disclaimer- I do NOT own Fahrenheit 451 or any of the characters presented!
I glided across the moonlight bathed sidewalk; watching as my shoes disturbed the carpet of fallen leaves. I breathed in the crisp air of the autumn night and I felt a smile of pure pleasure spread across my face at the enticing scent. The scent of the old leaves beneath my feet was tantalizing in its sweetness, like cinnamon but slightly earthier.
Someone else was near me, watching me. I could feel their stare like burning coals. I wondered to myself to just who it could be, at this time of night, staring at me so hard. When at last I finally glanced up to see just who it was, I was stunned. Yes, it was one of the neighbors, but that wasn't the first thing I noticed. The first thing I noticed, in fact, was either the numbers '451' or the overpowering stench of kerosene permeating the air surrounding the man. For a brief moment I felt a spike of fear race through my body like one of those jet-cars. I squashed my irrational fear and threw it to the back of my mind—what was there to fear from a man I didn't even know?
As I studied him, two things caught my attention: the salamander on his arm and the phoenix on his chest. The phoenix always made sense, but the salamander…the salamander I had yet to find a reason for. I don't know exactly how long I stood there staring at the symbols, at him, but it must have been a while because his stance grew very stiff under my intense study.
"Of course," he said, "you're our new neighbor, aren't you?" he looked at me; silently asking for my confirmation of the statement.
"And you must be-," I raised my eyes to meet him, "-the fireman…," I let my voice trail off.
"How oddly you say that."
"I'd-I'd have known it with my eyes shut," I confessed.
He must have received comments like that from many people because he replied, "What- the smell of kerosene," he lifted a brow, "My wife always complains," he laughed as he said the wife comment. There was something slightly off when he spoke of her; a—sadness that hadn't been there before she was mentioned. I wonder what she must be like to make him feel so sad… "You never wash it off completely."
"No, you don't," I said quietly. Being a fireman wasn't just a job—it was a lifestyle, or so I'd heard.
I think I was making him nervous with my silence. He looked like a frightened bird, the fight or flight instinct kicking in.
"Kerosene," he began again; breaking the silence, "is nothing but perfume to me."
"Does it seem like that really?" how could anyone enjoy destroying things for a living; the firemen seemed to, but did they truly enjoy it?
"Of course. Why not," he looked at me as if I'd asked him if he enjoyed breathing. I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts and give him a short break from my inquisition; he looked like he needed it. He may believe he kept all emotions and thoughts under wraps, but he was like an open book—easy to read.
"I don't know," I turned my face back to the sidewalk and started walking again. "Do you mind if I walk back with you," I questioned. "I'm Clarisse McClellan," I told him as I remembered I had never given him my name. We only knew each other as 'neighbor' even though we had been talking all this time.
He looked at me.
"Clarisse," he nodded, "Guy Montag." When he said his name I got the feeling this was going to get very interesting. There was just something about him that told me his eyes were closed to reality and they were about to be opened for the first time.