Murder

He was sentenced to death at two thirty that afternoon, and he didn't even know it. The murderer stayed close, watching him from the shadows in the corner as he drank beer by the window and flirted with the pretty little red head from next door. It stalked him from class to class, poisoning him in small doses in chemistry and aiming arrows at his back in physics, always close, but too weak to strike. But it wasn't worried. Its hour of opportunity would come.

The boy walked into the class room and took a seat, oblivious to his fate. The clock ticked on, its hands inching towards that deadly number. The teacher arrived, her heels clicking loudly against the floor like the final heartbeat of a dying man. Suddenly the boy realizes something was wrong. He stood quickly to go, but the teacher slammed the door, sealing his fate. Above her the long black hand of the clock slid into place. 2:30.

"You have twenty minutes, no calculator."

The boy turns pale as the teacher slams the quiz onto his desk like a guillotine on his neck.