12 February 2012

Forgetting cursive, etc.

Mental Health
When the test proctor spoke, it was the crackling voice of doom itself, the spitting grease fire combustion of Hell rattling around in his late middle-aged throat. As he introduced the mundane steps of the examination to come, each routine matter of permitted pencil lead and time allotted per section became a deeply sinister harbinger of horrible failure. 

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