The room was dark and hazey that morning. Im sure the night before that had been filled with booze, girls and college antics was the cause of the dry, drpessed feeling.
My proffessors voice piecrced like a knife in my skull as he said "You have six minutes to write a story. GO!" My hand gripped the chewed No. 2 pencil as I scramble to write everything about nothing.
My mind raced at the pace of a hungry slug as I stamered to think of somthing to write.
My writing skills are poor, I have limited ideas and my grammer is poor. God I hate writing. I hate hangovers.
The thought of a childhood dog came quickly to mind. I started to write and was quickly overcome with depression, thinking of how it got hit by a drunk when I was ten. I never forgave my fther for that.
The minutes passed, I was consumed of thoughts of my dog. I was sad as I feverishly raced to compleate my story in the last 20 secounds. Can I do it?
I finnishe with a tear as the timer goes. School su