where all the poets went to die [dead poets society]

20 - the dead poets society

The hallway outside of Mr. Keating's office stood still, heavy with an unspoken weight. The group stood - sat - against the wall with their heads down against their tucked-up knees, huddled together in solemn silence.

Sorrow and exhaustion had overtaken them - they had no energy to talk, to be themselves.

Maria leaned against Charlie, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her head pressed against his shoulder as her occasional sniffles broke the stillness.

Charlie closed his eyes, leaning his head against Maria's and held her, holding onto the little bit of peace that being around her gave him at that moment.

All of them had cried. Their eyes, red and raw from tears, revealed the depth of their shared grief. No words were exchanged among them - actually, not many had been exchanged since last night - for the weight of their feelings transcended the limitations of language. There wasn't anything that any of them could possibly say to soothe the others.

In their silent unity, they found solace and strength, drawing comfort from the mere presence of one another.

Yet, there were two missing from their group.

Cameron's absence cast a shadow over the group, lingering as an uncomfortable clue as to what was about to happen to their friend group.

And Neil's absence - was too painful a thought to let ruminate for too long.

Time seemed to stretch as they stood there, suspending between hope and dread, yearning for Keating's return from the head office. He had told them that he'd be back right away, that he'd tell them everything he knew the moment he got back.

What had happened last night looped in their minds in a slideshow of images. Gunshot. Wailing. Crying. Neil. Ambulance sirens. Them being escorted back to Welton. The incredulous face of Nolan when he met the authorities at the entrance of Welton. His face as he swept over each of them, threatening them all with punishment.

But then Neil. Neil. What had happened to Neil?

It was now all a blur.

The seconds ticked by, intensifying their unease. And then, finally, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stifling silence.

As Keating emerged in the hallway, the group's collective breath caught in their throats. Their eyes locked onto him, their gazes filled with desperate anticipation. Without a moment's hesitation, they hurried toward him.

"Uncle John -"

"He'll be all right," Keating's voice cut through the air like a lifeline.

"Oh, thank God," Maria gasped at the same time Charlie let out a deep breath. They melted, holding into each other in relief as Charlie pressed his head against Maria's temple, mumbling to himself. "Thank God, thank fucking God."

Todd's eyes finally fluttered closed with ease. He wasn't sure who he had prayed to since last night, just that he had prayed, he had cried, he had asked anything or anyone that was listening, that had the power to save Neil, to grant him one wish. He finally opened his eyes, feeling a significant weight off his chest.

"What's happened to him, Mr. Keating?" Todd asked quietly.

"Come inside," Keating motioned for them to follow him leading them into his office with gentle urgency. They filed in one by one, finding their places amidst the cluttered shelves and worn-out books.

"Neil will be all right," Keating said again, both for the group and himself. He's recovering at Greenfield Memorial Hospital right now."

"The gunshot -"