As time expired on the re-reboot of Short Story Contest #40, only one entry was received. But it is a very good one. The winner is:
geoffnelder
I thankfully turn responsibility for #41 over to you, Geoff.
The winning entry follows for your enjoyment:
The Examination
Gordon turned the paper over to greet the first question:
How did Kant account for change?
He grinned. No problem. Change was the first set of notes of the Critique that Gordon had slaved over all those months ago. All he had to do was regurgitate them onto this sheet of paper. Just look at it. All those feint green lines. Thirty-four. Wait, he might have missed one. No, thirty-four, or thirty-five if he counted the vertical margin one inch from the left edge. Was it an inch? No, thirty millimetres. Just a moment, it was twenty-eight millimetres at the bottom. The margin, in which he had already written Q.1, was skew. How could he possibly produce immaculate responses on incorrect media?
How did Kant account for change?
How did the examination board account for the flawed answer sheets? Even the hole hadn’t punched all the way through. There, he’d pushed his ballpoint through it. Finished their job for them. That should be worth a mark. Gordon looked at the clock. Ten minutes he’d spent critiquing the sheet of paper. This was ridiculous. He could visualize the notes in his study headed Transeunt Force. Was that what the examiner wanted? If so, he was laughing, but suppose it was a bluff? There was negative marking in this examination section, minus one for each irrelevant sentence.
Twenty minutes in and nothing except the Q.1 in the margin. Perhaps he should look at the other questions. Do the easiest first to boost his confidence, but suppose the other questions were harder? No, he’d continue with this one. What’s that? A translucent spot on the paper revealed writing on the desk beneath. Damn, perspiration precipitated. He fumbled for a tissue. Why did thinking heat the brain? Was additional oxygen needed and so increased blood flow? He glanced at his fellow sufferers. All of them sat at the regulation and equidistant one and half metres. He smiled at Francine who held her pen at the nib. She didn’t look up. Sensible, because they could be accused of communication. Stop it.
He looked back at his damp sheet. What did the writing say beneath his sheet?
Entropy wins. Discuss.
That should have been question one. Stop it.
He examined his thumb and first two fingers as they gripped his ballpoint. Not the Francine way but an inch up. So ironic that all their assessments were crafted on computer until this final examination when they reverted to the unpractised art of calligraphy. He was bound to get calluses on his middle finger—assuming his answers flowed anytime soon.
The invigilator rose to his feet. “Ten minutes remaining.”
Gordon grinned. Fancy the don making such an error. This was an hour examination. He returned to the question. Of course entropy wins. No. Kant’s change. Why was blue ink on the back of his hand? Damn he’d been chewing the pen, using it as an antenna for inspiration – leaked.
“Put your pens down.”
Damn.
He waited, in silence like the others as the sheets were collected.
“Gordon, your name.” Grief, he hadn’t even written that.
“I perceive original answers, Gordon.”
“I was out-Kanting Kant, Sir.”
“Hah, no. But if you convert this blank sheet to grade A answers in the next hour, I’ll consider passing you with a C.”
Phew. Francine blew me a kiss on her way out. So, how did Kant account for change?
I wonder what Francine is doing tonight?
