This is it. This is the test you’ve been working towards your whole life.

I skim the edge of the paper with the end of my finger tip. The epidermis of the skin slices thinly, and a bead of red fills the gap.

I feel my heart racing. I hear my skull begin to crack under the pressure.

Come on, you can do this!

My eardrums pop from the rising ringing in my ears.

I CAN’T DO THIS!

The oxygen is sucked out of my lungs, and then I’m drowning.
And as I gasp for breath, I remember where I am.
I get peculiar stares, and I hear scribbling of pencils filling in bubbles.

Then, I see you.
You glance at the clock if only for a moment. Then your eyes glance to me.

I approach a wall that stops me in my tracks, and I accept that I’ll never climb.
But the look you gave me that did not last not even five seconds, told me I can.

I can.

“I can do this.”