Luck has a way of making life wonderful. At a meeting of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the expected rankings of films were discussed before voting began.

Interestingly, Richard's chances for Best Supporting Actor were considered last, while his adapted screenplay was surprisingly ranked third.

When it came time to vote, it was unclear whether the judges gave Richard sympathy votes simply because they remembered his face, or if they genuinely appreciated his work.

Alternatively, it's possible that the top contenders' intense rivalry led to a split vote, allowing Richard to benefit from the situation, much like a fisherman reaping the rewards at the end of the day. Whatever the reason, luck undoubtedly played a significant role in the outcome.

When Philip Dunne's voice rang through the auditorium, announcing the award for Best Adapted Screenplay, the words etched themselves into the air like a spell.

"The best-adapted screenplay goes to... E.T., Richard Jackson!"

All research, discussion, and reasoning were rendered irrelevant. What remained was the stark reality that an accident had occurred, and history had been made.

In that fleeting moment, his brain went blank. The world faded into a dazzling blur, sharp sounds muted, and his racing thoughts silenced.

It wasn't until he felt the solid embrace of his mother, her tears of joy wet against his skin, that reality rushed back in.

"Yes!" he yelled, laughter threading through his exhilaration as he hugged Steven Spielberg, the maestro behind the masterpiece that was E.T.

Bounding toward the stage, his legs were washed in elation, propelling him forward. He required no coaching; instinct guided him. He hugged Dunne, accepted the trophy, and held it as if it were the universe.

Closing his eyes, he let the weight sink into his palms—not just a trophy, but the embodiment of dreams and efforts laid bare. At that moment, it felt as if he were reborn once again.

"Thank you, thank you,” he stammered into the microphone, raising the trophy high, and inciting laughter from the audience.

"Judges, I owe you my gratitude for recognizing my work," he continued, his voice steady but barely masking the thrill.

"It doesn’t feel real. I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Steven, for taking my story and making a magical movie. To all the crew members, you worked tirelessly. And to my mom and dad, your support has been my anchor."His voice trembled as he glanced at his mother, who, despite the tears streaming down her face, radiated with pride.

A grin spread across David's face, as he watched from the TV at their home in New York. However, his smile was tinged with a hint of regret, as he wished he could have joined them in person, but work obligations had kept him rooted in the city.

Richard looked back at the audience. "Finally, I hope this isn’t the last time I come to this stage."

With those words trailing behind him, Richard left the stage, the collective applause washing over him like a tidal wave—a standing ovation for a boy who had inadvertently made history.

As the evening progressed, the tension mounted with each award announcement. "E.T.," has been a favorite among audiences and critics alike. It was even more so, with the accident that happened.

However, fate took a turn when "Gandhi," the epic biopic directed by Richard Attenborough, began to sweep the awards, claiming the Best Actor and Best Director trophies.

Steven Spielberg couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as he watched his masterpiece fall short in the face of "Gandhi's" dominance. Despite his own loss in the Best Director category, Spielberg graciously applauded Richard Attenborough's well-deserved win.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Carol Burnett, a beacon of grace, glided onto the stage to present the Best Picture award. Her warmth enveloped the audience, momentarily easing the tension. Nominees were called one by one, and with every name, a collective breath was held tight. Richard had reveled in the accolades, but even he felt a tremor of nervousness as "E.T." and "Gandhi" bore down on him like the final duel in a Western film.

One film won the award for Best Editing, which traditionally indicates that the winner of this category often takes home the Best Picture award as well. Meanwhile, "Gandhi" was a major favorite throughout the ceremony, securing six awards, including Best Actor and Best Director.

Finally, it happened. Carol Burnett, with her captivating smile, opened the envelope. The spotlight felt almost blinding, and time seemed to stretch. “The Oscars for Best Picture goes to…” she paused, deliciously hanging in the air. “Gandhi!”

The hall erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause. The crew of "Gandhi" surged forward, their faces alight with joy.

On the other hand, the team behind "E.T." could only watch in silent disappointment as their hopes for the top prize faded away. Despite winning several awards, including Best Editing, the alien adventure ultimately fell short of claiming the ultimate accolade.

As the curtain closed on the 55th Academy Awards, the media descended into a frenzy. The spotlight shone brightly on "Gandhi" and Richard Attenborough, who emerged as the night's biggest winners with a total of seven awards out of their eleven nominations. Meanwhile, "E.T." secured five wins out of its ten nominations, placing it in a respectable second position.

Discussions filled the airwaves about the historic best-adapted screenplay accident, and the sentimental tales of a young child who would forever be immortalized in Oscar discussions sparked varied dialogues at dinner tables across the nation.

As the night waned on, individual winners and nominees retired to their own celebrations, marking the end of another memorable Oscars ceremony. Since Vanity Fair did not initiate their post-Oscar party tradition.

Many attendees found themselves drawn to the after-party for “E.T.” where the atmosphere felt both electric and intimate.

Among them, at the party for "E.T.," midst of the swirling conversations outside the grand auditorium, Richard found solace within the sliding walls of the after-party.

He leaned against the cold, unforgiving wall, surveying the vibrancy of the celebration with a bemused expression. Socializing was demanding, and he was tired of the repetitive exchanges filled with congratulations and odes. After all, he was not even 10 years old.

A soft voice cut through the throng, breaking his reverie. Richard turned to find himself face to face with a stunning woman, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hey, congratulations on winning an Oscar," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

“Thank you, Beautiful Lady,” he responded, flashing his charming grin.

“Oh my, how charming!” she teased, tilting her head in amusement.

Richard chuckled shyly, responding, “Hello, my fair lady. I’m Richard Jackson,” adopting a gentlemanly tone (pun intended).

The woman giggled at his demeanor. “Nice to meet you, Richard. I'm Judy Foster.”

Recognition sparked in Richard's eyes. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Foster. If I am not wrong, you are an actress; you appeared in 'Taxi Driver'."

Judy raised an eyebrow, impressed by the young boy's knowledge. "Yes, I have. But aren't you too young to see that film?"

A mischievous glint flickered in Richard's eyes. "I really liked your performance in it. My mother had a tape of that film at our home, and I watched it secretly."

Judy Foster's laughter rang out, a clear, bell-like sound that charmed all who heard it. "Thank you. See you again then, young man," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she turned to leave.

“Goodbye, Ms. Foster. I hope we can collaborate in the future,” he said, watching as she walked away.

“Absolutely,” Judy replied.

As Richard watched her go, a spark of inspiration ignited within him. Meeting Judy Foster had been an unexpected gift, a chance encounter that held the promise of future collaborations. The puzzle of the leading actress for "Sleepless in Seattle" seemed to have found its missing piece; perhaps he wouldn't need to search for Meg Ryan after all. All he needed was to finish the script that had been brewing in his mind, nurtured by his creativity and fueled by his dreams of success.

After the success of the sixth sense, people will definitely take it.

With his ideas swirling, Richard navigated through the thrumming celebration until he spotted Steven Spielberg.

“Hey, Steven!” he called, his mood brightening with renewed hope.

“Richard! What can I do for you, kid?” Steven’s voice boomed warmly above the pulsating laughter and chatter

A surge of excitement coursed through Richard's veins. "Remember the promise you made at the 'E.T.' box office success party?"

Steven's face lit up with amusement. "Ah, yes, I remember. Just like this one. Don't tell me you already have a script ready."

"Of course, I have," Richard replied confidently, a glint of pride shining in his eyes.

Steven chuckled, “Damn kid, give me some of your inspiration.”

“Sorry, inspiration is for my use only,” Richard quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

The two burst into laughter.

"Hahaha... Send the script to my office tomorrow, and I'll take a look at it," Steven said, still chuckling.