Final exams fly by quicker than I thought they would. Not gently, though. They don't glide past like clouds in a blue sky—they whip through like a hurricane, exhausting everyone in their path and leaving behind nothing but drained minds and ink-stained fingers.
The last paper I hand in feels like an exorcism. I half expect to hear church bells when I leave the hall. My shoulders ache. My brain is fried. I want nothing more than to faceplant into the nearest cold surface and stay there until September.
Everyone around campus has the same dead-eyed, half-alive expression. The shared trauma unites us. Some people are already celebrating like they've survived a war. Others just look ready to dissolve into sleep for a week straight. But all of us know the truth: it's done. It's finally, finally done.
