𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝑷𝒐𝒆𝒕 • Neil Perry & Todd Anderson

ᴀ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴡʜᴏ

•"Death Is inevitable, yet it always ends up untimely."

🅂now fluttered onto the sill of the opened window. The azure beams of the moon lit up the darkness of the night and slashed at its shadows. One shadow it could not drive away was the shadow sown and shaped into the form of a boy.

The actor, poet, artist. The lonely, the abused. Neil Perry stared across the glittering fields of snow. The cold air pricked at his bare skin as he drifted into its electrifying embrace. Through the glare of the glass, he could make out the pale moon, grinning down at him. Such a contrast to his current mood.

Just a few hours ago, he was living out his own dream. He pranced and danced along a decorated stage. Speaking of woes and script alongside wonderful actors. Before him, a bright eyed audience looked up at him. Listening to him.

Of the many faces he replays in his mind, a certain doe eyed boy stares back at him. "Todd." A smile crept on Neil's face. Todd Anderson. Neil never directly understood or confronted his feelings for Todd. He favored Todd over anyone else because he was different. Todd was quiet and reserved yet he was complex and felt and thought intricately. Neil found Todd poetic.

He knew what he thought of Todd that day in Keating's class. Anxiety riddened Walt Whitman. His outburst of emotions in a single poem. He spun and spun and with each turn he spat a line of his soul. His anxiety melted into every word as he purged away his fears. "From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying it'll just cover your face as you wail & cry & scream."

His words plagued Neil. His airy tone grew heavy in his mind as he grazed the sharp twigs of the crown atop his head. The same one he wore during the play. It was just him and the silence now. From time to time the house grumbled as it settled. His parents retreated to their own room hours ago and were fast asleep by now.

The cool wood slapped beneath his bare feet as he padded down the hallway. Softly and swiftly, he made his way down the stairs of the house. The boy stared mindlessly into the darkness until he finally made his way to the final door at the back of the house.

With the flick of a switch, his father's office was alight. Not a speck of dust was seen. Not a single paper, book and pen was misplaced or even seen beside on their respective shelves. Neil hovered in the doorway.

Behind him, darkness was awaiting him. Beyond the doorway, death welcomed him. As if the floor would break underneath him, he slowly paced the perimeter of the office. He smoothed his fingers over the dark shelves lined with books, feeling the glazed smoothness of the wood and the indents of the detailing.

He turned toward his father's desk. Clean, shining and prim. Just like him. Why couldn't Neil be the same way? A small black lamp sat on the corner and beside it sat a key. That key. Neil knew what that key would open. He knew the possibilities.

He took the key and sat on his father's leather chair. Goosebumps climbed up his back against its coldness. He also felt as if it sunk into his heart and proceeded to weaken his body. He was glued to the chair. His stomach churned and twisted with guilt and anticipation.

He was once happy. Even when he was forced to endure the grueling years at Welton, it seems he found a better home in his small abode of a dorm. With his little window overlooking school grounds. His little bed stowed away in his little corner. Across him sat the little figure of his roommate and friend.

As if he just walked into the room, Neil saw Todd. His slim frame stood by the doorway. His bright eyes stared back at Neil. His rosy lips turned into his usual shy grin. Neil felt as if his body was lifting and his heart grew warm.