As my eyes frantically watch the clock, every minute passed was a minute lost to type another word. The sound of the “backspace” button didn’t backspace time, but became a tune that provoked the pain. The pain I didn’t have time to concentrate on. It was finals week; it was finals day. A ten page paper that should have been started weeks ago began to formulate just a few hours ago. It was 10 a.m., there was no rush. I had seven hours. Research was done, the books were read and now all that needed to be done was to hear the words come alive as my fingers pressed the right keys to write the right words. But the only word coming alive was “erase”. The noise of the “backspace” started to become unbearable to hear. But soon to realize it wasn't the noise that was unbearable, it was this pain. This pain that was merely a slight aching in my stomach when I woke up; just a slight aching as I pulled my hair back to brushed my teeth; just a slight aching as I opened up Word document and wrote “English Final”.

The unknown pain was not my worry; I had to finish this paper. I’ve fought through much worse. Just a slight aching wasn’t going to stop me from getting what I needed to get done to be done. I compromised and thought if I fed this crying stomach of mine it would it would return to ease. I gave myself just few minutes to make and finish my breakfast. Few minutes was all the time I knew I could spare. This paper had to be written, read, rewritten and reread to compose the most precise and perfect understanding of the material taught all semester long. I wasn’t going to let my body become my obstacle to show the knowledge I worked all semester for, as I ran to classes and lost sleep over pages and pages of reading. It was probably a letter grade to others but it was proof and a reward to me for the work and time I’ve put in. I had learned something in the 15 weeks of classes and I wasn’t going to let what could have been a cramp discourage me from proving that.

It seemed like the “backspace” button was in cahoots with my stomach. My pain began to worsen as every time I would erase a word. Every time I heard that click of the key, it became an “increase” button to my pain. I tried not to think of it. I tried to focus. I kept repeating in my head, “Final, final, final”. I didn’t have time to waste; the minutes were flying by like jets. I had no choice but to keep writing. The pain started to overwhelm me, I started to tear but I pulled myself together chanting “Final, final, final”.

Finally, I dropped to the ground. It won. I couldn’t push the pain aside. It conquered my brain. My arms unwillingly wrapped around my stomach as my eyes became faucets and tears poured out. I wept silently like a puppy. I couldn’t breathe, how could I have screamed? I was found minutes later, minutes I could have used to type more words. And what could have been a few sentences after I was rushed to the hospital. My final was left undone but my appendix was done for.