exams - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
When the exam comes closer I'm all of a tingle. My body is reacting like there's a gorilla about to beat the crap out of me instead of being faced with a sheet of history questions. In the cool of the classroom I can ace this stuff, I know I can. I drink it in, horror though it is for the most part - who conquered who, who killed who, people who rose to power and abused it – fascinating stuff. But my body is preparing for a marathon instead of sitting still for a couple of hours. I'm going to sit on that plastic chair while my brain fights the urge to walk -no run like hell - out the door. I won't though, I'll sit and write the test, but when my mind is in full on freak-out mode it's hard recall the details.
Oh hey! So good to see you. You know it's almost ten and we should be gone by now...hang on a minute. Something's different about you. You've been smiling more lately and now you're not. You've had exams and you hate them? That's because you're sane. They're awful, don't worry about it dear, they don't measure intelligence anyway, only compliance. Even IQ tests only measure a narrow part of human intelligence. What about emotional intelligence? Artistic intelligence? Creative intelligence? Are the only things that count the things that give you an advantage in our "Hunger Games" world? Get A grades and win a life of luxury but know it's at the expense of the hungry millions? No thanks. They can shove it. So don't let the bastards get you down, everyone's good, we're all on your side. All you need is a house, food and healthcare and we can take care of all that for less than the price of a warhead wing-nut. So relax my friend, you can make pots if you want or paint pictures, so much more useful than punching keys in an office, right? You might even start to enjoy your life... I know, I'm such a social heretic, but what can I say? I get my rules from a different source.
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by .
Mira rocked back and forth on the plastic chair, not noticing how small it was for her now. There was a time she fitted it perfectly, not anymore. When her eyes flitted to the small window to the examination room they left again just as quickly. How was an ordinary door so hard to look at? It made no sense. In there was a desk, a paper, a pencil. In two hours time her fate was sealed one way or the other. She choked down the rising bile and consciously flexed her hand, feeling at last the pain of her nails digging into her palm. When the school bell punctured the near silence she almost bit her tongue in two. She rose, oblivious to the bleach tinctured air and rested her fingers on the cool metal of the door handle.