7 p.m
Todd's pov:
I wake up from a bad dream, A Nightmare really, And I begin to recall everything that happened yesterday.
First, I remember that I woke up, exactly at the same hour I did as today, I've got to say that I'm a really monotonous guy, especially since I went to Welton, or I must say Hellton, since we had to wake up as soon as the sun begun to rise. But I guess that isn't the only reason I must call it that way.
1959.
A year before the 60's. The year after 1958.
The year I went to Welton. The year I met my friends. The year I met Neil Perry.
The year the ‘‘dead poets society’’ became a thing.
The year I fell in love.
The year Neil tried to commit.
Sometimes It hurts to imagine how much a person has to suffer to get to that point. To reach the deep end. To commit, to take their own lives.
It hurts even more if you imagine how much pain a person you loved was in to commit.
Neil Perry was lucky enough to survive.
It's a complicated story, but basically:
He was really, really nervous, obviously, and he was trembling like crazy, not only for fear but also because it was freezing cold, and he was in his "dad's" office near the window, completely naked except for the underwear.
He got to the gun, Charged it and pulled the trigger.
He aimed for the brain,the head, but for the trembling the gun slipped and hit him on the low side of the neck, almost on the shoulder.
He got rushed to the hospital and stayed there for 2 months, which seemed like an eternity for me.
As soon as Charlie told me the news I was in complete shock. It took a moment for me to realize that the boy I so admired had tried to take his life.
He was only 17 years old when it happened.
It took days of crying, waiting, and patience to finally visit him in the Hospital.
I had bought him a flower, a Sunflower, because they always reminded me of him, his favourite snacks, which were the Satellite Wafers,
And a poetry I wrote before all this happened...
