The 'crime' that almost was

The eve of the execution and only the curtains of the night were left to be drawn open by the dawn of the day. I sat pensive in preparation for the coming day's "kill". I hid in the night's shadow — my mind playing back images of my mission.

I knew I had but one chance to "pull the trigger". I envisioned every possible barrier. Millions before me had attempted to master this mission. More often than not they had been caught. Humiliation, degradation, penalties and punishments would choke my life if I failed and I recognised the risk I was taking — failure spelt doom.

I had to succeed. I had to evade capture and I had to accomplish my mission leaving no traces of evidence. I had to pull off a grand cheating scheme to pass my maths exam!

Like many of you out there, I have a deep disgust and enmity for digits and mathematical formulae. I simply can't grasp the subject. Although I managed to dodge in-class assignments, there was no way I could walk away from the final hurdle — the final exam.

So I had to risk it. I HAD TO CHEAT!

My plan

Final exams are characterised by the tightest security. Not only are you isolated from the sight of another paper, but you are also manned by prowling invigilators breathing down your neck, ready to chop it at the first sight of foul play. You have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. You are strapped into your seat and whipped into answering page upon page of numerical conundrums.

And if you were in my shoes, you would know that nothing but divine intervention was likely to save me from imminent failure. Yet for some reason, I knew that the gods were not likely to favour me this time!

So the night before, my months of planning underwent final approvals. My armoury, including chits and clues, scribbles and pointers, was ready. My armour was carefully chosen to facilitate the entire procedure.

And as a last minute back-up plan, I tried to squeeze into my brains as much as I could from my textbooks. But no sooner did my brains begin to hurt than I realised that my plan just had to work.

My cheating method involved giving me access to the various formulae I would need to break through the codes of calculus on the examination. I did try to bring in a partner or two into my crime. However as any criminal would tell you, you cannot trust anyone. You never quite know when an accomplice might just turn you in. I therefore had to embark on a lone mission.

D-day

The day arrived. A sleepless night with frequent sprints to the washroom had ended. I gulped down my breakfast, my parents bid their "criminal angel" adieu and I headed to school.

I arrived at the nick of time, and took my seat. My weapons were well packed causing little suspicion. It seemed like my plan had taken off on the right foot.

The examination paper was set in front of me. I answered whatever I could and then began looking out for a chance to pull out my weapons. Once in while I succeeded to fake a cough, pulling out a paper or two in the process.

However, the pressures were too great and I accepted defeat. I tried my best to answer all the questions and then simply left it to fate to turn the tide and course of my exam.

Crime doesn't pay

Believe it or not, I made it across the finish line with a mark or two to my credit. I still do not know how this miracle came to pass. I got through my final maths assessment with some harsh words. But my life and dignity were left intact.

Thankfully I realised the sheer magnitude of the crime I was about to commit just in time for me to do the honourable thing and opt out.

Perhaps like me, many of you have taken a shot at becoming a criminal icon of the century. My shot landed me nowhere. It only made me to realise how the heat of the actual moment can melt your determination.

I doubt I will ever take another shot at this. Cheaters after all, never prosper.

— The writer is a professional writing, sociology and South Asian studies student at York University.