Time is failing

Today, I stand in the crowd sliding myself away from the others that brush beside me, shoving me back and forth. Thoughtlessly now I admire the clock and its Tick Tock as the hand wavers above the dreaded 1. Unpreparedly and full of myself I wander into the crowd letting my hand drag beside my tweed jacket as it scratches my hands with its hard cotton strands. Then I listen, but all I can scramble to comprehend is the Principals Voice over the P.A. bellowing the words "Good Luck Students" and I begin to think "I sure need it, thanks..." only to continue my trek across the mountains. I enter the cave that is the dark grey box that is called the gym and I approach the secluded desk that presents itself with my own name. It flaunts me with it's perfect white radiance and artistic patters of black text cascaded over the eight pages.

Glued to my seat, I reach my hand out to grab the pencil that protrudes from the desk. As I jar the pencil free from its eternal resting place, the pencil drifts towards the paper. Questionably I stare at the name of the exam to think if I could actually pass, by fluke, not by knowing anything. The title is as follows, "AP Calculus 12" and immediatly knew my time has failed me and more importantly, I have failed. After a while, near the time when I may be able to leave this room, I begin to write down answers, "A, C, D, E, B, A, B, A, A,..." until I had at least one answer marked down for each question in the entirety of the exam. I hear a Click, tick, tick, tick, BEEEEP! and many of the students let their pencils down but I slam my pencil down. Swiftly I tread towards my belongings and wander through the many stunned looks of the most intelligent students in my school in the sight of my completion of the AP Calculus exam. Several weeks later I walk back into the musty hallways of the school as I smell the faint scent of ink from the printer room stare at the coffee stains on the door near the staff room dreading the results of my exam. I force my step on the path towards the math room and visualize the text on the door searching for my name. I find it peer right and see 69%. I passed. Ecstatic, and with a sudden urge to rip my shirt off and run around the school like a madman, I stand and cry only to have my slightly bald haired teacher congradulate my "acheivement". Though I may not be able to solve a third degree equation or do any rocket science, at least I passed with a 69% and will always be able to tells stories from my time in the cave, brawling with the white bear patterned with text awaiting my response to its many questions.