I distinctly remember the day I died; the day my fear grasped me and left me gasping for air. Fear and fatigue fit hand in hand, after all. I have this memory imprinted in my brain, the epitome of fear itself in full-fledged form. I was inside a chamber with my very own peers, their faces stricken with the guilt of not having studied or prepared. Perspiration clung to the very hairs on their faces, ebbing out of the tiny, proportional follicles. They seemed so distraught, fear pulsating out of their wounds like blood out of an open-faced laceration. The only thing I could hear were the fickle voices in the interior of my skull, taunting each other, arguing about what to write about. I assured myself, looking around, that I should have heard the scrawling of my classmate’s pencils, but I had been deafened and denied by reality, as the voices enunciated their ideas profoundly, leaving me asphyxiated in my own mental torture. I glanced down at my paper, my face becoming flushed with embarrassment. I could not make out what the words on my paper said; they were a foreign language to me. The voices kept on shrieking at each other, and my anxious subconscious started to rear its ugly head. I noticed a salty vapor start to embody itself in the tear ducts of my eyes, and a choke erupted from my lungs, my emotions taking complete control. I only had an hour left to finish the exam worth 20% of my total grade, and so far, nothing was completed. I tried to assure myself that I could still complete the exam, but minute after minute, I found myself glancing at the very first question on the first page. With ten minutes to go, I knew I could not finish the assigned task; I could not complete the exam. My paper glared at me for the few remaining minutes, and I grimaced a menacing look. The voices had won this time. I had been defeated.