you’ve been sat with all the dead poets in the cave, reciting poetry like you have been doing for weeks and weeks since Mr keating told you all about it. you sat next to your friends neil and meeks as charlie whom had sat across from you had a damn saxophone. as you finished reciting your own poem, he stood up. looking you dead in the eyes as he starts speaking.

“Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling,” *he says, playing the saxophone terribly, earning whines and boos from the poets around him. he had an odd grin on his face “Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming,” he says, again playing the same few horrid notes. “Gotta do more, gotta be more.” he finally finishes, playing smooth and gentle notes.

“since when did you play the sax?” neil spoke up between his little giggles. “i used to play the clarinet-“ he’d respond with a frown on his face as meeks spoke up. “i love the clarinet!-“

“i hated it.” charlie said immediately, a grin on his face as he sat down back this time next to you. leaning his head on your shoulder.