wherefore art thou » dead poets society

e minor

there came a knocking at the door sometime before midnight. todd's nose was buried deep into a red, leather-bound book when the noise caught his attention. he glanced up. there was something very edgar allen poe about this. sinister. 

"neil get the door." oh for fear of doing so himself. who in their right mind would be wandering the dormitory halls at this hour?

said boy, who was previously hunched over his desk, scratching away at his notebook, replied in an exasperated huff. clearly, this wasn't the telltale heart and no one was getting murdered and buried under the floorboards tonight. he waved a hand, gesturing for todd to get it instead. and to this, todd would roll his eyes towards the ceiling but clamber out of his comfortable blanket cocoon. of course. he would played the compliant sidekick. the door swung open to reveal ebony eyes. who's? evaline's.

"is neil here?" she would inquire with, eyes look past todd and for a certain chocolate-haired boy.

todd nodded, a little disheartened at her lack of recognition toward himself but pulled the door open regardless and inviting her in. his fingers gripped the metal handle a little harder and the coldness seemed to sear into his skin. it felt like a mistake, almost. allowing someone who's eyes never met his into his sleeping chambers. oh, it no longer felt like poe but more of a shakespearean tragedy. macbeth? she stepped in, still clad in her uniform — classic welton blazer and tie but paired with a long skirt. it looked uncomfortable but the way she held herself only led todd to draw similarities between evaline and lady macbeth. 

"can i help you?" neil shifted around in his seat, raising his brows at the appearance of the mademoiselle herself. an unexpected guest, really. he wasn't exaclty pleased to see her (certianly not after the frostry interactions prior to the knocking at 11:48 pm) but met her gaze, regardless.

"do you have time to talk about your writing?"

and todd, who knew neil had yet to complete his chemistry assignment, only frowned when neil responded with an eager nod and a charming, toothy grin. so a chair was pulled up for evaline and she brushed her hair out of her face, clearing her throat.

"your introduction is weak. i suggest you begin with something different because watching the stars is a cliché that quite frankly isn't an effective opening. the ending too, i find quite boring. a reflection is necessary in storytelling but it feels like a children's fairytale to have a moral at the end of it all. your idea is solid but your writing doesn't support it. your writing lacks life, lacks emotion, lacks a voice. your characters are only going through the motions of living and you as an author must breathe life into them. it is not a writing composition, it is art. words are more than just meaning — words bring about the joys of creation to mankind and it is your duty as part of mankind to utilize words as a weapon in the battle of life. writing a story is a form of expression, a representation of the struggles of the human race, a parallel of your very life and as of reading your story, your characters are afraid of living."

she grew silent after that. so did neil. todd, too.

she hadn't spoken so much since they had first met that morning. neil hasn't ever been criticized like that. and todd has never seen someone speak so passionately about writing on a level that could rival mr. john keating. todd was a little astounded by this (only a little). she had created a piece of writing herself all the while critiquing a piece of writing. she was truly an enigma, this girl, ridden with secrets and surprises. 

"s-sorry," she quickly mumbled, strands of dark hair falling into her eyes. neil's expression was hard to read, even for todd who had been carefully observing neil since the first sentence evaline had spoken.

and neil laughed. broke out into foamy, bubbly, light laughter.

"no! not at all," neil chuckled, picking up the papers marked up in neat, cursive writing. he placed them atop his bed. resentment? gone. no where in sight. "thank you."

"i don't mean to come off as rude or overly critical. apologies," she mumbled, teeth sinking into chapped, rosy lips. "i should probably head back soon."

"no worries. where's your room anyways — wait, how'd you know where to find me?"

"i'm down the hall and mr. keating told me. he said it would be useful to know where to find you," she replied in an almost embarrassed manner. todd swore he spotted a ghost of a blush dusting her full cheeks and he felt himself chew on the inside of his own. what was he? a ghost? he most certainly felt like one, standing in a room where two living, breathing, smiling human beings engaged in conversation while he himself faded into the peeling wallpaper.

"i could walk you back," neil offered, standing up. she shook her head at this, rejecting him with something similar to "no need" but he was dead to any protests. "it's no hassle. it's just down the hall, right?"

with that, the pair disappeared out the door with or so much a goodbye to todd.

todd sat there for a while before curiosity led him to the pages that sat on neil's bed.

CARPE DIEM
Neil Perry

the titled was circled with "overused" written in blue ink below it.

todd went back to his book soon after that. he crawled back into bed and pick up said book and began reading "introduction to the romantic era of music".