The last exam

The last one.
When it's done, it will either open my future or absolutely doom it.
Or so it seemed.
I went to the highest floor, where my test room was. That should have been a crime to let students climb 3 set of stairs before their exam.
All the students were huddled up in the corridor, waiting for the exam to start. Some were talking to each other (maybe in an attempt to relax from the stress inducing test), others were still reading and reciting their lessons, and a few just stayed silent.
I was in the last category, just waiting silently. My eyes dragged onto the greyish white walls where the lists of students were hung up. Then my eyes went to the dark brown door, just waiting for it to open.

Suddenly, the door opened.
Every students started to head toward their respective tables, neatly separated by another table.
I went to mine, the table at the back of the room by the windows. I took everything I needed out of my bag: pens of all colours, my lucky blue pen, erasers, my snacks, my bottle of water and so on...

The room was still being filled with students while the supervisor paced back and forth, holding onto the exam sheets.

The test started at exactly 13 o'clock. The sheets were distributed and people started to skribble on their names, their classes and the date. And I did just the same. Silence was making its reign, only being disturbed by the scratching sounds of twenty or so pens.
After writing down the essentials, I stare at the blank answer sheet. Then my eyes travel slightly upward to eye the exam's question. It was a french literature essay problematic.

Right now, this single interrogative sentence looked more like a last wish given to a dead man: "*How does the author live through their work?* You will draw upon the diverse works seen in your classes and your own literary experience. Any trace of research will be taken into consideration."

Most people would do as they were taught by the teachers, which meant they used the plan: an introduction, thesis, antithesis and then conclusion. But it wasn't in my plans. I won't be a coward anymore.

What I was going to write wasn't an essay per say. I ignored the question and just continued to write on the paper.
It wasn't an essay, or even an answer to the given problematic.
It was something entirely different.

After a while, as I put my lucky pen down, the supervisor announces that an hour and half had elapsed.
I read through my paper again, just to be sure.

It was satisfactory.

Slowly I raise my hand, waiting patiently to be called on.
The supervisor just eyes me and said sternly "No questions. I won't answer them. Not allowed to."

"It's not on the test" I replied.

I see one of his eyebrow quirks up. He just looks at me with an intrigued expression. Then with a hand wave, he urges me to continue.

"May I open the window? I don't feel comfortable." I asked looking down.

"Sure. Do as you wish." He replied and proceeded to grade his papers.

I stand up.
I take the handle of the window, twisting it open.
And as I looked at the grey sky, I leaped.
I felt the wind on my skin and only heard the wind. I closed my eyes and everything was black.

I had written down a will.
And essentially a farewell note.