Cigarette, daydream and poetry ( A DPS fanfiction ) Charlie x OC

Poetry

Margaret had always loved poetry. She wasn't particularly skilled at writing it, but she knew how to read it, to feel and understand the emotions of the poets who inspired her daily. So, when she learned that the literature class was going to focus on poetry, she was more than delighted. Today's lesson began with Dr. Pritchard's demonstration, "Understanding Poetry," which Margaret found quite ridiculous. To her, poetry was an art that should be felt like a breath of fresh air on one's face, not studied like a mundane math lesson.

And yet, she found herself copying the diagram made by her teacher into her notebook while her brother read Pritchard's text aloud. The class did not ask questions, noting with disappointment the boredom this lesson was causing them. Then suddenly, Mr. Keating declared:

"Excrement, that's all Mr. J. Evans Pritchard's work is worth."

The class looked at him in perplexity as he expanded on his statement, and Margaret was surprised that his opinion was so close to her own. And what joy it was for her when he asked them to tear out the page and even the whole chapter. No one dared to believe he was serious, and consequently, no one dared to do it until a sound of tearing paper was heard. It was Charlie, proudly holding up his torn page. Then, everyone followed suit, encouraged by the teacher. The initially dull class turned out to be quite extraordinary.

Amidst the laughter and joy, Mr. McAllister entered, ordering everyone to stop. Margaret couldn't suppress a laugh seeing Charlie put a piece of paper in his mouth. Mr. Keating arrived with the trash can, leaving Mr. McAllister stunned, who then left the room quite disconcerted. Mr. Keating gathered the scraps of paper in the trash can, allowing the class to rebel against these abominable writings on poetry, encouraging them to think for themselves.

"Contrary to what you may have been told, words and ideas can change the world. I see in Mr. Pitt's eyes that the writings of the 19th century have no use for banking and medicine, correct?"

Margaret smiled and met Dalton's gaze; they liked what they were hearing, perhaps because no one had ever told them that before. Mr. Keating asked everyone to come closer, so the class gathered around him.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote Whitman:

'O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless-of cities fill'd with the foolish;

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light-of the objects mean-of the struggle ever renew'd;

Of the poor results of all-of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;

Of the empty and useless years of the rest-with the rest me intertwined;

The question, O me! so sad, recurring-What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here-that life exists and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.'

Keating looked at them; they were all hanging on his words, and suddenly he asked, "What will your verse be?" With that, the lunch bell rang, and they left the room, some discussing, others simply silent. That day, Mr. Keating captured the interest of all his students with those few verses and wise words.

Margaret was allowed to eat at the table with her friends while still under the supervision of the teachers. She couldn't believe it; she had noticed that the adults' attention wasn't directed at her, which suited her perfectly. She sat at the table next to Knox and Todd.

"Aren't you eating?" the young girl asked Todd.

"Huh? Oh...yes, I was just thinking."

She smiled at him, hoping to talk with him. She could see he was shy and reminded her of how she used to be-introverted and lacking self-confidence-but she had realized that she alone could decide what kind of person she could become.

"What's your name again?" she asked gently.

"Todd Anderson."

"Did you enjoy Mr. Keating's class?"

"Uh...yes, I guess."

Before she could ask another question, Neil interrupted by sitting down at the table, announcing that he had found the yearbook from Keating's time. It mentioned that he was a "womanizer," which made the group laugh.

"A womanizer? So, Mr. Keating was a ladies' man," Charlie marveled.

"That's very vulgar, Dalton," commented Margaret.

"Absolutely not."

"Dead Poets Society, what is that?" Neil wondered.

"We should ask him," said Knox.

Thus, the group of friends went in search of their teacher to ask about the meaning of this organization. They left the building, searching outside where all the boys were playing football or running across the vast space dedicated to them. They eventually found him, Neil calling out, but he didn't respond until he used the term "O Captain, my Captain?" Keating turned around, smiling.

"We just looked at your old yearbook," explained Neil.

"Oh dear. No, that's not me," Keating joked, kneeling to look at the old photos from his time.

Everyone knelt beside him, and Neil asked what the Dead Poets Society was.

"Can you keep a secret?" Keating asked.

They nodded.

"It took place in an old Indian cave. We would take turns reading many poems by great poets, and in the enchantment of the moment, all these poets would work their magic."

"Crazy guys reading poetry?" Knox laughed.

"No, Mr. Overstreet, not crazy at all! It wasn't just a secret lodge; we didn't just recite poetry. The verses dripped their nectar onto our tongues, our souls soared, women swooned, gods were born from our hands. A beautiful evening for the mind, right? Thank you, Mr. Perry, for this walk down memory lane. Burn that."

Mr. Keating left, leaving behind the impression he always did when his wise words escaped his mouth. The bell rang, and everyone stood up, then Neil, smiling broadly, enthusiastically suggested:

"What if we went there?"

"Are you crazy?" said Cameron.

At first, he wasn't the only one who thought so. Neil looked at his sister and knew she agreed with him. Cameron complained, and Pitt doubted as everyone headed towards the building while Charlie insisted that Cameron shouldn't come with them. An adult called for them to hurry up, and Neil turned around, trying to convince everyone to participate. Despite the doubts, everyone seemed to agree that it was a risky idea, but at the same time, everyone wanted to go.

As Margaret climbed the stairs, Knox and Charlie stopped her and took her aside.

"Are you coming too?" Knox asked.

"I don't know, guys. It's quite risky. My room is next to the teachers' rooms...and Nolan isn't far away. My dad would freak out if he knew!"

"So, you're scared," concluded Charlie.

"And for good reason! Listen, I'd love to, but I don't know how."

"Go through the window! We'll help you," suggested Knox.

"Yes," Charlie continued, "if you fall, we'll catch you."

"You're not reassuring me."

"Come on!" insisted Knox, "What have you got to lose?"

Margaret sighed, then after a final hesitation, she agreed.