While taking my second SAT in room 630, I was disturbed by the vivid images of him dangling by his swollen, purple neck. Braided nylon cuddling his throat, promising to never let go. He ever so slightly swings left to right due to the breeze intruding from the bathroom window. His mother walks in with tears in her eyes, and tear drops on the piece of ripped composition notebook paper which contains the explanation for his actions. The smack of my pencil hitting the ground snapped out of the trance. I remembered I cannot write on composition notebook paper.