His eyes skittered across the room, weeks of studying led to this. The sounds of pen to paper echoed forebodingly across the hall, drips of sweat land on wobbly desks to part, in shards to the floor; just like the boy’s hopes, as he stared at the dancing words mocking him. He had to pass, failure was a pit he couldn’t face stumbling into. Forcing his pen to move… he dug deep, anything, absolutely anything would do. If he didn’t pass he would fail this module, failing this module could fail the year, and therefore ruining his chances at a successful job and career. Digging further into himself he brought up fact after fact, sentence after sentence he forced the words to mould around him; until his arm tired and began to tremble. All through this, the boy repeated two sentences. I will pass. I will be successful.