Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic. Otherwise, I'd have Charlie all to myself! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Charlie sat in the cave, looking around. The faces were different, yet so familiar. Peters had the same look of scared daring that Todd had. Haldon Brooks reminded Charlie so much of Knox Overstreet that he sometimes slipped and called him 'Knoxious'. Dean Singleton, right down to the red hair buzz cut, reminded Charlie so much of Cameron that it took all he had to not hit him. Jeffery White and Stephen Davies were Pitts and Meeks doppelgangers, Charlie was sure of it.
But, Neal Henry was the one that looked the most similar to one of the previous DPS members. From the way his dark hair fell in his face, to the high cheekbones and dark eyes that danced and shone, as though they were looking for trouble with every glance, and even his willingness to suck the marrow out of life and to live the motto 'Carpe Diem!', Neal Henry was Neil Perry reincarnated, and Charlie often felt like crying every time he saw him.
Charlie still had a doubt of asking them to join the Dead Poets Society. He hadn't known them as long as he knew Neil Perry and Knox Overstreet and even Richard Cameron and Gerard Pitts and Stephen Meeks. He knew the sort of trouble that would be had if he started a new chapter of the Dead Poets Society, but the allure of trouble was what Charlie loved so much.
"Ahem." Charlie coughed and the guys looked at him. Charlie couldn't help but stare at Singleton, trying to keep in mind he wasn't Cameron. "I think that before we start this, I should read the words that have started every Dead Poets Society meeting since their inception." He opened the book and read aloud. "I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life... to put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." He couldn't help but smile in memory of Neil reading those words and Knox whistling in revelation of the depth of the words.
Neal Henry looked up at Charlie. "Thoreau could be deep." He lit a cigarette. "So, what's this Dead Poets Society about anyhow?"
Charlie, not missing a beat, pulled out a piece of paper. "It is simple, gentlemen. We share poetry and smoke and…"
"Sounds like sissy shit to me." Singleton sneered.
"Women swoon, Singleton." Peters spoke up.
"And what would a fuckin' sissy boy like you care about women swooning?" Singleton's sneer never left.
Brooks spoke up. "Listen, Singleton, if you don't want to…"
"Never said I didn't want to. Just sounds like a bunch of fags reading poetry. That's all."
Charlie looked at Singleton. "Why do we need language?" He remembered Mr. Keating's class.
To Charlie's surprise, Singleton echoed Neil Perry's exact words. "To communicate."
"No! To woo women!" Charlie imitated Mr. Keating. "What do women love? Poetry. How do we woo women? Read and write poetry."
Neal Henry smiled a smile Charlie found very similar to Neil Perry's. "Okay then. We woo women with our words." He quickly winked at Charlie. "For we all love women here, right?"
Peters shifted uncomfortably as he looked at Neal. "Yeah, I guess so."
"All except sissy boy." Singleton sneered again.
"Leave him be." Davies chimed. "He's shy. And you'd have to pay a woman to swoon over you, Singleton."
Charlie glanced at Neal, who was hiding a laugh. Neal shrugged and Charlie let a laugh go without hesitation. "Alright, gentlemen, I call to order the third chapter of the Dead Poets Society." He looked around. "Any brave souls?" He looked around. "No one?"
"I've got something." Neal unfolded a sheet of paper. "I originally wrote this for class and stuffed it in my coat, hoping to forget it, but alas, here it is." He looked at Charlie. "This was from an assignment before you came. We had to describe in detail our biggest fear." He 'ahemed' before starting. "My Biggest Fear by Neal Henry" A few laughs escaped. "My biggest fear would be to wake up one morning and find Dean Singleton in the same room as me." He looked around. "The end."
"That's not funny, Neal." Dean protested amidst the laughs of the others.
"Oh, come on, Dean. Don't you have a sense of humor?" Charlie was struck by how much Neal Henry's voice even sounded like Neil Perry's. "Just relax. It's all in fun." Neal looked at Charlie. "You're the one who started this. Do you have anything to share?"
Charlie looked at the paper he still held in his hand. "When the darkness comes and no light you will find; When fear and frustration and anger cloud the recesses of your mind; When you stand at the window, thoughts straying elsewhere; When you hold the gun, praying, just before you pull the trigger; Just before the shot echoes in the empty halls; Just before your body takes its final curtain call; Know that there are those who call you friend; Think of these things before you call it to an end." He wiped a stray tear.
Silence filled the cave. Peters looked at Charlie, fighting the urge to pull him close and comfort him. My poor Charlie. So filled with pain and I am useless to stop it. I am useless to do anything about it.
It was a few moments before anyone dared to speak. Jeffery White softly spoke up. "Does it have to be our own or can we recite the works of Tennyson and Wilde and the others?"
"We can make up our own rules." Charlie regained his composure. "Let it drip from your lips like honey. The more we learn, the more we read and write, the more women will swoon and the sooner we can discover our own voices." Charlie leaned back, lit a cigarette and surveyed the other boys with a grin, while they were still trying to figure the cocky Charles Rutherford Dalton out.