History's Repeat
Disclaimer: I don't own the 'Poets' nor the poems. The 'Poets' belong to their creators but for my characters and setting, and most of the poems belong to Robert Frost
A/N: chapter 2 – Chris and Co try to adjust to living in 'Hellton'
02. First Day
A first ring of the bell meets Chris and her gang in the cafeteria, as Chris is trying to eat.
"And they call this food?" Ana asks with disgust. The others snicker.
"The only reason I'm eating this is because I don't want to pass out in class," Chris says. "I heard they're still using whips and pads per se punishment."
The others wince, and Amy gingerly ties her hair away from her face.
"I have no idea how I'm going to cope," she moans quietly. "It's Chem first, just as Nikkie predicted. Drat."
"But, look, we have Art next," Chris points out, as the group compares their timetables. "Heck, all of us are in the same class."
"Hey, Chris, that actually, rhymed," Alex smirks at her. The others grin and Chris tosses back her dark hair.
"Speaking of rhyme, did anyone found out more about Neil Perry, Carpe Diem, or Dead Poets?" she asks in a whisper. "I bet everything's bound together."
The others shake their heads.
"What do you say, we'll try to find out about it after classes?" John whispers. The others nod their heads and trot to Chemistry, Amy with a moan and Chris with a broad smirk, as she mutters some formulas under her breath.
Chemistry is boring. So is Algebra. The teacher of Trigonometry makes it entertaining by threatening extra homework due next day – which elicits groans from the class. Latin is worse than Trig.
"God, I hope English won't be dreary," Nikkie says, as she tries to make a proper cat out of her clay.
Chris doesn't answer. She is too busy with shaping her own brick into the crown of thorns, without even knowing why she is doing it.
When they pile into the room, the teacher is not there. The loud chatter subsides suddenly, as the teacher-in-question, Miss Richards, walks through the doors of her office, whistling a tune from the 1812 Overture. She walks through the class and disappears in the hallway.
A stunned silence is what follows that act. The students exchange amazed looks and shrugs. Miss Richards peeks into the room.
"Well, where are you lot?" she asks impatiently. "Follow me, everyone"
Shrugging and grinning, Chris and George lead the rest of the class out of the room, picking their texts along the way.
Miss Richards leads them outside of Welton Academy, out onto the grass. She stops on the river bank and seats herself on the old tree stump.
"Take your seats, people and take a very careful look around."
The teens glance at each other uneasily, not knowing what to expect from the teacher. Chris is the first to sit on her knees, gazing around.
The nature deserves very careful scrunity, as the golden leaves twirl in the slight wind. One of them had tangled itself in Chris's dark hair and she untangles it, letting it drift towards the ground where it joined the rest in the golden carpet that gathered under everyone's feet. A few other stray leaves covered heads of the confused students, and they didn't even notice those,m trying to see what their teacher wanted them too.
"Look here. Who can tell me the difference between these two leaves?" The teacher asks, holding up a golden leaf and bringing it closer to the fallen one. The leaf on the ground was already grey and withered, without any colour and life.
"The golden leaf still has colour in it," Ana volunteers timidly.
"That's the part of it." Miss Richards points up. "And how much are these to different from… let's say… Ah, thank you, Mr Perry… From this one?" She holds up a green leaf, which Alex had recently brushed off.
"Well, this one had just tangled in my hair," Alex grumbles good-naturally, amidst several chuckles.
"Nice try. But, really, what's the difference between these three leaves and those that are still up there?" The teacher glances around the circle. "Anyone?"
The students glance at each other in confusion. Miss Richards sighs.
"Miss Stiles, read the poem on page 250, please."
Julia opens up her text and raises her slender eyebrows.
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying.
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying,"
She reads sarcastically.
"Thank you, Miss Stiles, and no need to sound so sarcastic. Now, who can tell me what is the similarity between what we were talking about and what had been written?"
"Easy, Ma'am," Rojer snickers. "We were talking about leaves, and this poem is about flowers."
A swift scattering of laughter is Rojer's reward, before Miss Richards gently shakes her head.
"Look." Again, she lowers the golden leaf and the green leaf next to the brown one. "See? Those are the same leaves. Now, imagine that this is one and the same leaf over a few days. It starts out as bright green, swaying up the tree on the wind. Then, the wind picks it up. Then, it tears out from its root. It falls to the ground or in the water… Or in somebody's hair…"
A scatter of laughter.
"Then, if fit's still green, it slowly turns to brown. Dry brown. If it had time to turn gold before falling off, it's still turning brown, only much faster. Eventually…"
Miss Richards looks each of her students in their eyes, and they lean in closer.
"Eventually, it falls apart. It dies."
Silence.
"Now, why did I talk about all those leaves." Miss Richards pushes a strand of her blond hair behind her ear and grins.
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." She glances about the crowd. "It also means, 'Carpe Diem'. Who can tell me what that is?"
"Carpe Diem, seize the day," Alex volunteers.
"Thank you, Mr Perry." Miss Richards picks up another golden leaf and holds it up. "Imagine this is somebody's life. It will soon fall apart, for the leaf is golden and soon will turn to dust." She nods at the grey leaf. "This is a representation of somebody who is already dead. The leaves left nothing but dust behind them. The people left an impression, a verse of their own in the world, no matter how insignificant it was."
Chris stares at the distance, her eyes going slightly glassy, as she thinks about Neil Perry.
'Like leaves, huh? I wonder what legacy there was after that one leaf…'
"Carpe Diem." The teacher repeats and the girls and boys snap out of their respective reveries. "Think about it, Ladies and Gentlemen. Before you decay like these leaves, you will leave a verse behind you, no matter if you want it or not. Only you can shape that verse, only you can make your lives extraordinary."
Miss Richards looks directly at Chris, Alex, Ana, Amy, and their friends.
"I wonder, how you will write your verses. Tell me once you're done."
With that, Miss Richards gets up from the tree stump, leaving her students behind to mull over the lesson.
Half of them are dazed, another half are confused, and another third are asleep.
"You bummers, wake up!" George punches two nearest sleeping students. "We're going to have today's lesson on the test and you overslept it!"
The group wakes up. Julia looks at George stupidly, as through she doesn't know how she got there.
"Tim, what's Carpe Diem?" George demands, as the others look on curiously.
Tim Leigh looks confused.
"Car… what?"
The students snicker and George shakes his head in exasperation.
"Figures. Count your test a failure, Timothy."
Chris and the others laugh and make a dash towards the Academy, as a church bell marks an end of the day.
Chris stops for a brief moment to listen to the chime. It seems to her that the very wind is whispering the words that had been said in the school more than once.
"Carpe Diem… Make your lives extraordinary…"
A/N: up next – Chris visits the graveyard and the cave, and discovers a very important book
