"A piece of parchment and a quill. This for which my love will spill" -A poem to my dearest Laurie.
Y/N L/N is a poet. Who unlike her friend, Jo March. Has no intention of letting the world see her work. She just wants Him to see. Although she's too...
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Lessons. What to say about lessons. I find them rather fascinating, Laurie on the other hand would disagree. Schools for women are a very new concept, one that not everyone saw eye to eye on. I'm lucky enough to be taught at the comfort of my own home. Mr. Brooke was a excellent teacher, and without him I wouldn't have learned a great many things. Laurie didn't take the same liking to our tutoring sessions as I did. He often zoned out or scribbled on a piece of parchment. Perhaps I enjoyed them because I was learning things I actually wanted to learn. And I was obviously Mr. Brooke's better student of the two. Laurie would call me a teacher's pet, I'd call it actually engaging with our lessons.
I'm curious, what can I say. When It comes to learning new things, I'm picturing the great adventures that lead to discoveries. The struggles of an artist attempting to create their masterpiece. The moment when an idea comes to the forefront and is an explosion of creativity. Laurie would call what I'm imagining childish or whimsical. I wish to be known to history like these great stories. Although knowing my poems, I'd be most likely labelled a 'Heart Broken Poet'.
I was reading a rather interesting book, one about a poet from an island in Greece, whom wrote about her lover. How she cursed the god's for making her feel such a way. It was impactful her writing, it made you feel her frustrations. "Sit down" I heard John say. I looked away from the paragraph. Laurie stood atop his chair, gazing out the window. I rolled my eyes at this, he never was one for listening. "Sit down, Laurie" John rubbed his eyes in frustration. "Latin is a privilege. Please, you have to learn this. Y/N has already excelled in the subject. I can't afford to lose this position. Return to the Cicero–"
"There's a girl out there" Laurie interrupted. I placed my book down, I walked over to them, I pulled at Laurie's arm. Trying to make him listen to our poor tutor.
"No, there is not" he said
"Yes, Mr. Brooke, there's a girl" he said shaking his arm away from my grip.
"No, there is not" John said once more. Laurie moved one of the other chairs closer to him. He helped me up, and John stood next to me. The three of us looked outwards, there a familiar girl with blonde hair, was talking to herself. "Oh, there is a girl"
"That's a girl" Laurie agreed.
Laurie pulled back the curtains, opening the window. I leaned over his shoulder, Mr. Brooke standing on a chair. "Hello there. Are you hurt?" Laurie called.
"I'm Amy" she sniffled. Her voice broken and tears in her eyes.
"Hello, Amy. I'm Laurie"
"I know. You brought my sister back after the dance. I would have never have sprained my ankle. I have lovely small feet, the best in the family" She said. I smiled at her odd choice of conversation. Then she started to cry once more. "But I can never go home again because I'm in such trouble. Look" she raised her hand, a large cut and blood dripping down her palm. The three of us were shocked, concern on our faces. "Mr. Davis hit me!"
