𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧!

chapter thirteen

»THRUTH IS LIKE A BLANKET THAT ALWAYS LEAVES YOUR FEET COLD«

forcing myself to not be nervous was harder than i imagined. today is the day we are going to recite our self-written poems in mr keatings class.

my anxious taps on the floor matched knox' footsteps, as he was walking to the front of the classroom, a small paper in hands.

with one last short look he started off quietly. "to chris"

this boy got it real bad.

i noticed how charlie looked up from his desk, a grin across his face.

several boys in the class where whispering, wondering about who the hell chris is.

knox started again, despite his uncomfortable feeling.

"i see a sweetness in her smile.
blight light shines from her eyes.
but life is complete;
contentment is mine,
just knowing that..."

i mentally slappes myself as i heard the snickering of a few boys. god, they have no brain and heart.

"just knowing that she's alive...", he finished off in a depressed tone.

knox crumpled his poem and walked back to his seat, looking frustrated.

"sorry, captain. it's stupid"

"no, no. it's not stupid", mr keating tried to cheer knox up.

the only thing that is stupid is his undying love for a girl he only met once.

"it's a good effort. it touched on one of the major themes, love. a major theme not only in poetry, but life. mr hopkins, you were laughing. you're up"

dear hopkiny slowly walks to the front of the class and unfolds his piece of paper. he throws a grin at his friends, who were already holding their laughter in.

"the cat sat on the mat"

i am amazed.

"congratulations, mr hopkins. yours is
the first poem to ever have a negative
score on the pritchard scale. we're not
laughing at you, we're laughing near
you"

i don't mind that your poem had a
simple theme. sometimes the most
beautiful poetry can be about simple
things, like a cat, or a flower or rain.
you see, poetry can come from anything
with the stuff of revelation in it. just
don't let your poems be ordinary. now,
who's next?"

one voice in my head told me to get over with it, the other one told me to to wait until mr keating chooses me.

"ms perry, very brave!"

i lowered my hand and stumbled forward, my poem in my grip as i only thought about not stuttering or messing anything up.

i exchanged a look with neil, who showed me a reassuring smile and then i started.

"she walks in beauty, like the night,
lipstick red, her head up high.
she leaves a trail of stars behind,
and her golden scent stays in my mind.