𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Neil Perry

PROLOGUE ᵖᵃʳᵗ¹: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒

ׅ𖥔 ۫ ⋄ YOU LOVE ME,
BUT YOU DON'T KNOW IT YET !
- happy accidents, saint motel

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"TRADITION, DISCIPLINE, HONOUR, AND EXCELLENCE." Voices of the students of the Welton Academy echoed throughout the hall. Their synced chant reflected on the absolute order created by Welton Academy - or as some students would name it, 'Hellton Academy'. Sure, 75% of graduates going on to be part of the Ivy League was considered extraordinary, but the tough discipline and copious amounts of homework seemed a little unnecessary at times.

There was only one class many boys seemed to enjoy though, and it was Mr Keating's literature class. He taught boys in the most unusual ways; other students recall his class marching on school grounds or singing brightly in their classroom. No matter the case, each boy in Keating's lessons would find themselves with something new each day.

He taught them the secrets to wooing women, how to stay alive and be human through finding romance and love in life, and how to feel like a little kid again. After all, it was not most common to rip the introductory pages of your textbook in Math or Chemistry.

Mr Keating inspired one particular group who continued his legacy; the 'Dead Poets Society'. A society in which they dedicated themselves to sucking the marrow out of life. Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created. Neil Perry, Todd Anderson, Knox Overstreet, Charlie Dalton, Steven Meeks, Gerard Pitts and Richard Cameron, students who dedicated themselves to be part of this 'secret organisation'. Or at least that's what Richard called it when he laid his first suspicions on recreating it.

A year later, the Dead Poets Society would continue to be hopeless romantics, reading verses from the greats and the classics, and even, their own. They brought their loud instruments into the Indian Cave and let the melodies ring throughout. They were proud, they were bold and they were daring. This society broadened their minds and opened up new realities they never thought they would experience.

Sure, whilst being 'poetic intellects', they were still boys - Charlie not afraid in bringing his porno magazine collection where he would write his own verses on. They smoked, puffs of white floating around them. They invited women - or at least, Charlie did. Everything inappropriate, you could count on Charlie being the cause of it.

All Neil knew, was that when Mr Keating first exited the tiny office from his classroom, whistling a tune he recognised, Neil's life would be change tremendously. He found a love for acting down in the depths of his heart, something he never knew he would find.

Officially, the Dead Poets Society would continue to stand, as lovers, as actors, as humans.