"Seniors of the class of 2063, the results are . . . in." said the counselor.

I coldly glazed over the eyes of my peers, detached from them. I knew most of them would be slaughtered by the end of the night. This was just the beginning. First the A's, then the B's, the C's, and so on.

"I'm sorry, for those of you who have failed. But you must remember, this is the result of your own procrastination. Your own poor decisions have led you here. There will be no retests for those of you who have failed your final grade." continued the counselor.

She didn't really care, this was just the last bit of work for her this year, until next year's cattle arrived. But much like her, I didn't have any reason to care either. The test was simple.

"Alexander Abbard, please step forward, and take the door to the left . . . "

I was in the clear, from the Problem Solving portion to the Advanced Medicinal Practice, it had paid off to listen to each sermon in class. I don't understand why others didn't just focus as hard as I had. We knew since the second grade this had to happen. It's been happening for the past 47 years, yet each year the final class dwindles to a survival rate of 35-60%.

"Jennifer Desivo . . . the right door . . . "

 " . . . I'm sorry."

I suppose I should just go to sleep or something while I wait for them to reach the R's. But jeez, how much time has passed? I mean we only now just made it to the E's, and it's been what, 2 hours?

I wonder how Charlie did. He might be coming up soon. Wait . . . where the hell is he?

"Charlie Guthrey, take the right door."

 . . . 

Impatiently, the counselor said, "Charlie? Please, stand up and take the right d-" "Oh, come on. So far so good, but nooo, of course someone doesn't show."

Good for him, maybe he'll actually make it out alive. I sort of had the feeling he was gonna be the one to run for Exodus, but I wonder if how he plans to get over the walls. Or does he even know about the walls? Was he there for that lesson? Probably not, we learned that in the sixth grade, when we discussed the history of Haven. Talk about nostalgia.

That was back when I used to still hang out with Eli. He and I used to talk about what we would do after the graduation; he always wanted to be an astronaut, I was pretty satisfied with just being a doctor or something. I don't know, I mean, I don't really have to be anything too fancy. I could just be an agricultural tenant, but that's too much work. No, I think I'll just stick with being a doc-

"Ahem."

I stopped. Was that to me?

"Michael Roebuck, did you hear me? Door right, c'mon, I don't have all day kid, we all got places to . . ."

Wait . . . did she really just say the right door? WHAT!?

"Michael, don't make be that way. We're nearly done, okay? Just get -"

"ARE YOU F*CKING JOKING!? I MADE AT LEAST AN 89! I COULDN'T HAVE FAILED!!!"

The counselor sighed. She reached for the radio on her shoulder, "Number 738, Michael Roebuck. Yes . . . I am sure. Okay, just sound the count down."

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!?" - THREE - "I WAS FRAMED! WHOSE RESULTS DID I GET!?" -TWO-

. . . . .

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I DEMAND A RETEST RIGHT N-"

 One. The rifle fired and blew clean through his head. He collapsed in a swift thump. 

"No retests Michael . . . now would someone call the Janitor?"