I stand at the microphone. My feet are at the edge of a precipice that separates me from the crowd.
Their faces stare up at me, expecting a torrent of perfection to spring from my lips. My mind stutters and I have a flashback of giving a speech at school.
But this is a thousand times worse. I can't believe that I'm doing it.
I think of all the people who've stood here in the past. They have been inspirational and recognised internationally. They have been world-changers with clear vision and brave hearts.
What am I doing here, trying to follow in the footsteps of these people? The pressure is enormous. I'm astonished that my heart is still working.
Yet here I am, and I need to say something. The words that tumble out of my mouth are meticulously arranged and enunciated to any language teacher's pleasure, and they are not mine.
I do not know what I am saying. Half of the words I speak confuse me.
I have been longing for this moment all my whole life. I have always felt like it should be me on this podium, it should be me to lead this country.
But now I'm here, and I'm not liking it as much as I should. Now I'm here, I wonder how anyone has done this in the past, and come back, and done it again. It doesn't suit me at all.
The cold stares from the crowd are unrelenting. These are the people I have to protect and lead. These are the people to whom I must show loyalty and care.
These are the people who are expecting something great and inspirational from me.
These are the people who, right now, need all of the answers.
You have none, I am taunted by my brain, my hands shaking, enclosing the sheaf of paper on the lecturn.
Why are you here? These people don't want you. They want a genius. A saviour. You're just a human.
My heart fights back. Everyone else was just a human. They still won the vote. They didn't let the country fall to ruin.
Thoughts, instincts, hopes. They chase each other's tails round and round, forming dizzying circles in my sight.
Calm down.
Think.
Breathe.
I step down from the stage, forcing myself not to look into what must be the disappointed eyes of those who will be wondering at the misfit I am, ready to vote for anyone but me.
I don't even believe in the possibility of victory. Will my brain or my heart win the bet?
And finally a percentage has decided my future. I almost faint at the result. The victory - the impossible - achieved.
Sophie van Waardenberg, Year 10, St Cuthbert's College
Smooth talking to sweet victory
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