Be Not Afraid of Greatness || Neil Perry

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, beige paint, and insulation do not have the capability to disguise abuse. You can cheer to an explosion, but that will not make it fireworks. A diploma from Harvard, Stanford, and Yale will not make the treatment of students at Welton Academy anything better than what it is.

Welton academy: a school of the male specimen with ages ranging from 8 years to 18. Assignments are piled onto the shoulders of the students, the pressure heavy like untapped potential. No child that has graduated from Welton has not amounted to great things and none are willing to be the first.

Will Hunting is in no way interested in completing the final year of her schooling at the preparatory academy. The girl sits in one of the dozens of wooden pews beside a family of six that continues to spare inconspicuous glances at her. She watches in what can only be construed as disgust as the father of a boy no older than 13 whispers harsh words into his son's ear. Will stares at the young boy's terrified expression and shifts her gaze to the father, where she sets her eyes in a glare. The elder man slowly, but surely, notices the teenager's scrutinizing gaze and returns it with an upturned nose. Though at this current moment Will Hunting looks like an upstanding citizen with not a blemish on her face nor having spoken an ill-conceived word, the man still turns his nose up at her. Will does not sink into her seat in shame, only focuses her attention straight ahead. The girl struggles to resist rubbing at her eye for fear of smearing the cosmetics that disguise the injuries on her skin. Each and every bruise or red blemish that was once on Will's body has been camouflaged with skin-toned foundation and color corrector.

"No self-respecting woman engages in a fight," stated Gale as a bag filled to the brim with cosmetics was shoved into Will's hands. The girl glanced from the bag of makeup to the headmaster of Welton and can't help but wonder where he managed to acquire the palates of eyeshadow, bronzer, and highlighter. Reluctantly Will covered the injuries which she deemed "trophies of victory". Her clothing was replaced with an ankle-length seafoam green skirt. It has been almost a decade since Will has ever put on a skirt, and though she would never admit it if anyone were to ask, she has missed it. She has missed the way it makes her feel normal. With the untarnished skin and average clothing, Will wonders if this is what she would have looked like if her mother had never passed. And if her father had never turned to bottles instead of bettering himself. She wonders if she would be living in one of the upper-class neighborhoods in Vermont with three siblings and two loving parents. Sitting in the pew in a skirt and a blouse Will feels average. And she adores it.

The world she has built up for herself in her mind shatters like a window when she looks at her hands. Each knuckle on her left and right hand's skin has split and scabbed over. The red of the dried blood contrasts against the fair skin tone of the teenager like the white lightning against the black of the night sky. With a slight sigh, Will shoved each of her hands beneath her thighs in an attempt to hide the injuries from prying eyes. Will leans against the back of the pew and awaits Gale to step to the podium. The vast doors of the hall swing open and four boys march down the aisle, banners held tightly in their hands. Golden lettering is stitched into the red fabric that glitters as the overhead lights shine downwards. The sound of bagpipes follows the entrance of the boys, leading to Will wincing at the off-tuned musical performance. The headmaster of Welton steps to the podium, his face void of all emotion.