NOTE: This was a short piece written for my Honors English class. We had finished reading the book Fahrenheit 451 and were required to write a brief "chapter" of what we thought had happened to Clarisse McClelland, Guy Montag's (the main character) teenage friend. Most everyone had similair endings, though there were some really unique ones. lol Sadly, this isn't one of them.


Shadows Fall

Clarisse's warm hand gripped the door handle to her home. For some reason, something wasn't quite right tonight. Usually, she would just fling open the door and waltz right in. Tonight, something was very off.

'This is silly,' she thought to herself, 'What am I worrying about?'

Deeply she breathed in. Her ivory fingers squeezed the brass doorknob and twisted it slowly. As the door swung open, she peered in. So far, so good. There was the rug that she always walked in to. On the wall was her mother's painting that always tilted slightly to the left. Clarisse didn't understand what her mother loved so much about it. To her, it just a whole bunch of random brushstrokes and some splatters of paint.

The only problem Clarisse could see, was that everything was eerily quiet. "Hello?" she called. Hello, hello, hello. Her voice echoed.

When no one replied, Clarisse moved slowly and cautiously into the living room. Empty. Where could they all be? She sat on the couch to try and think of where they might have gone. The store? No, they never went all together for that. A meeting at the town hall? She hadn't seen any of the other adults heading that way. She placed her thumb against her bottom lip and furrowed her brow.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a glass clinking against her kitchen's countertop. Clarisse jumped up and slid around the corner into the kitchen. Time began to move slowly. Her hand flew up to her mouth and her eyes opened a far as they could possibly get. The scene that lay before her was horrifying.

There was her family; her uncle, her mother, her father, all on the floor. Their bodies were sprawled out in odd positions as if they had all suddenly collapsed. They were marionettes with their strings broken.

Clink. Clarisse's gaze shifted upward to the source of the noise. Leaning against the counter was a man with dark, sooty hair and eyes. In his hand was a glass of water, ice floating in the middle of it. For some reason, Clarisse thought of Montag when she looked at this man. He placed the cup to his lips and drank deeply, swallowing the ice. He moved a sleeve to the corner of his mouth and wiped the drops that had stayed on his lips. On his shoulder was a salamander.

He was a fireman. Clarisse clutched her hands to her chest, her eyes jolting back and forth from her family to this man. His eyes seemed to glow like embers. The man dropped the cup into the sink and meandered to the back door. He yanked it open and smiled. In the doorway was a metal creature with eight legs and blinking lights. It took a few slow steps into the kitchen, whirring and clicking anxiously as if it were hungry for something.

Clarisse blinked and took a step backwards. Her foot slipped and she tumbled to the ground, bumping her head against the oak table on the way. Stars whirled in front of her eyes. Hands groped for something she could use to fight this nightmare off. There was nothing. Clarisse began to shake.

The fireman patted the creature, grinning viciously, and moved closer to Clarisse. He stopped and crouched down in front of her. Smoldering eyes locked on her face. The mechanical animal started inching towards them, its mouth opening to reveal a large needle.

Tears welled up in Clarisse's eyes. She looked past the man in front of her and locked her gaze on what lay outside. The sun was low in the horizon and a fire was engulfing the sky. The world was burning and so was she.

"Hello, Clarisse."

And so, the beast struck.