Word.

“F!”
Down the left pinky comes.
“R!”
My right index finger reaches over my left to press the key. The click comes with an instant flood of guilt. I search for the backspace button.
“O!”
Damn. One letter behind. My pressing tongue threatens to collapse the pallet of my mouth in mutiny against the brain. Nothing changes. The muscles of my neck quiver in undiluted frustration until I start seeing everything through something of abstract stained glass. It is red.
“G!”
It is over. All over. The tower has fallen. I have lost. Armageddon has come, and the demons have come to reap what is left from my body and cast it down to Hell. My head falls back behind my chair and the base of my neck hurts. I don’t move. I deserve the pain. The pain hurts. I move.
Now, miraculously, unceremoniously, “backspace” comes to view. I could swear I’d been over that vicinity. But no… crap lies. I bring my right index finger over, over, over, and it hovers over the key. Remembering what Mr. Carter had said, I now move my hand to the left, to the left, and press backspace with the deranged mutant of the family, the pinky. Now “O.” I bring up my index from its perch and begin to press, but pull away because it is zero and I have found the real “O,” where I had just moved the index finger from. I press it. Immensely satisfied with my work, I take a moment’s rest before tackling “G”. I lean my head back against the chair brace once again, but this time it is the bulb of my head that supports it. It is comfortable, and I take my time before moving on. Recalling my defeat, I cry. After I cry, I move on.
I bring my head forward until it is perpendicular to the seat and then relax. My head naturally swings forward, and my eyes stab at the letter “G” immediately. I begin to press with my left index. There is a misunderstanding in the wiring of my fingers and the clone of my index, the ring, the handicapped ring that never does anything but boast, goes down with the index. “G.”

“S.” My ring finger types. I look up at the computer screen to check my work.

Next to “F!”, “R!”, “O!”, and “G!”, the letter “S!” flashes, a bonus letter. The letter I had accidently typed. Next to it are the 4 words that changed my life. The 4 words that I had spent hours and days training hard to achieve.

“You are a winner.”

I sit back.
And truly believe.
I am.