Brigit's Flame Entry- Week 1 December
Title: Roman's Choice
Author: Keppiehed
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual abuse involving a minor
Word Count: 1892
Prompt: “Lie to Me”
A/N: Written for week #1 at Brigits_flame. There are some references to Poe's work throughout. I challenged myself to write either villains or morally ambiguous characters this month, and I think I succeeded this week. I asked Ultrasonicbop to join me, so this should be a good month for baddies, if you like dark reading!
It was one of those rare days at the turn of the season; there was enough of a nip in the air to feel cozy, enough to bring on a playful suggestion of sweaters, but the real chill had yet to blow on the breeze. For now it was all crisp and clear, those most treasured days of autumn that made people smile about the weather. In a few short weeks they wouldn't be so happy with the gloom, when the gray was pervasive and the dazzling leaves were just a memory.
But today … today was for the youth, and attentiveness seemed to crackle in the air like electricity. He loved days like today, not so much for the weather, but for the feelings it evoked in his students. He could tell it would be a good day when his first class walked through the door. They were perkier than usual, books in hand and sitting up like they had waited all night just to come right to his class. Could anyone ask for more? All day his students gave him their obeisance - a rare thing - and by the last class of the day he knew it was the day to decide.
He cleared his throat, and every head swiveled towards him. Beautiful.
“Okay, we are going to pick up right where we left off with our literary critical analysis of Poe's body of work. And to develop in interpretation, we decided that we needed … does anyone remember?” He looked around at the roomful of students' hands in the air and selected one. “Yes, Chelsea?”
“Well, Mr. Boothe-”
“Call me Roman,” he reminded her.
The room erupted into hushed giggles, like it had every time since the first day, when he had instituted the practice of students calling him by his first name. “Yes, Roman. Um, we need to understand the work?” She twirled a long strand of hair around her finger.
She was trying too hard to be sexy, he thought. He'd noticed that several times about her. She was pretty enough without having to always fidget to try and gain attention to herself. How annoying. He mentally dismissed her.
“Yes, that's correct, Chelsea. In order to understand the literature that you have selected, you must first understand it. Interpretations are developed by an in-depth examination of a text, and we will carry out that step today. After that, you will understand the steps necessary to begin your thesis papers. But first we'll read some poetry together. Now remember, literary analysis works for any work of fiction. Does everyone understand so far?” Roman watched everyone nod. Good, he still had their attention after the boring part of the lecture. High schoolers weren't known for their attentiveness, and he tried to be the fun teacher, not the lecturer.
“Turn to 'Annabel Lee', and read silently. We can have a roundtable discussion on your impressions when everyone has finished,” Roman said. He took the time while they were reading to study the group. About half of the class was female, and about a third of those were worth looking at. He'd been getting to know them, studying their weak points, and he thought he knew them well enough now to make a decision. And today felt like an auspicious day, so he might as well have luck on his side and make his move.
He had his rules. It wasn't like he was some kind of pervert. God, no. It was a game. They liked games, after all. They were always playing them, every chance they got, on their handhelds and even on their phones, if they thought they could sneak one in. So this wasn't any different. Games had rules, and Roman played by the rules. Only one girl a year. He took pains to select the right one, and sometimes that took time. He'd been surveying the class since the beginning of the year, and he was just about to make his choice, but these things couldn't be rushed.
Roman remembered every girl - maybe not her name, but there was always something special about her that lent itself to recollection. The first one had been a blonde, his weakness, and she had cried at the end of term. What a disaster. After that had come Cindy, who had dimples. Elizabeth had been a virgin. The one after that had the biggest boobs he'd ever seen on a high school girl. What a year that had been. It didn't matter who they were, they were special, every one, and he knew they loved the attention. It wasn't as if their boyfriends were treating them well, not at this age. Roman had to stifle a bitter chuckle at the idea. He was probably doing them a favor, in fact.
As Roman's gaze skimmed the class surreptitiously, he thought he had it figured out. It was going to be Kaitlyn this year. She had just that mix of shyness and smarts that appealed to him. He had been thinking about the right approach to take for weeks, and he thought he had it. Some years were harder to play than others. They didn't always see his point of view, although the end result was the same. Part of the game was guessing what tack to take and how long it would take them to fall into line. Sure, there was an element of danger, but wasn't that part of the thrill? Roman almost shivered with the illicit pleasure of the chase. He remembered Brittany, his toughest score. She had almost won. In the end, it had come down to the question of grades, and eventually she'd given in like all the rest. And hadn't her conquest ended up being the sweetest? Whoever could have predicted that wrath would have been such an aphrodisiac? Since then, he'd purposefully gone for a bit more spirit in them, even if it was more effort. It was worth it later, he'd found. He liked a little struggle.
“Roman? I don't understand this part about Annabel Lee. He says he lays down in her tomb?” Clarissa was wrinkling her nose. “Like, how gross is that?”
“Dude, I'm not there yet,” Damon interrupted from his seat. “What's a ...” he squinted at his page, “sepulchre?”
Roman tried not to roll his eyes at the ineptitude of youth. “A sepulchre is another word for a tomb, Damon.”
“Sweet!”
“And Clarissa, this is a love poem. Try and imagine being adored so much that even death will not separate you. This is an example of metaphors and symbolism in poetry. Did the narrator actually lie down by the tomb until he died? Well, it doesn't matter. The romance is in the idea that the law of man cannot separate what is in the heart. If we look at what we know about the life of Poe, we know that his wife was thirteen, and his cousin-”
The class made an assortment of outraged groans and fake vomiting noises. Roman figured they weren't as shocked as they pretended to be, they just took any excuse available to make rude noises, and he continued. “Which was socially unacceptable. Perhaps we can make an assumption, based on our background knowledge, that he is making a statement in defense of his lifestyle choices.”
Roman noticed Ashley's hand in the air and he called on her. “Is that what the poem is about?”
“Well, interpreting poetry is half the fun. There is no 'right answer' when it comes to symbolism. There is what the author intended to portray, but the reader also brings their own interpretations to the table. As a group, we can come up with many variations on a theme.”
“But what do you think it means?”
Roman paused. No one had ever asked him his thoughts before. Usually the students wanted to know what Poe meant, or what the right answer was, or they were eager to share their own interpretations. “I think Poe wanted the world to know his feelings were normal, and beautiful, and he wanted some acceptance for them,” he finally said. “No one wants to feel like they are a monster. They want to justify their feelings, have people understand them. And Poe did this in beautiful verse.”
The class was silent.
“Okay, our time is almost up. Your assignment is to read another work of Poe's, 'Lenore', and write up your literary analysis on it. I'd like it to be about 1,000 words, give or take. There is plenty of material here, people.”
The predictable groans continued until the bell rang, dismissing class for the day.
“Oh, Kaitlyn, I need to see you for a moment,” he called, almost as an afterthought.
Kaitlyn gathered her things and stood up. He tried not to ogle her too obviously, but she was asking for trouble the way she wore that mini-skirt so short with those long legs. God, the legs of a high school girl were one of the pleasures in life. He felt himself growing hard as an image of her popped into his head. He could just imagine her bent over his desk with that skirt flipped up …
“Am I in trouble, Mr. - uh, Roman?” She blushed. “Sorry. It's hard for me to remember to call you by your first name.”
“No worries, Kaitlyn, and no, you aren't in trouble.” Roman smiled and ran his hand through his hair. He had decided to be charming instead of menacing. He knew he was the popular teacher, and Kaitlyn would respond to his good looks and authority. He knew he'd have her in a few short minutes. “Actually, I have a proposal for you. I'm going to need you to become my assistant. I only select one student a year, and this year I've had my eye on you. You are going to join me here after school … oh, say … three times a week. Unless I need you more.”
“Wow, really? Wait until I tell Megan!” Kaitlyn's eyes shone.
“No!” Roman's tone was sharper than he intended, but maybe it was better this way. Maybe he needed to get firm right away to make his point. Girls tended to talk, and he couldn't have that. He crossed the room and locked the door. The black paper was already in place over the narrow window, so no passersby could see into the room. “This is just a secret between you and I. I don't want to have to get … forceful. I can be nice. You'll see. Do you understand?”
Kaitlyn nodded, her eyes on the bulge on his pants. She had tears in her eyes, but she swallowed and tried not to let them fall. That was good, he knew he'd made a good choice. He hated doing this when they cried. He wasn't a monster, after all. “It's going to be okay,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I'm going to be all right.”
“Everything is going to be just fine. Would I lie to you?”
He was almost disappointed when she gave in so easily.
Author: Keppiehed
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual abuse involving a minor
Word Count: 1892
Prompt: “Lie to Me”
A/N: Written for week #1 at Brigits_flame. There are some references to Poe's work throughout. I challenged myself to write either villains or morally ambiguous characters this month, and I think I succeeded this week. I asked Ultrasonicbop to join me, so this should be a good month for baddies, if you like dark reading!
It was one of those rare days at the turn of the season; there was enough of a nip in the air to feel cozy, enough to bring on a playful suggestion of sweaters, but the real chill had yet to blow on the breeze. For now it was all crisp and clear, those most treasured days of autumn that made people smile about the weather. In a few short weeks they wouldn't be so happy with the gloom, when the gray was pervasive and the dazzling leaves were just a memory.
But today … today was for the youth, and attentiveness seemed to crackle in the air like electricity. He loved days like today, not so much for the weather, but for the feelings it evoked in his students. He could tell it would be a good day when his first class walked through the door. They were perkier than usual, books in hand and sitting up like they had waited all night just to come right to his class. Could anyone ask for more? All day his students gave him their obeisance - a rare thing - and by the last class of the day he knew it was the day to decide.
He cleared his throat, and every head swiveled towards him. Beautiful.
“Okay, we are going to pick up right where we left off with our literary critical analysis of Poe's body of work. And to develop in interpretation, we decided that we needed … does anyone remember?” He looked around at the roomful of students' hands in the air and selected one. “Yes, Chelsea?”
“Well, Mr. Boothe-”
“Call me Roman,” he reminded her.
The room erupted into hushed giggles, like it had every time since the first day, when he had instituted the practice of students calling him by his first name. “Yes, Roman. Um, we need to understand the work?” She twirled a long strand of hair around her finger.
She was trying too hard to be sexy, he thought. He'd noticed that several times about her. She was pretty enough without having to always fidget to try and gain attention to herself. How annoying. He mentally dismissed her.
“Yes, that's correct, Chelsea. In order to understand the literature that you have selected, you must first understand it. Interpretations are developed by an in-depth examination of a text, and we will carry out that step today. After that, you will understand the steps necessary to begin your thesis papers. But first we'll read some poetry together. Now remember, literary analysis works for any work of fiction. Does everyone understand so far?” Roman watched everyone nod. Good, he still had their attention after the boring part of the lecture. High schoolers weren't known for their attentiveness, and he tried to be the fun teacher, not the lecturer.
“Turn to 'Annabel Lee', and read silently. We can have a roundtable discussion on your impressions when everyone has finished,” Roman said. He took the time while they were reading to study the group. About half of the class was female, and about a third of those were worth looking at. He'd been getting to know them, studying their weak points, and he thought he knew them well enough now to make a decision. And today felt like an auspicious day, so he might as well have luck on his side and make his move.
He had his rules. It wasn't like he was some kind of pervert. God, no. It was a game. They liked games, after all. They were always playing them, every chance they got, on their handhelds and even on their phones, if they thought they could sneak one in. So this wasn't any different. Games had rules, and Roman played by the rules. Only one girl a year. He took pains to select the right one, and sometimes that took time. He'd been surveying the class since the beginning of the year, and he was just about to make his choice, but these things couldn't be rushed.
Roman remembered every girl - maybe not her name, but there was always something special about her that lent itself to recollection. The first one had been a blonde, his weakness, and she had cried at the end of term. What a disaster. After that had come Cindy, who had dimples. Elizabeth had been a virgin. The one after that had the biggest boobs he'd ever seen on a high school girl. What a year that had been. It didn't matter who they were, they were special, every one, and he knew they loved the attention. It wasn't as if their boyfriends were treating them well, not at this age. Roman had to stifle a bitter chuckle at the idea. He was probably doing them a favor, in fact.
As Roman's gaze skimmed the class surreptitiously, he thought he had it figured out. It was going to be Kaitlyn this year. She had just that mix of shyness and smarts that appealed to him. He had been thinking about the right approach to take for weeks, and he thought he had it. Some years were harder to play than others. They didn't always see his point of view, although the end result was the same. Part of the game was guessing what tack to take and how long it would take them to fall into line. Sure, there was an element of danger, but wasn't that part of the thrill? Roman almost shivered with the illicit pleasure of the chase. He remembered Brittany, his toughest score. She had almost won. In the end, it had come down to the question of grades, and eventually she'd given in like all the rest. And hadn't her conquest ended up being the sweetest? Whoever could have predicted that wrath would have been such an aphrodisiac? Since then, he'd purposefully gone for a bit more spirit in them, even if it was more effort. It was worth it later, he'd found. He liked a little struggle.
“Roman? I don't understand this part about Annabel Lee. He says he lays down in her tomb?” Clarissa was wrinkling her nose. “Like, how gross is that?”
“Dude, I'm not there yet,” Damon interrupted from his seat. “What's a ...” he squinted at his page, “sepulchre?”
Roman tried not to roll his eyes at the ineptitude of youth. “A sepulchre is another word for a tomb, Damon.”
“Sweet!”
“And Clarissa, this is a love poem. Try and imagine being adored so much that even death will not separate you. This is an example of metaphors and symbolism in poetry. Did the narrator actually lie down by the tomb until he died? Well, it doesn't matter. The romance is in the idea that the law of man cannot separate what is in the heart. If we look at what we know about the life of Poe, we know that his wife was thirteen, and his cousin-”
The class made an assortment of outraged groans and fake vomiting noises. Roman figured they weren't as shocked as they pretended to be, they just took any excuse available to make rude noises, and he continued. “Which was socially unacceptable. Perhaps we can make an assumption, based on our background knowledge, that he is making a statement in defense of his lifestyle choices.”
Roman noticed Ashley's hand in the air and he called on her. “Is that what the poem is about?”
“Well, interpreting poetry is half the fun. There is no 'right answer' when it comes to symbolism. There is what the author intended to portray, but the reader also brings their own interpretations to the table. As a group, we can come up with many variations on a theme.”
“But what do you think it means?”
Roman paused. No one had ever asked him his thoughts before. Usually the students wanted to know what Poe meant, or what the right answer was, or they were eager to share their own interpretations. “I think Poe wanted the world to know his feelings were normal, and beautiful, and he wanted some acceptance for them,” he finally said. “No one wants to feel like they are a monster. They want to justify their feelings, have people understand them. And Poe did this in beautiful verse.”
The class was silent.
“Okay, our time is almost up. Your assignment is to read another work of Poe's, 'Lenore', and write up your literary analysis on it. I'd like it to be about 1,000 words, give or take. There is plenty of material here, people.”
The predictable groans continued until the bell rang, dismissing class for the day.
“Oh, Kaitlyn, I need to see you for a moment,” he called, almost as an afterthought.
Kaitlyn gathered her things and stood up. He tried not to ogle her too obviously, but she was asking for trouble the way she wore that mini-skirt so short with those long legs. God, the legs of a high school girl were one of the pleasures in life. He felt himself growing hard as an image of her popped into his head. He could just imagine her bent over his desk with that skirt flipped up …
“Am I in trouble, Mr. - uh, Roman?” She blushed. “Sorry. It's hard for me to remember to call you by your first name.”
“No worries, Kaitlyn, and no, you aren't in trouble.” Roman smiled and ran his hand through his hair. He had decided to be charming instead of menacing. He knew he was the popular teacher, and Kaitlyn would respond to his good looks and authority. He knew he'd have her in a few short minutes. “Actually, I have a proposal for you. I'm going to need you to become my assistant. I only select one student a year, and this year I've had my eye on you. You are going to join me here after school … oh, say … three times a week. Unless I need you more.”
“Wow, really? Wait until I tell Megan!” Kaitlyn's eyes shone.
“No!” Roman's tone was sharper than he intended, but maybe it was better this way. Maybe he needed to get firm right away to make his point. Girls tended to talk, and he couldn't have that. He crossed the room and locked the door. The black paper was already in place over the narrow window, so no passersby could see into the room. “This is just a secret between you and I. I don't want to have to get … forceful. I can be nice. You'll see. Do you understand?”
Kaitlyn nodded, her eyes on the bulge on his pants. She had tears in her eyes, but she swallowed and tried not to let them fall. That was good, he knew he'd made a good choice. He hated doing this when they cried. He wasn't a monster, after all. “It's going to be okay,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I'm going to be all right.”
“Everything is going to be just fine. Would I lie to you?”
He was almost disappointed when she gave in so easily.