Faux » n.s [boyxboy]

c. 4

Chapter Four

Poetry. Poetry. Poetry. Poe... Here.

I grabbed the book of poems and pushed it in the gap in the book shelf. Knowing I had nothing better to do during Monday's free period, I decided to help out in the library yet again. Mrs. Charles doesn't seem to mind. If anything, I am told she likes my company.

I pushed the cart towards the History section and piled all the used history books back on the shelves. I picked some up from the floor and sighed. "How much energy would they waste by walking the extra two step to get to the drop bin?" I shook my head and did my volunteer job.

I hummed the tune of Cards by The Collision and decided to drag the cart this time. I've finished stalking all the books, so I might as well just do something else.

"Here you are, Mrs. Charles." I politely nodded while parking the silver cart next to her desk, where it usually went. She smiled at me through her round specs, her wrinkly hands shakily went up to fix them. "Thank you, dear." I smiled and nodded once, before going back to the Legendary section.

Shakespeare was always assigned to be in the section for not only is he truly legendary, but apparently Mrs. Charles is a massive fan.

"It's no use, they're never good. It's no use, no use. These cards will be the end of me and you." I sang softly, my fingers brushing the cover of the famous Romeo and Juliet.

Should I?

I picked the book up from the shelf and tucked it under my arm, aimlessly walking towards a vacant table. I've read this book a number of times, yet I always feel different each time I read it. One moment, they're stupid. The next, the parents are ignorant.

Next, they're too young. And finally, I understand.

This is the message of bittersweet love, coming from Shakespeare's perspective. Or during his era. We might think it's dumb, but we shall never judge the understanding of those from the past. We know a bit more than they did before. We all know the world is round, but who are we to judge those who strongly believed it was flat?

I sat down on the wooden chair, kicking my legs up on the table. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and flipped the page to Act I.

I checked the time; I had at least a good forty minutes more to spare of complete silence before I head out to have lunch with Louis. I turned back to the book, squinted at the words, and began to read.

Scene I. A public place.

I scrunched my nose up, the flickering light above me was a bit of a bother.

[Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.]

Sampson. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

Gregory. No, for then we should be colliers.

Sampson. I mean, an we be in choler we'll draw.

Gregory. Ay, while you live, draw-

A groan erupted from a few feet away, but I tried my best to ignore it. Read, Harry.

Gregory. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar-

"Who the fuck even cares who this bitch is? Damn it."

I looked past my shoulder, searching for where the groaning and continuous whining is coming from. "Fucking Anna Frank, such a fucking bother."