Okay, my internet is taking extremly long to load this goddamn page so I am seeing how much i can type before the... ARGH. K, never mind. I shall proceed on with my mundane topic.
EXAMS! What kind of infidel to the world's of ages past of intelligence would not come to hear of such a unspoken word? I trust of none. The very word symbolises the reapers from the deep and unforgiving pits of Hell itself, ripping poor innocents sould from ragged bodies thrown upon the defiled trenches of misery and hate. Cries fill the air with remorse and anguish as death stalks each and everyone one's bedraggled corpses strewn at the feet of Heathen Death Gods. The very second justice and warmth are shattered and disintegrated is the moment the godforsaken word is uttered. As the old wizened lady impaled with dozens of metal spikes inscribes our epitaph on a smodering granite tombstone with her bloodied hands, legions of locusts strip bear whatever fruits there are in this sea of conglomerated industrial refuse. The word which forcasts the lives which we never had and the word which is the harbringer of Death. Yes, it is the EXAMS....
What am I doing? You may ask me so earnestly with puppy-dog eyes of innocence. Well, to enlighten the burden on your cerebral cortex I am blogging. Blogging about the EXAMS. Damn you made me say it again...Ok. I shall continue with the story:
It was only one week away from the exams. The students unfaltering virgil on the mottled calender made sure of that. 8 subjects with 7 days, it was not looking good. The teachers looked down upon them with dark eyes full of contempt. 3 days away from the exams, the students continued their revision, tearing through textbook after notebook after notes, their concentration wanning, still there was 8 subjects. The entire school stayed back in the confinement of the premises for fear of wasting tranport time, it was insanity. 2 days and 8 subjects, some students died of malnutrition, and others just died. The remaining consisted of vegetables whose brain ran dry from over-concentration. Only the strong remained. The teachers patrolled the camp like wardens holding red ink pens, itching to get a crack at the impending papers. One day left, the students were holding strong. Malaria spread like wildfire and hysteria unsettled the ranks. Already, 30 students were sent to the medic's frothing at the mouth with uncontrolled convulsions while some of them ended their own lives by snapping every single one of their pen in half. The surviving students raged on, lactic acid burned their fingers, their eyes shrivelled from dryness, their legs had ruptured varicose veins, their bones were hollow and their teeth rotted into dust. It was going to be over. Suddenly, a student stood up roughly, his action pushing the table in front of him slamming into the opposite student which instanteneously crumbled to dust. Ignoring this, the students took all of his books and notes and pens and threw them into a heap of burning students corpses. The teachers turned to him and glared and piercing eyes. A students which was caught in the general direction instantly fell clutching his heart, and after a few minutes of writhing he stopped, cold to the touch. The students who stood up ignored this and with a full hearted cry leapt of the nearest teacher and using his body weight, slammed into the teacher propelling the teacher into a nearby cache of red fountain pens. The box exploded outwards of the red pens, and the teacher struggled to get up. The other teachers watched him get up. Before any knew, nearby students got up from their trance like state of mind and started throwing textbooks and pencils at the teachers. The teachers responded ruthlessly shooting red pens and hurling lockers at the students. It was 500 students against 50 strong teachers it was not good odds. The lead student stood up on a chair and watch his fellow students fight fearlessly and valiantly. He saw the teachers shooting down the students by the tens. He saw a particular student charge forth midst the the hail of red pens towards the battlefront of the wall of merciless teachers. Several pens pierced his courageous skin bright red fluid spilt out of his wounds by he did not stop. Almost there, he lifted up his weapon, an english hardcover Longman 50th edition dictionary of comtemporary english, and leapt at the nearest teacher. More pens penetrated his clothing, 4 in his left arm, 5 in his torso, and 20 other scattered over his body, but still he continued. He striked. It made contact with the teacher's temple, the teacher instantly collapsed in a heap. 5 teachers moved in and stabbed him in the abdomen with metal rulers. The students cried out, a cry of anger and pain, but of fufillment. The teachers withdrew their rulers from his body and the student fell to his knees. The teachers turned round to continue the assault, they did not see the student, bleeding profusely get up and dashed at them still wielding his dictionary. They turned around, not fast enough, the student swung one final decisive blow, it did not matter whether they would retaliate, he knew it was the last strike he'd ever deal, he was contented. One of the teachers got hurled into a mass of frenzied students swarming him, bashing him up up tables, chairs, lockers, locks, a whiteboard...The lead student watched as his fellow students tore across the battlefield with unyielding and relentless blitz, and his heart soared. He thought of the times where there was no school, no tests, no essay and no exams, the time when he knew what happiness was. He looked again at his comrades, now weak in number but stronger in courage, the ones who stood through adversities, thick and thin, the ones who would die for him, but ultimately for a common goal. With a bellow of rage of leapt of his chair, and sprinted across a bloody battlefield with comrades dying all around him, into the fray. Multiples pens embedded themselves into his flesh but he did not wince. Now's the time, the time to strike, the time score, the time to fulfill, the time to win and the time to PASS!!!!!
The above advertisement on Stabilo Swan red pens are subjected copyright.
P.S Rated M18: Violence and Gore but since its at the bottom and you most likely din noe abt it until u read finish the story I suppose I could let it slide...
Sunday, September 16, 2007
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