He sat down at his designated desk, amongst the 45 other students in the room and used his #2 pencil to tear the the prompt book open along it's perforated edges once the clock started. The first thing he noticed was the first page of blank lined notebook paper that had been supplied, on which he was expected to write, according to whatever prompt the state board of education decided appropriate that year to judge a person's worth in two and a half hours.

He looked on the opposite page for the prompt which would decide his future. Nothing. Another blank page. He skimmed through the rest of the pages--all blank. He looked around for an administrator. No one was there. "That's absurd," he thought, "How do they know if people cheat!?" But then the realized it would be quite a feat to cheat on a creative writing exam.

He looked around the room again. The students to both his left and his right had blank pages where their prompts should be, and yet... they wrote. They wrote furiously and with passion. Everyone else was writing diligently... everyone except for one girl in the back of his row who met his gaze with equal perplexity and terror. They shared a look that said, "What are we supposed to do? What are we supposed to write? We need a prompt. WE NEED A PROMPT!!!"

Had he said that last part aloud?