I’ve lost count of how long I’ve been in this maze, but it feels like forever. Every turn I make seems like the wrong turn but I just can’t tell. However, one thing is for sure: I want to get out. At the beginning, it was fun and easy, but now it feels like hard labor. Over time I’ve noticed a pattern: It seems that the more I roam this maze, the more difficult it gets. This explains my increasing want to give up, but I can’t. My mother would always tell me that giving up is like allowing yourself to drown, and my father always told me that the maze might feel tedious, exhausting, and painful at times, but it prepares you for what’s to come. As inspiring as my parents were, it was these thoughts and many others that have infested my head since the day I was born. No matter how hard I try to concentrate, thoughts, ideas, inventions and more keep jumping into my head, distracting me from the task at hands. But it’s different now; now it is life or death.
Today I found a door with “You are nearly there” carved into it. I enter the room beyond the door. Inside there was a watch—situated on a pedestal directly opposite the door I came through—and four more doors, each with a different theme. I walk up to the watch, to discover that there is a timer set for 60 minutes. I pick it up from the pedestal and the timer begins. Seconds later, the four doors open, some of which look fun and others that don’t. I make a quick decision and go straight through the door with “Multi” engraved into it, assuming that there are multiple routes to reach the end. As I anticipated, I see many routes with light at the end of all of them. I make a wild guess and run through the middle one. I reach the end of the middle route and find a button and a riddle “Haste and you will make mistakes, time is limited as the button is illuminated, complete for there is no retreat.” Naturally, I press the button, and the button instantly illuminates. Just then I realize that I need to complete all four routes to exit the maze. So I decide to worry about the riddle later, and without hesitation, I bolt down the route to get back to the room with four doors.
I completed the next three doors without making mistakes. I thought I was done until I got back to the room from the fourth door. The door to the room had words engraved into it, which was bizarre because it didn’t beforehand. However, what was more bizarre was what the engraving said: “Time. Survive. Exit.” Just then I remember the watch I took from the pedestal.
Sweat begins to run down my skin, for there are 15 minutes left. Water starts to enter the room from the door, so I kick the door open and run. The route is different than before but I don’t care. The only thing in my head now is the last engraving. I run as fast as my legs can take me, and after 5 minutes I reach the end of the route, water up to my hips, to find two buttons, one says “Mistake” and the other says “Haste.” Between the two buttons is a door with: “Haste creates mistakes, and mistakes create haste,” engraved on it.
“I don’t understand,” I say, “I just don’t understand.”
The water was up to my neck, tears running down my eyes because I know he is waiting there with his scythe. I don’t know how to accept death, and I never did.
“I don’t want to die,” I say, “I don’t want to die alone. I know I’ve made many mistakes in the past, but I was an impatient kid, and I grew from those mistakes, I swear! And they made me stronger! Please, I just don’t...wait...that’s it!”
The timer is at its last minute. I take my last breath, go underwater, and swim over to the button which says “Mistake.” I press it, and the water begins to lower. I am done, I tell myself. It’s over. I gasp for air, and look at the watch—one second left—and so I said, “just on time.” The door opened; class is over. I’m finished with my first ever timed-writing test in English, and now I can breathe.
