That sudden churn on our insides as the examiner claims we’ve got …
‘5 minutes left’
It is here the brain shudders with the shock, blood curdles, arms tingle and deep within the soul of each student in that dire, uniformed hall- a frightened, desperate gurgle erupts.
It is here we enter into the …
Over the last two weeks I’ve made frequent visits to the RED ZONE. Yes, the last fortnight, just like every other 16 year old in the country, I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy the splendor of solid GCSE examinations:
The warmth of those invigilator’s faces –as they death stare at you. (If you look straight into their eyes you can see the polluted,dark abyss’s of their souls. Don’t look for too long though, you may fall in)
Those elegant rows of inviting wooden desks –all thin , scrawny and (of course) wobbly
That silent blanket of air that cradles the room– brimming with an unbearable tension that seeps into our lungs and begins to suffocate us. Nice and slowly.
However, nothing is worse than the RED ZONE.
Perhaps you’re one of the more sensible workers who finds that with 5 minutes to go you’ve completed everything?
Well I’m a rambler-so never find myself in this position
The RED ZONE not only whips my mind’s swirling confusion into even more of a mess -but it triggers the hand spasm.
That uncontrollable flinching in my exhausted writing hand as it tries to rebel against anymore writing. It’s had enough. I am forcing it to move faster-times ticking-but it refuses to obey.
I am physically FIGHTING with my OWN hand.
Everything written forms this porridge lumpy wave. Cue the crimson cheeks.
Everything EXCEPT what you need in your head, is in your head. Then again, perhaps what mum’s cooking for dinner and whether or not I taped Casualty will form a crucial part of my essay conclusion?
Worst of all though in the RED ZONE, is those nearby workers who are all sitting calmly and completely relaxed.
The comfort on their faces as they casually sip their water bottles. Eurgh
But then, from the corner of my eye, I see it. The one flicker of hope that reassures me and preserves what’s left of my sanity. There I see, with sweaty palms and furrowed brows, an equally fraught red zoner. It is here, a fraction of a smile might just dare to tickle the corners of my mouth, because here I find solidarity- I am not alone.