Sweet Dreams and Dark Things

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I squeezed my way past a couple of students standing at the doors. The classroom was big, I filed up the steps and picked a seat next to a window looking over the courtyard. I've never been to school before. It was something I resented. I remember begging my parents profusely to go to a school like the little girls on tv. They always claimed it wasn't safe or practical seeing as fire was something that seemed to burst from my palms anytime I was the least bit upset. My learning was one on one in the library with a teacher. She was nice, but always compared me to my siblings.

I glanced around the large classroom, watching people mingle. A lot seemed to know each other. A girl bouncing her blonde hair over her shoulder laughed at whatever a boy said. He looked her over in her pretty skirt and knit sweater as if he desired to take her right there in her seat. I looked myself over and began to over analyze my black jeans and hoodie, as if maybe I missed some kind of dress code.

"Welcome to the first day of a long quarter. I hope you all caught ahead with the reading, it's easy to fall behind in this class." Mr Harper came in empty handed, tucking his hands in his pockets. I assumed there would be a briefcase he carried, or maybe he'd write his name on the board. So far it wasn't like the movies.

"Death has reared himself a throne." He spoke clearly, glancing around the room as if waiting for one of us to respond. I knew the words, I've read them many times.

"Name the poet." He leaned against a small table, clasping his hands in his lap, patiently looking us over.

"In a strange city, lying alone." He continued the poem, waiting for hands to fly up, but they never did. I twisted my pen in my fingers, wondering if I wanted to be that girl. The know it all, the nerd. I've seen her in movies too, and I've never related to her character more than I do right now.

Mr. Harper scuffed and turned to start his lecture, giving up on us completely.

"Far down within the dim west." I spoke aloud. I cringed when my voice echoed. Heads turned my way. Mr Harper looked up, facing the class, not quite sure who had said it. He followed the gazes to me.

"Finish it." He challenged immediately.

"Where the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the best." There was a shake in my throat before I cleared it.

"Have gone to their eternal rest." I finally finished. A smile etched his features before he turned to face the whole of the class.

"Poe is the poet. I hope by the end of the quarter you won't just be reciting these famous poems, but breaking them down. Interpretation isn't just for a canvas or a teenager with a can of spray paint. It is a tool we use each and everyday. And I intend on sharpening it in all of you." He glanced up to me and let his smile grow slightly before turning to his computer.

I quickly realized I was lucky with the first poem, because the rest I had never seen. Dad liked saving words and quotes, he dabbled in poetry but he always claimed it felt too forced, he'd rather stumble upon something beautiful in a story.

'It's more relatable to life Fia. To come for a certain story and leave with fragments of personal poetry.' He once told me.

I didn't like reading much, but I did love poetry. Another difference I shared with my father.

"Tomorrow I want to see annotations, dirty filthy unorganized thoughts. Minds can be ugly, I want to see your ugly." He dismissed everyone. I decided right then and there that tv wasn't a good gage for school. Professors were supposed to be old, and pretentious. Mr. Harper looked to be in his mid 30's, obviously passionate about words but maybe not about teaching.