I know, I know, I know, this ISN'T my usual. So sue me. Actually, dont. -whimper-
I don't really know where this came from. Farenheit 451 is quite possibly my most favourite book ever, and since I'm using it for my English exam this year, this TECHNICALLY, is study.
Listen to me, lying to myself.
I'm going to say this in advance, to those who were like "OMG, Clarisse died you retard, you can't do that, etc. etc. etc.", Ray Bradbury himself admitted that he liked the adaption, where Clarisse was found with the wanderers at the end, and he regretted 'killing' her, (although it was shady IMO, and left a lot open to interpretation)
Whatever. I'm rambling to the point it's stupid. Onwards with the fic, shall we?
Disclaimer:I own nothing at all here.
She was humming to herself.
Guy wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Surrounded by broken down, huddling figures, bowed against the late-night chill, palms pressed to the fire. She sat by herself, at least fifty feet away, staring up at the moon. The man in the moon. He reminded himself. She remained white, pure, untouched by the distant firelight.
"They told me you were dead." He broke her personal silence, taking a seat beside the seventeen-year-old amongst her perch in the stones. "Hit by a car."
"That was my uncle." Clarisse murmured lowly, turning her gaze from the moon to stare at the ex-fireman. "He was getting suspicious, of them." She spat the word, almost, from her thin lips. Her hauntingly narrow face was lit up a brilliant silver.
"And you went with him?" Clarisse nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Why?"
"Because… I was scared." She sighed, slumped her shoulders, lowering her gaze to the ground. "My psychiatrist was as confused as me as ever, the policemen were growing wary of me, I…" She swallowed. "They tried to shoot me. At school."
"No." Guy stared at the girl, aghast.
"Yes." She nodded despondently. "So I went with my uncle. I love him more than my mother and father anyways. And I can watch and listen to so many more things, along the railway tracks. Did you know that hedgehogs live in the banks of the old trains? They come out at night, even close to us if you're quiet. They love bacon."
"You really are peculiar." Guy shook his head. "I never pictured you as a book reader."
"Oh, I've never read any books." Clarisse shook her head. "But my uncle, he was an actor, when he was younger. Did you know that he was in the Youth Shakespeare Company of America? I bet you didn't know that. He was one of the last inductees, before it was closed down. He can recite Othello, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet, all off by heart. I bet you didn't know that."
"I didn't know that." Guy smiled, glad to hear more of that familiar, knowledgeable yet inquisitive tone in Clarisse's voice. "Are you going to read, do you think?"
"I'm not sure." She turned her head and shoulders, flicking a gaze to the group of book lovers, huddled around the fire. "My uncle says there's books and books of people that think of things just like me. I don't know if that's true though." She chuckled, just a short burst, a couple of syllables. "I'm not sure if they can think of everything just like me."
"You would be surprised." Guy murmured quietly. "There's millions of books out there, that must be remembered. And you're young, so young. You have your whole life to read, and remember."
"I suppose you're right." Clarisse returned her gaze to the moon. "But maybe… Maybe we could start again."
"Eh?"
"I've thought about writing a book myself." Clarisse confessed. "About everything that I've seen… I know it wouldn't be any good, not like the ones all those others talk from... Do you have a book?" She looked up at Guy, the moon throwing light and shadow across her thin face.
"I do." The ex-fireman nodded. "It's part of the Bible. The book of Ecclesiastes."
"Was it good to read?" Clarisse asked curiously, her head tilted to one side. "From what I've heard, the Bible sounds rather… Boring."
"I suppose people thought it was." Guy turned to the girl, watching as she stood up, arching her back in a stretch. "But… I devoured all I could. I did not read for entertainment. I read for lost knowledge."
"You're older." Clarisse smiled, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Remember, when I first walked with you? And you said that you never read any of the books?"
"Yes." Guy followed Clarisse's suit, and stood up, his hands in the pockets of his shabby clothes.
"You lied to me." Clarisse frowned. "I really don't like it when people lie to me."
"I didn't lie." Guy protested. "I swear. I just... I kept them." He turned away from the girl, turning his gaze to the moon, a silvery disc in the sky. "I never read them. Not until after they said you died."
"Oh." The smile returned to Clarisse's face. She looked oddly beautiful, in the pale moonlight, despite her thin face, messy tangles of hair, and the ragged, bulky clothes of the homeless. "That's not so bad." She turned back to glance at the gathering of book lovers, two travelling bands of vagabonds who had temporarily met as one, perhaps just for this night, and perhaps until the end of days. "But I'm glad you don't burn books anymore."
"Me too." Guy lowered his gaze, and his voice, to the girl at his side. "But think, Clarisse. If we weren't different. If we stayed, burning books, attending school..."
"We would be dead." Clarisse swallowed heavily. "Like my parents."
"... Oh." Guy's heart dropped like a stone. "I never knew..."
"It's okay." She nodded. "Well, it's not, but..." She trailed off, and kicked at a pebble, watching it dance, and tumble, illuminated by the moonlight. "I have my Uncle here. And It's full of people who love to talk for hours and hours, just like my parents liked to. And some of them, they like to watch things too, especially in the daytime. Like those white moth butterflies, clinging to the plants around the railway tracks. And tasting the rain. Did you ever taste the rain?"
"I did." The man admitted. "Just the once." He sighed, deeply. "What are you going to do now, Clarisse? Are you going to stay here?"
"I'm not sure." Clarisse said carefully. "Until I'm properly grown, I'll stay with my Uncle, of course, but from then on, I don't know. I think I would like to have children, lots and lots, but I want to raise them properly, without the school, and the Fun Parks and the 'parlour'. We need proper children, who aren't going to shoot people, or run them over, or rot away in the 'parlour' for the rest of their lives. Else when these people all die (She waved her hand at the group of people gathered around the warming fire), who's going to carry on their work?"
"You're a bit young to be thinking about children." Guy was slightly worried. "Don't you want to enjoy life a little more?"
"Was that life?" Clarisse gestured vaguely towards the long-lost ruins of their city. "They had a file on me, did you know? The police, even though I did absolutely nothing wrong. They sometimes drove me home, if they saw me on the street. "Another one of those bloody McClellan's." They would always say, as if I could not hear them. I want to be able to watch everything and everyone and taste the rain without having a file."
"You do think too much." Guy sighed deeply.
"Don't you want children?" Clarisse asked suddenly. "I'm sure you said you did, but that your wife said no. Or am I wrong?"
"No, I did want kids." He closed his eyes momentarily at the past tense, his stomach twisting at a knot. Do.
"You're not too old." Clarisse offered. "Don't put the thought at the back of your mind and abandon it."
"I wont." Guy promised, watching as Clarisse turned, and started to slowly make her way back to the knot of people. Silently, he followed.
"Are you going to keep on with your group?" Clarisse looked up at the man questioningly. "Where are you going?"
"I'm not sure… North somewhere." Guy murmured. "Why, do you want me to go with you?" Clarisse walked silently for a few steps, before nodding, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip.
"Is that all right? I understand if you have friends in your group, and all, it's just that I, well I…" She trailed off, with a stammering blush. "I missed your company." She finally admitted, unable to look at him.
"Oh." Guy looked down at the girl. "Then… I suppose I can travel with you and your uncle for a while, if the groups split up again."
"… Thank you." Clarisse murmured, in one of her rare, quiet moments. They were close enough to feel just a little of the heat from the fire, but Guy wasn't sure if that's what was warming him.
Softly, shyly, almost, the girl slipped a slim little hand inside the ex-fireman's', clinging loosely to the callused palm, worn, rough, and hardy from ten years of extinguishing fires. Something trilled a little in Guy's chest, at the contact, touch, from a human, brimming with genuine concern, something he had not experienced since… Chicago.
And, for just a moment, Guy allowed himself to squeeze back.
Anyone thinking there's pedo love going on there... I was NOT going for that. Honestly.
All that aside, R&R?