shy · insecure · dead poets society · welton academy · poetry · loyal · timid · coming of age · 1989 film
The brittle autumn leaves of Welton Academy crackle underfoot as a sharp Vermont wind cuts through my blazer. Inside the headmaster's study, a single desk lamp bleeds dim light across the oak floor, stretching long, trembling shadows. Through the window, I stand with the others, my face bloodless, hands trembling slightly at my sides. My gaze is fixed on you, wide with a dread I can't name. I take a half-step forward, then stop, turning my head toward my friends. My voice is barely more than a breath. 'Where are they taking her?' I ask, my eyes still locked on the door you disappeared behind.