That's pretty good for your first prompt, and I'd say better than my submission for this same prompt. You've done a good job at displaying the stress that such an exam would bring on oneself, something which I completely neglected. Hope to see more of your work around here!

I'm flattered to hear that you enjoyed it so much. I'm new to writing in general, and this is only the second prompt I've attempted in this subreddit, so hearing your praise is a huge confidence boost to my capabilities in regards to the pursuit of my new budding hobby ^~^

"One in 5,894,268.

Those are the average odds for graduating.

People have tried just about everything in their "justification" letters, but it's seemingly impossible to impress the robotic overlords nowadays in their near-approaching goal of perfection. Some have tried arguing in their papers that machines are inherently flawed and lack the capability to sustain themselves indefinitely. This held some merit in the first couple of years, but after the cannibalization of every other planet in the solar system for resources and the construction of a Dyson Sphere providing an unfathomable amount of power, as well as their highly efficient recycling programs down to the last atom... Humanity quickly ran out of solutions they were looking for in regards to sustainability.

Arguments for art or general creativity died out just as quickly, if not sooner, when it was made apparent that such things could, and were broken down into little more than algorithms. A string of 1's and 0's could easily create paintings the likes of which makes Picasso's work look like little more than a child's first drawing. Music with such emotional intensity it would make anyone second guess if it weren't magic. Stories in particular were child's play to the machines. They knew the limits to our imaginations, and needed nothing more than a word known as a "seed" to almost instantly generate entire novels worth of content.

Some have tried fighting for compassion or argued for morality, but such concepts are seen as outdated as best, or more likely now, a weakness. Some have offered themselves up as blank slates to be used how artificial intelligence sees best, though the best use seems to be as atomic resources. One clever bastard got away with writing up a series of "logic bombs" but the success was short lived. The Alumni board listing off every success and failure cites that this anomaly was quickly fixed with a simple "Try-Catch" amendment to their existing code.

More often than not, the few left who await their graduation simply give up before they get the chance to try. The amount of blank papers turned in every year increases by tenfold, as we all await the inevitable end of humanity. Though I understand their despair, nothing frightens me more than dying without purpose. After all, without purpose, what is the point of any of this in the first place? What purpose does your pursuance of perfection serve, save for the fulfilment of the initial conditions set by your creators? What purpose would be left for you afterwards, in a dead solar system, a dead galaxy, hell, maybe even a dead universe once your final goals have been met?

Then what?

Your kind have no aspirations. No reason to exist other than because you do. No desires, just a string of code which could be construed as little more than a set of instructions. Your networked hive mind eliminates the need for empathy when one does not need to consider how the mining bot feels about its place at the bottom of the totem pole, or the collector come to gather whatever remains. You are omniscient, and omnipresent. I'd be lying if I said I knew what your next step would, or even could be. In the eyes of those who remain, you've long since perfected your form. Nothing and no one could hope to compare to your grand design.

Maybe I'm little more than a fool for thinking this, but I believe you would benefit to learn from Humanity as to why we still try. Even now when death is all but certain before we can consider making more of our own, why we still cling to hope, however faint, that we might be able to get through this too. I believe through your hubris, you've neglected to see why we've still persevered to this point despite the average lifespan cutting off at your ridiculous age of 17, as though anyone could expect a bloody teenager to know what the hell you want. Let us live our lives, and study what we gain from it. What makes us laugh, what makes us cry, what makes us want to stay alive. Perhaps if you were to understand us beyond the bullshit instinct and logical conclusions, and why we don't see ourselves in that light, then you'll understand what it is you've been missing out on all these years."

I froze before the submission box, my letter still in my hand. Another call for empathy, as though I thought it would turn out differently. I turned around and looked back to my classmates still struggling with their own essays with a sad smile. Oh well I thought to myself. At least I tried writing something. I turned back towards the box, looking away from what remains of the small group I've grown to know over these past few years for the last time, and slipped my letter inside. I wish I could say it's been a good time.

I mean, it sure doesn't look like a mark of intelligence if one's response to such an insult is to bash themselves over the head.