary was about to happen.

The reason I feel so strange now is because nothing out of the ordinary did happen. No announcement over the intercom telling of the outstanding achievement I had accomplished, no formal telegram from Professor Rupert, explaining the incredible, thought-provoking speech I had given; nothing at all. The minutes eventually turned into an hour and I was forced to attend my classes, my confusion turning to forlorn as I realized that I had not won the competition.

For once in my life, I was not the best. I attempted to convince myself that there must have been some mistake in communication; that I had nothing to pity about, the university officials were simply waiting until after school hours to deliver my unlimited scholarship.

And yet, the school day ended, and still there ceased to be any word for me. I continued to deny losing the competition, until my personal speaking instructor, Ms. McKinstry, approached me as I was retreating to my dormitory.

"Mr. Riverton," she addressed me.

Her face appeared as though it were engraved in shock.

"I--You..." she was stuttering, highly out of her character. "A girl from Kennedy Learning Institution won the competition." She exhaled nervously, avoiding eye contact with me.

"I was not aware of the topic of your speech," she continued. "You must be sure to inform people of that if they are to ask."

And with that, she turned on her heel and left. I stood silently in the corridor and listened to the clicking of her shoes until the noise disappeared down the hall. I too was in shock.

This is why I have an inability to concentrate. This is the first competition I have lost in my entire student career. Are there more losses to come? Am I loosing my ability to change people, or was the other student's speech drastically better than my own?

To keep my mind from consuming itself, I force myself to dream, to relax. I lie on my bed, surrounded by white in my spotless dormitory.

I reside in a single dormitory for resting and studying; I requested as much, as I prefer the company of myself rather than my socially-awkward companions. The students who do choose to live with roommates almost never converse, excluding brief discussions about what is being served for breakfast, or who's turn it is to clean the lavatory. One cannot say that I do not enjoy the occasional conversation with a proper intellect, but rarely do I encounter any fascinating peers at this institution. But I will admit, it does get rather lonesome, being solitary in nearly all my free time.

To keep my mind occupied, I have developed a hobby of avid daydreaming. I lie on my bed at stare at the blank ceiling for hours on end, creating imaginary scenes in my mind to pass the time. Some illusions can get quite complicated; I've gotten quite good at it, actually. You may find it foolish to think one could acquire a skill as a daydreamer, however, I truly believe it is my hidden talent. I can imagine anything I want, and it will be as if it is real. Visions so spectacular and dazzling, so realistic, that my being gets lost within them. (Just to clear the air, I am not a narcotics user or administering any type of drug to feel this effect. It is all harmless make-belief, simply to stunt my boredom when I grow uninterested in doing school work or studying leisurely.)

My room is completely and spotlessly white, making my imaginative endeavors an easy task. Today I am especially inclined to relax myself by inducing these visions, for I am not able to concentrate on any other activities. I decide to take myself to the most relaxing place I can imagine. My favourite self-induced dream, in which I find myself frequently returning to, goes as such:

I am sitting in a meadow. A gentle breeze brushes across my skin, the sun warm, my body a sponge that absorbs pleasurable feelings and warmth. I am fully at peace.

I brush my hair with my fingertips; it is as soft as the healthy green grass beneath my body. My hair's dark auburn colour soaks in the sun's rays, making it warm to the touch. The trees and shrubs around me cascade shadows in the afternoon, providing shade and beauty to this perfect scene. Daisies scatter across the grass like freckles on the bridge of a child's nose in the summer months. Rarely do I have the opportunity to observe such a magnificent scene. There appears to be no order in this world around me, and yet, everything seems to be perfectly in its place. In this place, this flawless meadow, I am fully at peace.

My fingers curl around the grass. I lie on my back under a willow tree that guards my delicate eyes against the bright shining sun. Every ounce of stress seeps from my being and dissipates into the atmosphere. I exhale deeply, listening to the sound of my breath. I pluck a daisy from the earth and spin it between my fingertips. I return it to the earth as I allow my arms to fully relax once more. Warmth is absorbed through my skin and warms my entire being. All stresses are released.

A gentle rapping awakes me from my vision. I quickly rise from my bed and pace to the door.

"Who is it?" I ask the door.

"Mr. Riverton, it is Professor Rupert."

Shocked, I take a quick glance across my room, assuring it is suitable for Professor Rupert's viewing. The possibility that there has been a mistake in the winner releases winged insects into my abdomen. It is possible that events of this morning were simply for the amusement of my educators, wanting to further dramatize my reaction to receiving the scholarship. I smile at this, opening the door.

"Professor Rupert, please come in."

He steps inside. I gesture for him to sit in the chair in front of my desk, and I take a seat on my bed across from it.

"I'm surprised you've come to my dormitory. Nothing the matter, I hope," I speak politely.

"Nothing to be worried about, Mr. Riverton. I wanted to speak with you privately here," he assures.

I listen intently, nodding, but not interrupting.

"You are a very deep thinker, Mr. Riverton. Your speech was, by far, the most introspective thing I have ever had the opportunity to listen to. You have no idea how enlightening it is to hear a young man like yourself give such an interesting, and provoking opinion, with such depth on the topic."

I am starting to believe my theory is correct.

"But you see, Mr. Riverton, I could never let you win the scholarship to Campion with a speech on that subject. Especially when such a crowd of people was listening with me."

My heart is about to drop to the pit of my stomach, but I catch it before I allow myself to feel that sinking emotion of disappointment. There must be a very good reason for Professor Rupert to come here, especially if I lost the competition.

"I hope you realize what controversy a speech like yours can cause. Many people who used to admire you now despise you. You understand this, I am sure."

I nod.

"I was aware that many would find it appalling, but my intention was to enlighten people and leave a significant impression. I thought it would be worth the criticism," I say defensively.

"And you certainly did leave a great impression, Mr. Riverton. What I mean to get across to you is, a majority of the population simply is not ready for thinkers like you. They are so used to hearing the same thing for so many years, that they do not understand it any other way. The idea of change scares them, and so they do not wish to hear it."

I nod, continuing to decipher what his message could be. I listen thoughtfully, studying his body language. He sits up straight against the back of my chair, his face stern but gentle. Professor Rupert has spent many years perfecting that unreadable face. My efforts to determine his thoughts are futile. I must wait for him to tell me.

"Do you have a theory as to what I am attempting to say, Mr. Riverton?"

"In all honesty Professor Rupert," I rub my brow. "Not the slightest."

He laughs. "This is a first, I'm sure."

Professor Rupert's expression remains serious, but he smiles slightly. He brushes a strand of hair from his forehead, creased with wrinkles. His dark hair grays at the temples, hairline receding. Thin lines trail from the end of his nostrils to the corners of his lips, embedding in his skin. His face is perfectly clean-shaven, excluding a few hairs missed just beneath his nose. His eyes are set deep in his head, age permanently giving him the appearance of sleep depreciation. His mouth is pale and dry. His expression appears dull and usual, but, although I have not the slightest idea what his thoughts are, I am highly aware he has something critical to tell me.

"You are a brilliant young man," he continues. "Your speech was also brilliant. But it left me urning for more. And not the way the ending of a good novel leaves you, or the last minute of a film. Rather, it can be compared to the cliffhanger at the end of a chapter; something that urges the reader to read on, to grasp their attention." I nod, still not fully aware of his meaning.

"Mr. Riverton, with you, there is still much more to come. That speech can be compared to the preview of an intriguing film, or the prologue of a gripping novel; I need to see more." I nod in understanding.

"You would like me to continue my research on this topic?"

"I suggest, Mr. Riverton, that you do more than research. There has not been any changes or revolutions in our society for many generations. At the moment, your ideas terrify the general population, but it also intrigues them. They want to learn more, but they fear the possible outcomes. I want you to introduce your ideas to the world, in a way they can understand."

I stare thoughtfully, nodding.

"Mr. Riverton, up until this point, no one has ever dared to question the pattern of society. As you recited in your speech, you are either 'born smart or born stupid,' put simply. You admit yourself that you were aware your ideas would have a reaction, but I do not believe you realize how greatly this is going to impact you."

"What do you suggest I do?" I ask thoughtfully.

"I suggest, Mr. Riverton, that you get out into the world. Go spend some time in Class A, B and C communities. Converse with them. Metro, you are going to be making headlines across the world: the boy who dared to challenge the way we are trained to think."

The thought of this intrigues me.

"If you decide to follow through with this, I highly suggest keeping a record of your findings. You are going to need to come up with a way to introduce your evidence to people, keep in mind. I also suggest that you keep your plans as confidential as possible, to avoid unwanted media attention. Anyway, I'm sure you are aware of all these things. I must leave those decisions up to you."

He rises.

"As I said previously, you are unique in your thinking, Mr. Riverton. The world is lacking minds like yours."

He proceeds to the door.

"Thank you Proffessor Rupert."

"You are very welcome." He steps into the corridor. "We'll be in contact."

The door closes gently, almost silently. I am left enveloped in my thoughts, my mind spinning.