HOW DID IT END? | todd anderson

sea, swallow me ii.

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Dusk rose upon the foors that my feet stood upon. I'm leaving Welton. along with the rest of us, except Cameron. i was to pack my things last night after supper and be ready by 5am sharp to leave.

the dorm was empty now. bedding ripped from the mattresses, desk clean, wardrobe empty, all of it, gone. ticking and soft clicking was heard from my watch which read 4:50am. time moved rapidly now, against my heavy heart.

I picked up my suitcase and walked out of the dorm room which once held a bright light, now darkened by death. i didn't bother looking back to say my goodbye's. the stairwell looked longer than usual, i felt like falling; forever. walking past the chapel and to the main enterence stood my parents and Mr. Nolan. My father took one glance at me and then to Nolan before slightly nodding and getting in the car. My mother, perfectly angelic looked to me with a bittersweet smile and then thanked Mr. Nolan before getting in the car. I walked past Nolan, taking one small glance to him before walking to the back of the car and stuffing my suitcase in the trunk before getting in the backseat.

driving away, the space between my parents and i were silent; the air was thick. finally, my father spoke. "Son, we have decided to take you back to Balincrest Academy where you once were;" his voice was bitter, but quiet "you have not lived up to ours and Jeffery's standards here at Welton Academy. You will finish out your Junior and Senior years there. Nothing less to say then, we expect more than what you did at Welton."

my mother spoke, soft and apologetic. "Darling," she started, looking back to me in the rearview mirror. "we're sorry, we truly are. but what we're doing what's best for you . . . Welton wasn't the right choice, it was Balincrest all along." she stated.

I sat in the backseat of the car as my father still drove. I didn't speak. my eyes dodged from outside the window and to my hands that sat in my lap, frequently. salty and bitter teardrops fell from my eyes and ran down my cheeks, tasting of salty sorrow. I didn't want to speak to my parents, or anyone for that matter. No one would listen to me anyway. ever since I was a kid, my parents have been comparing me to Jeffrey. Jeffery this, Jeffery that. I'll never be as great as my older brother. Hell, my own parents forgot what they got me for my birthday last year. they got me the same desk set as last year. the same damn one.

but why should I start talking anyway? no one will listen . . . except for Mr. Keating.

and the poets.

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