The Unimpressive

“The rose is meticulous in its appearance, boasting with colour and love.”

“The rose is pretty, even though it is shrivelling away.”

“The rose commands your senses, it wants your attention.”

“The rose is flayed, telling a tale of scattered love.”

“From the hair of a goddess, this rose has fallen.”

“It speaks of beauty and love, and ignites wonder.”

A long silence begins as the last word seems to linger in the air.

“The rose commands your senses, it wants your attention,” Madam says. The girl to my left holds in her joy but I can see her hand jerk, as if she wants to put her fist in the air. It’s silent again. “The rose is pretty, even though it’s shrivelling away.” 

Relief floods in all around, although not touching one girl as if she were standing up on a cliff, looking down at the waters. Her face is white and her jaw is slack. The two either side of her turn ever so slightly away. The Executioner steps forward and she looks up at him with tears leaking from her face. She looks pretty, but as if she’s shrivelling away. There’s a bang before her body convulses and then hits the floor. The Cleaners drag her out.

“Third round is complete,” Madam says. “We will now commence the fourth round.” There are three empty positions in the row now. Only seven more to go. Madam looks to the panel and they nod. “Predominant alliteration of the first letter of your family name.” She looks to the beginning of the line and waits two minutes as per normal. “Begin.”

“There’s this thing that tests our tolerance and tampers our thoughts: torture.”

“Laws lie leisurely leaving chances for leniency.”

“Beckon brave bodies, beseech bold brothers; behold the breath of death.”

“Listen ladies: lies lead to lamenting.”

“Would we want what we’ve waited for without what we’ve lost?”

What can I do for G? They’re moving quickly down the line and it’s almost my turn. Think. G. Gods. Great Gods. Greatness. Gather. Good. My turn.

“Greatness gathers gods and guides the good.”

It’s over. Two more, and then the room is silent again. I wonder if the other hands are as sweaty as mine. I wonder if the other feet are as cold as mine.

“Loathsome liars lack love, loyalty and liberty, locked in laborious lairs of their lonely legacy,” Madam says. I hold my breath, as do fifteen others. “Laws lie leisurely leaving chances for leniency.”

This one accidentally lets herself gasp. From a small peep I can see her hands balled into fists in front of her stomach as she gapes at the ground. She has pleading eyes, asking for mercy, asking for lenience. A loud bang sounds and the Executioner orders for the Cleaners to take her away.

“Fourth round is complete,” Madam says. “We will now commence the fifth round.” Six to go. “Tell a story.” Two minutes says goodbye. “Begin.”

“High beams shone on an unexpected deer.”

“The first snow was also the last.”

“The man who could see everything was made blind.”

A story? Tell a story with one line? How? An obstacle and a resolution. I need an obstacle and a resolution.

“A single blade of grass peeked out of what was meant to be a dead earth.”

It’s my turn.

“That which should not be opened, was.”

The girl next to me is silent. Seconds are pouring out of her mouth as she struggles to find words. But the time limit passes her by and the Executioner is standing in front of her. There’s that bang and she falls to the floor, silent, as if weighing nothing. The Cleaners take her away.

“Fifth round is complete. We will now commence the sixth round.” Does Madam have emotion outside of class? Does she say anything else? “A simile of a body part.” I can hear them breathing. I was surprised the air could get heavier in such an empty room. “Begin.”

“He had hair like the rough tides of a red ocean.”

“Her body was like a dessert, but not one you would like to eat.”

“She had eyes like an abyss.”

“His mouth curled and turned like a mischievous snake.”

A body part? Which body part? Whose body part? Legs. Iron legs. But an iron simile has been done too many times before. It’s my turn.

“She had eyelashes like a spider’s legs, spindly, fine, black and looking as if they were reaching out for you.”

“He had a mouth like a seven-eleven, in that it never closed.”

I imagine that some of these would have birthed a laugh or two under different circumstances. Outside of the exam I might have smiled and told her she was a genius. But instead she is someone I need to triumph over. Someone I need to see as part of nine or under the hands of the Executioner.

“He had a mouth like a seven-eleven, in that it never closed,” Madam says. She doesn’t laugh or smile at it and I can almost hear my heart in my ears as we wait for the line they are least impressed by. “She had eyes like an abyss.”

My body stops tensing and I again sneak a glance as the Executioner makes his way to the line. She who has unimpressed the Madam looks as if her mind has receded from her body. As if she has escaped far away into a void within herself. Bang.

Madam waits until the Cleaners are finished. “Sixth round is complete. We will now commence the seventh round.” Does Madam remember when she took the exam?  Did she ever think here is where she would end up? “Describe a rainbow without mentioning colour.” Tic tic tic. “Begin.”

“There is a phenomenon that gathers all that is pleasing to the eye.”

“Rain and refraction gives birth to a gift born of science.”

They’re good. Really good. To describe a rainbow without using colour, without the foundation of the rainbow. Pick all of the colourful words and throw them out. What are you left to work with? My turn.

“It arches over me, borrowing the essence from other things, lining them together to create something beautiful.”

“With fractured eyes, I am unable to perceive little more than rows of unimpressive variation in the aftermath of the storm.”

Clever. A pretty story told of someone with colour-blindness. She’s clever. I have to be cleverer.

Madam’s lips are peculiar. They lack natural movement. As if it isn’t really her passing judgement. “Rain and refraction gives birth to a gift born of science.” Clever. “With fractured eyes, I am unable to perceive little more than rows of unimpressive variation in the aftermath of the storm.”

A tingle runs through my fingers. I might be as surprised as she is. The Executioner approaches her and I don’t dare glance. I can see movement out of the corner of my vision. I think she’s covering her eyes. Bang. Now I am the end of the line.

You would think being the last in the line would be less pressure because you have more time to think. But it’s the opposite. If too many words you think of are said before you can open your mouth; you fumble for new ones. Ideas are snatched from your lips before you can open them.

“Seventh round is complete. We will now commence the eighth round.” Three more rounds. That’s all. Madam looks to the panel before announcing, “A metaphor for hunger.” Precious seconds. “Begin.”

“A gnawing monster that bothers my organs.”

“A rumble in the caverns of my body.”

“It’s ripping through my body, reminding me of my mortality.”

My head goes blank for a moment. Rumbling. Gnawing. Growling. Hunger. They’re using all the expected words. Taking all the ideas. End of the line.

“The howls that called to me in my childhood have returned, to echo in the emptiness of my insides.”

I panicked. It’s still a metaphor though? It’s still a metaphor. It was good. It was good enough.

“It’s ripping through my body, reminding me of my mortality.” Only three more. I bite down on my tongue. “It felt like something was clawing my insides.”

She sobs as she digs her nails into her sides. She spoke too soon and gave a simile instead. Automatic fail. Bang.

This time when I watch the Cleaners take her away, one of them looks at me. As our eyes meet I feel a shock run through my blood, as if a virus has suddenly exploded within it. Dead eyes. Were the Cleaners Graduates? Had they once been standing in the line we stood in? If I made it through all the Examinations… would I one day be a Cleaner? Or… would I be an Executioner? Weren’t the Impressive meant to be the leaders? Weren’t they the special ones forged from a rotting world?

Madam calls for the next round.

“Eighth round is complete. We will now commence the ninth round.” Only two more. There’s only two more to go. There’s only so many letters in the alphabet but there’s an infinite amount of words. “Humanise an emotion.” It feels like I’m wrapping my hands around my neck. “Begin.”

“Her hair curled by pure rage, her eyes like coal and a heart like a smouldering fire demon.”

“She grinds her teeth at the possessions of others, with coveting eyes and a green tongue.”

“A little boy standing in the bottom of a well, staring up at the bright hole in his black world and wondering if someone will ever take his hand.”

“Her fingers fidget, her teeth chatter and her eyes dart from potential disaster to protentional disaster.”

Anger. Jealousy. Loneliness. Anxiety. Which one do I pick? Which one? Happiness. Success. Pain. Guilt. Courage. Cowardice. Love. An emotion. My turn.

“They tremble, they’re cold, their colours drained, their hands over their ears, over their eyes, over their mouths, finding security in changing nothing.”

Fear. How did no one else pick raw fear? Was it too obvious? Were we afraid to let it crawl up our throats and out of our mouths?

“A man with his arms hugging his waist, his eyes ever to the side and his ears closed to the demands of anything that puts a hair over the line.” It’s like nausea, the increasing shivers of my stomach each time the rounds are deliberated. How has no one vomited? “Warm and embracing, with eyes that called home and lips that sang to hearts.”

Love is beat down. Love is lost as- bang. Red. If love is red, hers is all over her clothes and all over the ground.

“Ninth round is complete. We will now commence the tenth round.” The final round. It’s so close I can almost feel the Executioner crushing my head. Like a migraine. A head spin. “How will you die?” It’s so cold. “Begin.”

“Hopefully, holding the hand of someone who loves me.”

“Somewhere warm, somewhere calm and somewhere I know.”

“That is not for me to say.”

“In a painting of everything I’ve done, with paints to immortalise my life.”

“As a wonder.”

“In the least expected place, in the least expecting way.”

“Floating in my achievements and drowning in my failures.”

“With a legacy stronger than the might of a black hole.”

“When all I need I have, and all I wanted I had.”

My turn…

“I am already dead.”

There’s a long silence after me. I can’t tell if it’s because I am really dying or if it’s because Madam is thoroughly displeased with what slipped from my mouth. I almost laugh and wonder if it makes me a prophet.

“I am already dead.” Spikes of cold light up through my body. “As a wonder.” I don’t hear the bang. “Tenth round is complete.”

I almost start laughing. I almost start crying.  I almost start cackling. I wasn’t unimpressive.

“The examination is over.”