𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝗼𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝗼𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲✩

iii. MR. KEATING

You sat in the english classroom. You were sitting quietly, for fear of the teacher. All of a sudden, the figure of Mr. Keating walked out of the office. All of the students fixed their posture and stopped talking quick. There was something strange about Mr. Keating, but he also seemed familiar. He was smiling. And whistling. During all your time at Welton you couldn't remember seeing a teacher do either of those things. While trying to take him in, you realized he had walked straight out of the classroom. Some students laughed, most were astonished. 

"Well, come on," Mr. Keating popped his head in the doorway. You all hesitated to get up until finally one other boy you didn't know and Neil stood up to lead the class into the hall with your hymnals. Mr. Keating was still whistling out in the hall and all of a sudden he stopped. 

"O, Captain, my Captain," he said, "who knows where that's from? Anyone?" he had a soft gaze over the students. "Well then. It is from a poem by Walt Whitman, about Mr. Abraham Lincoln." he answered himself. "Now in this class you may refer to me as Mr. Keating, or for the slightly more daring, O, Captain, My Captain." the class laughed. "Now let me dispel a few rumors before they fester into facts. Yes, I to attended Hell-ton. And survived. And no, at that time I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight pound weakling.  I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face." This speech from Mr. Keating had all of the students paying attention now. Looking at the list of student names he asked a question. "Mr. P-Pitts," he made a face, "that's a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you?" Pitts raised his hand as he continued, "Mr. Pitts, would you open you hymnal to page 542 and read to us the first stanza of the poem you find there?" Keating instructed.

"'To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time'?" Pitts seemed uncomfortable.

"Yes, that is the one, somewhat fitting, isn't it." The class suppressed laughter.

"'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a flying : And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.'" 

The class was silent. "Thank you, Mr. Pitts. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. The Latin term for this sentiment is Carpe Diem. Does anyone know what that means?" The class stared at the Captain.

"Carpe Diem, that's 'seize the day'." Meeks replied. 

"Very good Mr..." Keating was impressed. 

"Meeks."

"Meeks! Another unusual name. Seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may . Why does the writer use these lines?"

"Because, he's in a hurry," Charlie said from the back of the room. You were all standing facing Mr. Keating, who was standing in front of the trophy cases. 

"No! Ding," Keating mimicked the sound of a bell, "thanks for playing anyway," the class let out another monotonous giggle. Keating paused. "Because we are food for worms, students. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die." The smiles faded away from the faces in the room. Mr. Keating was still smirking with smiling eyes. "Now I would like you to step forward, and peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times. I don't think you've really looked at them. They're not that much different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believed they were destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope. Just. Like. You. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because you see, these people are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in." You took in every word. As you all leaned in to the pictures, Charlie pounced off the back wall to stand by you and Neil. Mr. Keating popped in between Cameron and some other students. 

"Carpe," he whispered roughly and mysteriously, "Listen," He continued to whisper ominously, "Carpe. Carpe Diem. Seize the day, make your lives extraordinary," he continued. The faces of the students marked with skepticism faded into pensive paintings of beauty. 

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 if anyone is reading this sorry this chapter is a little short but i wanted to keep this part of the story separate from the other chapters because I find it to be very important. ily - s.s.