CHAPTER ONE!
( SEIZE THE DAY. )

   TRAVESTY, HORROR, DECADENCE, EXCREMENT.

The four pillars of Welton Academy. You sighed deeply as you began to unpack your suitcase. Another year at Welton meant another ten months of sleepless nights and innumerable essays. Your parents were dead-set on you holding up the family's legacy, you had no room to slack off. You adjusted the achievement pins on your Welton blazer after you put your final things away. You took another deep breath, processing the fact that summer was over.

A girl with dark bangs that cut across her pale forehead and an armful of books stepped through the doorway. She looked quite dishevelled but her blue eyes lit up brightly when she saw you.

"Hi! I think I'm your new roommate. My name's Violet, Violet Moore," she smiled benevolently.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N Y/L/N," You held out your hand for her to shake, but her arms were full of luggage and literature. She gave you an awkward smile as she struggled to free her hand. "Oh, sorry," you said. You both laughed as you helped her set down her books. Finally, you shared a handshake and you sat down on your bed.

"You must be new," you stated.

"Sure am, my family just moved here from New York."

"Oh wow, you're a city kid."

She chuckled lightly and nodded.

"Well, not to be pessimistic, but don't expect to like it here."

"Oh, I don't already. Everyone is so serious," Violet said.

"The best way to make it through is to find the little things that make you happy. If you want, I'll show you around, maybe you can find something worth being happy about. For me, the hallways in the morning when the light always seems to hit just right," you smiled.

"I'd like that very much," she nodded.

Once the two of you were completely settled in, you began the tour. You decided that you liked Violet, and it was nice to have someone you liked as a roommate. You had gotten bad luck for the past few years, stuck with brown-nosing narcissists. You generally kept to yourself, and though you were on good terms with almost all of your classmates, you didn't really have anyone who you would call a friend. You weren't the best at getting close to people, and you often kept part of yourself hidden. It was almost an instinct. You were also quite private, although you came off as a friendly and confident person.

❦

The next morning came too soon. You forced yourself out of bed and quickly got dressed. You and Violet hurried down to the dining hall, stomachs growling.

"I'm kind of nervous," Violet admitted.

"Me too, and I've been going here since seventh grade," you laughed. "Don't worry, we'll get through. Somehow we always do."

You sat down at a table with the other junior girls. All of you looked like you were still half asleep. You smiled at each other and exchanged tired greetings.

Before you knew it, you were walking into the chem lab. You were among the first to sit down. The balding, bespectacled teacher handed out enormous textbooks to each of the students. You stifled a sigh as he placed yours on your desk.

"In addition to the assignments in the text," he said sternly, "you will each pick three lab experiments from the project list and report on one every five weeks. The first twenty problems at the end of Chapter One are due tomorrow."

Violet sent you a disbelieving look, and you shook your head as you stared down at the text in front of you. After a long hour of counting the seconds, the bell rang. You all moved on to Latin class.

Mr. McAllister wasted no time getting into the lesson. As his monotonous voice repeated Latin words, you looked around at the people in your class. You noticed that Steven Meeks was seated to your right, you figured you would have to ask him if you could copy his Latin notes after school, as you weren't writing a single word down. Violet was seated in front of Meeks, and was trying desperately to keep up with Mr. McAllister. To her right was Gerard Pitts, you were happy to have him in your class, he was nice. In the front, you noticed another new kid, he had blond hair and an anxious expression. You wondered who he was. Richard Cameron was seated directly in front of you, and to his left sat the golden boy, Neil Perry. To your left was your former roommate, the bootlicking narcissist, Elizabeth Harris. You always thought that she and Cameron would make a nice couple. Behind Elizabeth sat a brunet boy named Knox Overstreet, and behind him in the far corner was Charlie Dalton. Charlie was mindlessly twirling his pencil in his hand while he stared out the window. Your eyes settled on him for a little longer than the others, you couldn't help but admire his pretty face.

"You will be tested on those nouns tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen. You have your work cut out for you." Mr. McAllister said, pulling you away from your thoughts. A collective groan rippled through the room. You immediately regretted not paying attention in class.

The bell rang and you all headed off to your next class despondently.

"How are we supposed to learn all that by tomorrow?" Violet moaned.

"I have no idea," you sighed.

Next was math. When you entered the room, books were already waiting for you on your desks.

"Your study of trigonometry requires absolute precision," Dr. Hagar instructed. "Anyone failing to turn in a homework assignment will be penalized one mark off their final grade. Let me urge you now not to test me on this point."

The rest of the class consisted of Dr. Hagar bombarding the class with complex questions, harshly reprimanding those who made mistakes.

The bell rang once again and you dragged yourself into English class. English had always been your favourite, but you didn't know how much more of this day you could take.

When you entered the classroom, the teacher was nowhere to be seen. It was supposed to be a new teacher, John Keating. You took a seat and looked around, confused. Suddenly, Keating strolled into the room. Everyone immediately settled down. Keating seemed to be evaluating his students. He strolled down the aisles, looking at each student in the eyes.

"Ha!" He slapped his free hand with the yardstick and strode forcefully to the front of the room. "Nimble young minds!" He shouted.

He jumped dramatically onto his desk and faced the class. "'Oh Captain! My Captain!'" he recited energetically. "Who knows where that's from? Anybody?"

Walt Whitman. You thought. You didn't usually like to participate very much in class, but you raised your hand.

"Yes! Ms....?"

"Y/L/N," you informed him.

"Ms. Y/L/N, brave soul. Please tell us where this is from."

"A poem by Walt Whitman about Abraham Lincoln," you said, confident in your answer.

"Perfect! Thank you Ms. Y/L/N. Now in this class, you may refer to me as Mr. Keating. Or if you're slightly more daring, Oh Captain, My Captain," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Now let me dispel a few rumours so they don't fester into facts. Yes, I too attended Hell-ton and survived. And no, at that time I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face." The class laughed out loud.

"Pick up your textbooks from the back, ladies and gentlemen, let's retire to the honour room."

Keating then strolled right out of the class. Everyone sat silently, unsure of what to do.

"Well I guess we better follow him," Neil said, leading the class to the back of the room. You each grabbed a book and proceeded to the oak-panelled Welton Honour Room.

Once everyone had filed in, Keating turned to the class. "Mister"- Keating turned to his roster -"Pitts," he said. "That's a rather unfortunate name. Stand up, Mr. Pitts." Pitts rose to his feet. "Mr. Pitts, would you open your hymnal to page 542 and read for us the first stanza of the poem?"

Pitts leafed through his book. "'To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time'?"

"Yes, that's the one. Somewhat appropriate, isn't it." Keating nodded as the class chuckled around him.

"Yes, sir." Pitts cleared his throat.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a flying :
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying."

He stopped. "Thank you, Mr. Pitts. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,'" Keating repeated. The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem. Does anyone know what that means?"

"Carpe Diem," Meeks, the Latin scholar said. "That's 'seize the day'."

"Very good, Mr....?"

"Meeks."

"Meeks. Another unusual name. Seize the day, gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Why does the writer use these lines?"

"Because he's in a hurry," Charlie piped up. You turned your head to where he was leaning against a trophy case at the back of the room, a smirk on his lips. You smiled and chuckled lightly before turning back to Mr. Keating, not noticing that as you turned away, Charlie's eyes were on you.

"No, ding!" Mr. Keating slammed his hand down on an imaginary buzzer. "Thank you for playing anyway. Because we are food for worms, students. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die."

The laughter ceased and the smile left your face. It was never a pleasant thing to think about, the fact that your days were numbered, but at the same time, you felt a little spark ignite inside of you when you heard these words.

"Now I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times. I don't think you've really looked at them. They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. Even you, ladies, have much in common with these boys." He adds, as girls were only admitted to Welton after 1951. "The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because you see, these people are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in."

You exchanged a strange look with some of your classmates. Charlie looked at you with skepticism of Keating's instructions, but slowly, everyone gathered around. You leaned forward.

Mr. Keating appeared between you and Cameron, his face right next to yours.

"Carpe," he whispered gruffly.

Cameron looked over his shoulder with an aggravated expression of annoyance on his face. You couldn't help but laugh quietly, but you immediately stopped when Keating met your eye. Instead of reprimanding you, he only winked. You grinned and turned back to the photos, studying the faces of Welton's former students.

"Hear it?" Keating asked. "Carpe. Carpe Diem. Seize the day, make your lives extraordinary," he whispered again. Everyone stared at the faces in the cabinet in silence.

❪ ⋆࿐໋ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒑𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒎. ❫

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

Hello everyone! This is my first ever fanfic so I'm not sure if I'm doing it right, but I hope you enjoyed it. The purpose of this chapter is mainly to introduce you to the setting. I love Dead Poets Society, and more specifically Charlie Dalton, with all my heart. If you made it this far, I love you and I hope your day is great!