All around me are the muffled voices of pens scratching paper, pens that are almost too eager to race to the end.
I hear the teacher’s steps approaching. Loud bangs that think themselves quiet.
I can almost tell that the rain outside the window fastened its pace, and is hitting the glass in a random yet orderly sort of way.
I wonder if I stand out there, will I be able to escape the rain.
My black and white paper is too vivid, heaving under my wrists.
Every one of those symbols meant something, and I know them, but I can’t put them into words.
A strand of hair stood on top of the teacher’s oversized forehead, I’m not sure if that’s a sign of knowledge or age. Or it could be both. It’s mocking me.
I can imagine the flat brows and relaxed back of the person behind me. He’s so practiced, even in extreme situations.
The room smells salty in a mysterious way, almost like someone hung tiny salt droplets in the air when I wasn’t looking.
My pencil gives me a comforting scent. Like when I’m at home, nibbling the top while trying to figure out a difficult question.
My hand reminds me of hair gel and sanitizer. They are both pretty pleasant, yet they are both boring and strong.
I wonder how much money guys spend on clones each month. Maybe it’s some kind of imaginary number.
My answers smell awkward and wrong as I try to guess. 50 percent chance, I say to myself.
P.S. I almost failed on that test XD
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When ever I feel like to cry, I turn to the west and gaze to the east. You are there...
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0_S-tolen_0
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