The chair. It squeak when I shifted my weight. It’s hard blue plastic had seen its fair share of wear. I rubbed my finger in a dent as I contemplated the paper sitting limply on the desk in front of me.

The chair squeak again. Alone in the room, I heard it. I glared at the paper. Why was it so hard? So hard to answer such a basic question?

Keep in mind, I said the question was basic, not simple. The question had no strait forward answer, though it was a question that in itself was easy to understand.

I grimaced at the thought of answering it in an… unsatisfactory way. The consequences would be most unpleasant, I can assure you. The judge of my answer would no doubt analyze and observe and scrutinize every aspect of my answer, trying to find a flaw in it, hoping for an excuse to punish me. I resolved not to be punished.

Running the sweaty pencil in between my fingers, I glanced at the ceiling. There was an odd buzzing coming from the bright white light. I sighed and looked back at the paper. After thinking for two seconds, I took a deep breath and put down my answer, the pencil scratching against the paper. Finished, I glanced proudly at my work. A basic answer to a basic question, I thought it fitting.

I read my answer one last time, out loud to reassure myself.

“The chair.”