Guess who?

Only three more weeks of school, counting finals week. Woop woop! Frankly, I'm excited. I have a lot of things I want to do this summer, like go to the aquarium in Chicago (whose name escapes me), explore the new Union South, build a Rube Goldberg machine, sew a pair of Jedi costumes, and of course, apply for a lot of study abroad scholarships. I've already got $5000 towards my housing and stuff, since tuition is taken care of by the scholarship I have. Yay!

At the moment, I'm getting ready for a choir concert. It's going to be interesting for sure, since I kinda feel like we didn't have enough time to practice and we only learned the words for one of the songs like, last week. I'm only really comfortable with about half the songs we'll be singing. We'll see, I guess.

Anyways, here is another poem by me. It was inspired by a literary character from a rather famous, recent-ish series. Let's see if anyone can guess who he is. :)

Courage and Pride by Rebecca Her

I take my usual seat, fourth row from the front, three seats from the right.

My body aches. Detention was worse than usual.

The professor says good morning, I try to focus on her voice.

It doesn’t work.

I put my head down for a moment.

I can feel the other students’ eyes on me,

sneering, or pitying, or pleading:

Fool, or poor kid, or save us!

As your parents saved ours.

And I wonder how much I can do,

alone.

I am, after all,

me.

The boy who can’t do anything right.

The boy who loses his pet toad.

The boy who trips into the dining hall,

The pale, frightened boy with crooked teeth,

and a flinching shoulder.

The sweets wrapper in my pocket

crinkles noisily.

Don’t get me wrong:

I love my parents,

and every time I catch myself

wishing they were dead,

I kick myself and promise

to buy Mum the expensive candy next time.

But I just can’t help it.

If they were dead, I wouldn’t be stubbornly holding on to my hopeless hope, that one day

they’ll wake up

and say,

‘Where’s our son?’

‘Where’s my boy?’

‘I’m so proud of you.’

And I’d say to her, like I always do,

‘Thanks Mum.’

On the day of the battle,

I’m planning to visit them again.

The chewing gum in my pocket crackles,

giving me strength to refuse the offer

of power and my life, in exchange for my soul.

My body is frozen, my mind is racing,

sprinting to save the world

as it burns down round my ears.

I owe it to Mum and Dad to do what’s right.

Reaching into the flames,

looking for the cool, hard hilt

of courage’s sword, a snake of doubt rears up.

I wonder if I am brave enough.

I made a promise. People are counting on me.

The sword materializes in my hand,

before I realize I’m holding it, I swing.

The snake’s head twitches, fangs extended, tongue stretched out

to taste my sweaty face,

and tumbles to the ground.

The souvenirs from the battle sting and burn,

but I know they’ll fade with time.

Things go back to normal.

The institution smells clean and sharp. ‘I’m a hero, Mum.’

She reaches for a sweet, and I oblige.

Looking in her eyes, I tell her, ‘Mum,

It’s me. Your son.

The man who defeated a monster.

The man who wielded the sword of courage.

The man who stands tall with his friends.

The young, confident man with a genuine smile.

I’m so proud of you.’

And she says to me,

‘Thank you.’

I take my usual place in the classroom, front desk, back to the chalkboard,

and wish my students good morning.

I can feel their eyes on me,

and I smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In case you weren't able to guess, this poem was inspired by Neville Longbottom, from Harry Potter. I like him even more than I like Harry, mostly because he's so AWESOME and under-appreciated. If you've read the books, you know that he and Harry have the same birthday, so Neville could have been the Chosen One. I think it would have been super interesting to see how things would have gone if he was.