Disclaimer: I am in no way Peter Weir, I don't own the Dead Poets Society nor Neil Perry.
A/N: I started this short fic with all the intent in the world for making Neil live. But then half way through I guess I just wanted to know what Neil must of been thinking/feeling.
Neil stared down at the gun, the cold metal gleaming under the moonlight.
He'd thought, about this, about ending it all many a time. Whenever his father forced him to do something, reminded him of medical school or his already decided path in life.
It was only a fleeting thought, there for a moment then gone, dormant once more.
Yeah- he would think -Yeah, you think so, does it matter to you what I want? Does it matter to anyone at all?
What, maybe thirty or so years of life afterwords to be free. After ten long years or more of imprisonment of course.
It's like saying, well, you have to go to prison, but you get parole if you're a good boy and as long as you don't violate it, well then it's all fine and dandy.
But I could get out of it right now, if I wanted to.
Be dead.
No one would care, they'd get over it.
And he could be free then.
But he had never acted on these impulses before, obviously. Oh, he had wanted to, in those brief moments he had wanted more than anything to just get away.
He never got away, though.
Mostly because he had nothing to look forward to, he'd never thought he would have a passion for something. He got good grades, he did his due, but not because he liked to, rather because he had to.
So he had figured, so what if I have to be a doctor, who knows, maybe I might even start to like it after a few years.
And if not, well, it's just like school again isn't it? Doing what he had to. And then afterwords he would drift and perhaps find something to do, something he liked.
But then, then there was acting, and there was just getting away from it all, becoming someone new.
When he was Puck, Robin Goodfellow, no troubles touched him; he was king of the world! He had no over demanding father, no responsibilities other than that of mischief and fun.
Who knew, maybe next time he would be Hamlet, a whole new set of troubles.
Possibly Little John, following Robin and his merry band of thieves, or Robin himself! He could rule the forest, help the poor and punish the wicked and do nothing but what he wished.
He could be a free man!
He could have love.
But not here, no. He had none of those things, and he never would.
Not anymore.
He had thought, when he had those characters, when he could become them, then life would be alright.
Maintaining grades and acting? He could do that. His dad must trust him.
Good Mr. Perry must realize that his son could handle a great deal.
But that momentary reprieve was snatched away, and the worst thing about it was that it was for nothing! Nothing at all.
He was taken out simply because his father didn't like what he was doing.
And now he had nothing but that cool metal.
That relief.
He had taken his last bow, he had given himself one last moment as Puck.
Let all his troubles melt away.
And now it was time to end it all.