March 11, 2012 § 10 Comments
It is the last day of university and I am sitting quietly in room B080 attempting to complete a written exam for which I was never prepared. Instead of focusing on the last of four essay questions, Please describe the allegory behind Dante’s 6th circle of hell as it relates to the loss of virtue among inner city youth, I find myself painfully distracted by whether or not there are 79 other basement level rooms in this building. The time allotted to me has all but wasted away and the clock indicates only four minutes remain.
Myself and one other student are the only victims left in the exam room, the proctor staring blankly at an outdated copy of Bazaar magazine. I notice my competitor as he begins to count on his fingers and can only assume he has forgotten which form of punishment appears in the 6th circle. I smirk proudly for a moment at the chav, pleased that I know something he doesn’t, and begin to find the prospect of passing the test less and less important.
Moments later, I am startled to see the other student’s backpack beginning to shift and writhe below his seat. I watch in awe as a small and smoldering demon crawls out of the bag and up the back of the chair, perching itself upon the shoulder of the welcoming young man. My first reaction is to scream in fear and bash the git with a chair, but I am immediately confused as the demon starts murmuring into the ear of his master. I then grow furious at the pair as I see the demon raise a single claw, then two, then three, each motion accompanied by brief whispers of what I can only assume are explanations of the various circles of hell.
I jump out of my seat and point at the two conspirators, repeatedly shouting the phrase cheaters with such gusto as to force the proctor to drop her magazine. I explain the situation and point to the student’s shoulder, which now sits empty and most obviously devoid of evil. Both of them stare at me blankly, like a copy of Bazaar magazine, before insisting I be quiet and finish my test.
I reluctantly sit back down and pretend to write feverishly about inner city youth and other related matters. It only takes moments for the demon to reappear, just as before, and climb back onto the shoulder of the test taker. I watch angrily as the hell spawn again holds up its pointy claws and offers varying amounts of advice. It holds up six clawed fingers and explains something in great length while the student nods his head in agreement. It then continues with seven.
And finally nine.
It is not until I sit back in my chair and fold my arms, cursing my lack of divine inspiration, that I notice something strange. As the demon finishes its explanation for the 9th, and final, circle of hell, it then continues to raise all ten bony digits and explain something at great length. The student shakes his head in disbelief and glances at the demon for the first time. His face is pale and his eyes seem hollow. He quickly scribbles a few last words in his test booklet and rushes out of the room, barely slowing to place the exam on the proctor’s desk.
Seconds later a ringing noise from the clock prompts the end of the exam. I glance around nervously before staring at the blank page on my desk.
It is with some remorse that I realize the 10th circle of hell is reserved for the incomplete.
written in support of BeKindReWrite InMon.