Everyone lines up, each person standing behind the other like ducklings lined up after their mother only not moving. Each in their own world with eyes glazed over, each stepping into the room one at a time not coming out.

He is waiting, standing in line just like everyone else. His stands like a statue not moving, his hands clenched so tight that the knuckles are turning white. His chocolate brown hair that would have been picture perfect, plastered to his forehead, as sweat drips off his brow. He licks his dry cracked lips. Breathing heavily, shoulders heaving suddenly stops as he hold his breath. Eyes wide, unblinking, facing straight ahead, pupils contracted so small they look like pin pricks on a sea of the emerald green. His mouth forced into a twisted kind of grimace showing a row of perfectly straight white teeth. His back tense and straight, his feet planted on the floor begin to move slowly as if resisting the movement, step forward. His hands slowly unclench and reach for the door turning the handle then pausing before quickly flinging it open. His feet shuffle slowly forward in a robotic way.

A cold hand, he can’t tell if it’s friend or foe, lands on his tense shoulder and guides him forward, as his resistant feet give up and  follow obediently. He is guided slowly on to a chair and handed a piece of paper.





“You passed”