Dead Poet Society is not my universe. Never has been, never will be.

The white hues of winter hardened. His voice echoed within the very stone of this school. He made his life extraordinary. He made my life extraordinary. Neil would always be one of Charles greatest friends. The moment Charles life shifted for something of extraordinary greatness was in those horrid final moments. He was casted away as a delinquent by the current administration. He would never repent the punch to Richard Cameron's face, it was rightly deserved. From the backseat of his father's drivers car his eyes poured into the buildings mortar, following the lines of the archaic building until it disappeared.

"Mr. Dalton? Mr. Dalton?" Al, his father's driver snapped trying to regain the boys attention.

"Al, the one and only gentleman I wanted to see," I smirked. Al's face became stone as his eyes channeled the anger he knew the boy was waiting for at home. Al would never be on his side. Al wasn't Martin. Martin cared. Martin knew. Martin left. He's been gone three years. Fired, for creating antics and excitement in a fourteen-year-old boy. Studies are the only importance. The boy should not have the notion to become a journalist. He is to become a banker. That is all. I expect my help to stay out of my child rearing. I am the boy's father. I expect your bags backed by tomorrow night. Thank you for you service, Mr. Gunther.

"This is not the time, nor place for antics, Mr. Dalton. Your mother is worried, and your father upset, both situations that make my job difficult. I am to escort you home, to your fathers study. They are waiting eagerly for your arrival." He states bluntly his winter gloves gripped tightly on the wheel. Charles nods his head, he knew this was coming. He was already in for it for being paddled at school, now he was expelled. He expected, for them to be waiting for him. The rest of the Dalton clan still away at their own boarding schools and colleges, it would be him against them. Lovely.

Charles redirected his sight away from Al, and back onto the scenery outside. The snow was hardened on the branches of trees, icicles hung mass and wide with the idea that the world would eventually come crashing down. He was internally glad his sisters would be out of the house, he would hate for them to hear what was coming. Francis was two years younger, a freshman, very bright and a bit mischievous. The latter a trait he tries to take credit for instilling in her as small children. Caroline much younger at age eleven started school with Francis this year. She was still a mystery to him. She showed compassion, and a wit to match his. She scared and intrigued him. He was glad his sisters were together, because at the end of the day at least they wouldn't be alone. Like him.

His brother was his frustration. Franklin was older, he did not go to Welton, but went to Charlton School for Boys up in New Hampshire. He was the golden goose of the family. Their prize child. The first born. He was a freshman at Harvard. He was taking advanced accounting and mathematics. He was his father's dream child. He was the banking prodigy. Charles was the black sheep, reckless, and mischievous, the exact opposite from his father and brother. When he was at Welton he could hide away from Franklin, now that seemed to be over.

…

The car ride was a long one. It lasted a little over four hours. By the time, Al drove them across the border of Maine they were only thirty minutes away from Townsville, Maine. The small city his family occupied in the winter, they had a summer home near Welton. Charles watched the snow start and stop three times during the car ride, the landscape held a new blanket of white. His mind wandered to Neil in that last thirty minutes. If the snow was the beyond's way to letting him know that everything was going to be okay. That Neil was still with him in a way, following him home.

Al pulled the car into the driveway. Charles checked his pocket watch. 5:02. It was dark, and there was only a single light on in the house. He, of course, knew it wasn't going to be pretty. He stepped out of the car, adjusted his jacket which held in the inside pocket three unopened letters addressed to him. Three letters given to him before his last step out the doors of prestigious Welton, one from Meeks, another from Mr. Keating, and a final one from Neil. The latter was the one that was going to remained closed. He wanted to remember his dear friend as he was, and he knew what caused the boys grief and demise. He feared the same deep, disgruntled emotions himself, as the front door was opened for him by Miss. Josephine, one of his mother's many maids.

"Welcome Home, Mr. Dalton. Your parents have been expecting you. They are in the study. Make haste," her soft smile of pity, made him like her a bit more. It was the nicest gesture he was going to receive that day. He handed her his coat, with an added "Make sure that it makes it to my room" and a light "thank you." He shifted his suit jacket, and ran a hand through his hair. "Here goes nothing" chanted his inner self.

…

Charles could take the physical pain of being punished, he didn't mind that. He didn't like it, but he could deal with it. It was the mental torture that got to him. Nagged at his inner self and pushed buttons long after the discipline session with his father. Stop dragging the Dalton name though the mud. I worked so hard to get you into that school and you disgrace me, my name. Why can't you be more like Franklin? Why can't you be my son? and the tormenting comment of, I never wanted a son like you. Reckless, disobedient, a child.

His mind raced that night with the words of disappointment, jumping from Mr. Nolan lecture, to his fathers, to the moment at the beginning of the school year when Neil's father forced him to drop what he loved. He laid on his stomach, because the normal side was too painful to lay upon. His head was on its side as he stared at the winter stained glass with tears in his eyes. The internal pain was worse than being caught writing about girls being admitted to Welton, at least after that punishment he had his friends. He was now alone to deal with this alone. For the first time Charles felt neglected. He had no one to banter with and no one to smoke with. He sighed before closing his eyes, hoping everything would eventually right itself.

Maybe in the morning, it shall.