The Final Exam

The Final Exam

I sit up, finding myself on the floor in the center of a small room. They drugged me to bring me here, so a slight fogginess fills my mind. I shake my head and slowly stand, taking in my surroundings. A single lantern hangs by the door illuminating the area. The dark wood walls soak up the light, leaving shadows in the corners. Bookshelves cover the walls around me; save for the wall in front of me which simply has a small slit in the center of it. I wait for instructions; some hint on how I’m supposed to pass the final exam.

Students never get this opportunity. Many students never even learn of it. But I’ve been chosen to take the final exam. Not just that, I’ve been chosen early at 17 years old. I’ve excelled at my studies and am considered “special” according to my mother. Her perfect, hardworking daughter.

When my mother failed the final exam, she made it her life’s mission to get me to pass. I’ve been training for this nonstop, ever since I could talk. Books, papers, and conditioning has taken up every second of every day.

She got me here, in my personal final exam room. I pick at my fingers with anxiety and anticipation as I try not to think about what will be coming my way in mere minutes. I have no idea what it will be. The final exam is different every year. Some years, it’s a written quiz that requires book smarts. Some years, it’s a race of strength and agility. It all depends on the type of worker the government needs that year. This year, they need someone who can train in to be the Sentinel. The most important presidential guard. The current one wishes to retire in the next few years, and they need someone perfect to mold into exactly what they need. It’s a great paying job that I would enjoy having. This just means the exam won’t be easy.

A hissing noise makes me jump. In front of me, a small piece of paper shoots out of the slit in the wall. I shake my head at my own nerves and take a deep breath through my nose, fully aware of all my senses as I was taught. To my relief, I smell nothing other than musty wood and paper. I pull my long black hair into a ponytail, steeling myself and shoving my anxiety into a little box in my chest.

I walk towards the paper and tear it out of the wall, then back away quickly before reading it.

The enemy is anybody who is going to get you killed, no matter which side he is on.

Ok, they used a quote from the book Catch-22 to tell us that the students are now pitted against each other.

The only way to pass, is if the others do not last.

It takes me a moment to realize what this means. When I do, my heart stutters for a moment. For me to pass, every other student needs to die. It’s not the first time a final exam has been violent, but it shocks me all the same. My stomach does flips, I may be a large woman with plenty of bulk but going up against fully grown men is not what I had planned. I breathe in and out, pushing the fear out of me before moving on.

But you must also get away, or you’ll be left with your prey.

This is the mental challenge of the exam. I must find my way out of the exam area to pass. Where that is and how I get there will be the question I need to answer.

Remember, there are worse things than death.

This final line stands out to me as a warning. Being killed by another student may be the least of my worries. It’s another quote as well, this one from the book Farehiet 451.

I scoff at the note, annoyed that everything doesn’t make sense. The threat that lies outside this room is obvious. However, I don’t allow myself to feel that, instead I focus on how badly I need to pass this, to be the one that makes it out. So, instead of dwelling on the confusion, I look around again. To find more information, I’ll need to get out of this room. I fold up the paper, shoving it in my pocket as I walk over to the heavy wooden door. I slowly try to twist the knob before realizing I’ve been locked in. I’ll have to kick down the door.

Walking back to the center of the room, I tighten my ponytail and center myself again. Then, I run at the door and slam my foot into it, right next to the knob. The door easily flies open and the light of the open area beyond blinds me for a moment. The smell of hot gravel fills my nose as I lift my hand to help shield my eyes from the sun. Yells and screams drown my ears.

When my eyes finally adjust, I note the incredibly large circular pit we are in. The walls at least 30 feet high and made of smooth rock. My feet crunch against the gravel coating the ground as I turn around, noting the dozen or so other doors that are spaced along the wall.

I see the students laying still on the ground before I quickly change my gaze to those fighting. A pile of hammers and knives sit in a pile at the center of the pit. The other students obviously didn’t waste any time grabbing those weapons and getting to work.

It seems five are left standing. A skinny girl stands in the corner, preparing to dart away from the overly large boy walking towards her. Two other boys seem to be in a fist fight, rolling around on the ground as another boy walks over to them, knife poised for attack.

I remind myself to once again focus. I need to think ahead. Once everyone is gone, I still need to be able to get out of here, it’s the only way to truly pass. I need a plan before I go marching into the chaos. So, I slowly slink back through my door, really focusing on what I have to my disposal in this pit. That’s when I notice a pulley type system on the wall across the way from me. A flat wooden board lays on the floor with four ropes attached to each corner. The rope merges into one and is slung over a pully at the top of the pit wall. The rope runs across the wall about 10 feet from the wooden plank and then is wrapped around another pulley before it comes all the way back to the bottom of the pit. Realization slaps me in the face.

To get out of here, someone will have to pull the rope for the person on the wooden plank. I quickly pull the note out of my pocket again and read it, making sure I didn’t miss something. But it still says, the only way to pass is if the others no longer last. Now, the first sentence of the paper makes sense. This situation is a catch-22. I could kill everyone, like I need to if I want to pass, or I could get someone to pull me out of the pit. Either way I fail.

I again feel my heartrate rise. My fingers start to tingle and my world tilts. I need to stop the others from fighting, need to figure out a plan, a way out. I throw myself back into my starting room before falling to the floor. I allow myself to lean against the wall and breathe. My mind is no good if I continue to panic like this. When I open my eyes again, the bookshelf across from me sparks an idea in my head. Now I realize why the paper also quoted Fahrenheit 451. A slow smile spread across my face and adrenaline begins coursing through my veins instead of anxiety.

Reaching above my head, I grab the lantern off the wall. Pulling myself off the ground, I walk to the corner furthest from the door. I start pulling out books and tearing the pages out of them. I soak the pages in the lantern oil then shove the pages between books, under the shelf, behind the shelf. In as many places as possible.

I step back to view my handywork and before the lantern can go out from no oil, I light as many pages as I can on fire. When the shelf also starts up in flames, triumph fills my chest. The wood burns easily and eventually the wall behind starts up too.

Smoak starts to creep into my eyes and my lungs so I slowly exit the room, picking up the door and cover the room as best I can. I take another inventory of the people left and surprisingly, the skinny girl is now standing over the body of the large man who was after her. She must be damn quick. The man who was creeping up to the boys in a fist fight is now attacking one of the boys while the other lays motionless beside him.

Two students left. I attempt to slink into the shadows, not wanting to be the one who kills the skinny girl. Instead, I plan a way to kill this boy who is at least four years older than me. His hair is shaved off; arms covered in slick blood. I notice he is much bigger than me, at least six feet tall and muscles covering every inch of his body. I allow my adrenaline to continue rushing through me instead of letting the fear swallow me again.

I watch the skinny girl attempt to sneak up behind the boy and for a minute, I think she might get away with it. Then, the boy spins around so fast I can’t believe he doesn’t get whiplash. His face is twisted in a snarl as he plunges the knife straight into her stomach before grabbing her shoulder and pushing her. She falls with a thud and a gurgling sound before her eyes go lifeless. I flinch but force my eyes to stay open while I try to form a plan.

I watch the boy’s face slowly go from a victorious smile to confused. He starts to desperately look around the area as if he’s trying to find a way out. He stares at the wooden board for a while before pulling the starting paper out of his pocket. After a moment, he crumples it up and chucks it at the ground. Grumping a harrumphing to himself.

While his little temper tantrum is entertaining, it’s time for me to walk out of the shadows. I pull out my naïve, senseless woman act I’ve found men fall for easily. A scared look covers my face, and I pull myself in, looking shy. When the boy’s eyes fall on me, he instantly relaxes his face and tries to plaster on some sort of smile. I assume it’s supposed to be comforting but it makes a shiver run up my spine.

When I get close enough to hear him, he says, “well, well, how’d you make it this long girlie?”

He’s fallen for the bait, not even a little scared of me. “I was hiding in the starting room; I just want to get out of here.”

“Smart girl.” He pauses, “You look damn strong.”

I nod to him, already knowing exactly what his plan is. “I am pretty strong, just didn’t think I would have to use it.”

“Lucky for you girlie, I don’t want to fight you. So, if you help me, I promise, I’ll help you.” He points over to the wooden plank elevator, “That board over there is our only way out. I need you to pull me out on that plank, then I’ll let the plank back down and pull you out. Sound like a plan?”

I nod eagerly as he walks right into my trap. He probably plans to kill me once I get him out, by throwing his knife or dropping a rock. He doesn’t realize, he won’t make it to the top.

“Alright,” he starts walking over to the board, “don’t let me down and I won’t forget you.”

I follow behind him and he climbs on the board, standing right in the middle.

“I’m ready when you are,” he says.

I tug on the rope, using my body weight to my advantage. He’s probably about 200 pounds and while it’s a strain on my muscles, my training has strengthened my arms enough that I can do it without too much struggle.

About 15 feet up he yells, “hell yeah girlie! Almost there!”

I keep pulling, the plank not being quite high enough yet. He stays standing, trying to balance on the uneven plank a huge smile plastered on his face.

At 20 feet now, I pull just a little farther, just a little more. My heart flutters in my chest, sweat dripping into my eyes; it’s time. The boy reaches for the top, but his fingertips are just barely too low. That’s when I let go. A yelp rings out through the air.

The plank launches toward the ground, and I move even further away from the landing zone. When I turn around again, the man is flying, no longer touching the plank. When his body slams onto the ground right after the plank, a crack and loud groan reaches my ears. I wait. Wait to see if he will get up, come running towards me. But all he does is blink up at the sky.

Slowly, I inch towards him. I can see his chest slowly rise and fall. He’s still alive, but the blood leaking out of his ears, nose and mouth indicates he will be dead soon. So, instead of getting closer, I turn toward my starting room that is now engulfed in flames. Somehow the boy never noticed the raging fire that was right behind him, that or he didn’t care. I don’t know how I didn’t hear it before. The cracking of the fire and the smell of the smoak now permeating my senses.

Through the smoak, I can see the way out. The burnt down wall is the exit to the arena; groups of people are gathered far beyond the flames. I plop down on the gravel, waiting out the fire. I don’t want burns in the many pictures I’ll be taking when I make it out of here, when I pass the final exam. So, I breathe in the smoak, enjoying the warmth on my face and I smile. Still running on leftover adrenaline, I decide to ignore everything around me. I want to take this moment to revel in my own victory before my mother takes it and makes it into a spectacle.