Test Taking

 

THEY ENTER ONE BY ONE, staggering through the door. Their seats sitting side by side like an army of similarities. Glossy wood reflecting the bags underneath their eyes, projected across dripping resin. The lucky few who studied the night before sit in their maroon chairs. Others pull out sheets of review, cramming in a few more minutes. This just in on, “How much information can the human mind absorb fast”, the results are concerning. Nervous friends turn to each other, exchanging woes about the ominous time to come. The room becomes a stock exchange of glares, traders and their earpieces broadcasting the latest numbers around the world. Only this time, the market can’t handle a crash.

 

HOW TO CAPTURE the world inside of an answer bubble. Sharp lead glides across the pages, streaking through the piercing absence of noise. Fill one answer, leave another one to freeze in the classroom’s climate. The radiating heat coming from their bodies materializes on paper, drips falling to stain the light green material. Water condenses on glasses, blocking his field of view. If only these came with windshield wipers. The pencil mark that is one millimeter outside of the circle prompts her perfectionism. The drag of rubber across the paper sputters, shaking the already unsteady table. The smell of burning silicone wafts through the air, molding every face in the room into a grimace. Their fates are already out of reach, the mighty scantron will decide the future now. 

 

PORES OPEN UP, emptying sweat over skin, glazing foreheads in salty brine. The royal icing of perspiration compliments the heavy breathing. Pencils slide out of clammy hands, slipping through warm fingers. The smooth plastic of a graphing calculator scrapes against a computer in a backpack, landing on the desk like a helicopter of fresh troops. Yet these reinforcements can only do so much to aid in the calculation process. A symphony of buttons erupts, each number  giving a sonata to a displeased crowd. The processing rhythm cycles through melodies, a roulette of selections. Which number to evict from the microchip. Beware, the gamble of numerical outputs can make or break your grade. If only mathematical functions could spell out their cry for help.

 

HE RISES, picking up his paper. One last glance over a void of answers is unsuccessful in locating errors. Glares between him and the clock highlight the walk to turn it in, exchanges of pale stares between students. Every step shakes the room, only with this earthquake, the building has already collapsed. The wandering trader flaunts his merchandise, the bleached green and white sheet gripped by his hand. The recollection of an incorrect answer interrupts his triumphant return. One by one, they too arise from their thrones, handing over their unwanted possessions. Each royal quickens their pace. The sound of a bell adjourns the court. Rustling backpacks liftoff from the ground. The few still left with pencil in hand turn to the clock. Sweat pours down their cheek. The gate opens, and people flow out of the room, reality hitting them like an avalanche. Everything is out of their control.