unscripted | dead poets society ✓

00 | dreamer's creed

     PRESLEY ROSS WAS A DREAMER.

     She dreamt of even the smallest things she could think of. She thought of becoming a tree, planting her roots firmly into the soil of the pristine earth where she could stay and live merrily forever.

     She dreamt of becoming the stars. Where dreamers would gaze upon her in the darkest of night as she would guide their way into the light and out of their misery and sorrow.

     She dreamt of becoming the sea. Calm and untamed as it roars upon the sea shore. Its a place where life ensued, where sea creatures roamed free from humans' grasp.

     She dreamt of becoming music. She loved music. It was mellifluous. When you would pick just the right tone and notes, listening to it would immediately give you a sense of familiarity, comfort, and home.

     And as she stared up at the ceiling thinking about her flight to America tomorrow, leaving London seemed like a bad idea. She had always been excited about going to another country and work as a teaching assistant before pursuing her career as a neurosurgeon, but now that her flight was only a few hours away, it made her think about missing all the people she would leave here.

     Sure she would meet new people, but somehow, a voice still repeats itself inside her mind like a broken cassette tape, that she is selfish for leaving her parents and non existent friends behind.

     For all her life, Presley was home schooled. Being the youngest ever neurosurgeon at the age of 17 sure had its perks, but the girl never experienced normalcy.

     The normalcy of cutting classes.

     The normalcy of hating teachers.

     The normalcy of having lockers.

     And the normalcy of having a teenage crush.

     Presley never experienced all of those at all. Sure she had traveled to Seoul, South Korea to study medicine, but she had never really acquainted anyone there. She had only learned the language, studied hard, conversed when needed, and that was about it.

     The weight of the world seemed to crash upon her at this very moment as she stared up at the ceiling with tears in her blue gray eyes.

     All the memories came flashing back at her, all at once. All the pain, sorrow, and loneliness she felt all throughout her life. Being alone was different from being lonely, and Presley was lonely. She could be in a room full of people, and feel nothingness. She could be in a party, and feel bored. She could be at a family reunion, and stay in a corner, welling up in her own little place of sorrow.

     She was broken out of her thoughts when the telephone on her bedside table rings harshly, piercing through her ears. Presley wipes the tears from her eyes, sitting up to answer the phone. "Hello?" She asks deliberately.

     "Hello, Ms. Ross?" The familiar voice of Mr. John Keating flowed through the telephone and through her ears. Her face immediately lights up upon hearing his voice, unconsciously straightening herself up. "I hope you won't be backing out last minute." Mr. Keating lets out a nervous chuckle, a smile had been on his face.

     Presley met Mr. Keating when he had visited his wife in London. The girl's parents were well acquainted with Mrs. Keating, and when John found out she had acquired a degree in english literature and the fine arts, he had this mind blowing idea to take her back to America and give her a job as his teaching assistant as soon as she graduated.

     The girl was ecstatic upon hearing his offer. And her parents thought it was a good idea to expose her to a school until she turns twenty before pursuing her career as a neurosurgeon. And yes, she is that kind of a genius.

     "I won't, I promise." Presley forces out a chuckle, defying against the nature of her personal gravity. The girl hardly ever laughed, she mostly says sardonic retorts for she is indeed a very opinionated person.

     "Good. So I'll be seeing you tomorrow, okay?" Mr. Keating had always noticed Presley's behavior. Making a mental note to always add her to his future lectures as well. What amused Mr. Keating, though, was that he never told her he'd be teaching at an all boys school, and how she would react violently for he knew her deep hatred towards the prepubescent monstrosities, as she liked to call them.

     Presley nods, although Mr. Keating didn't see her do so. "Alright." Was what she said before setting the phone down, ending their very short conversation. Humming to herself, she decides to lay down and stare up at the ceiling once more. Glancing at the time, it was a little past eleven in the evening, and Presley was supposed to be asleep about an hour ago.

     Presley Ross was a lot of things.
     And she was dead inside.

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A/N: This writing style is definitely new to me and I am trying my best to adjust and learn it oof
Please let me know what you think about it though, i would really love to hear your feedbacks!

Xuan xx