Author: CouldBe PM
A collection of one-shots summarizing the after-effects of the amazing book by Ray BradburyRated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 638 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 07-30-12 - id: 8374081
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Clarisse saw the car speeding around the corner, again. All she saw was the headlight, that's how dark it was. Unusually dark, even for night, she'd been chased all the way to the edge of town. Should she keep running? No, what's the use? There's no one willing to help her, and it's not as though the sadistic bastard driving the truck would take any pity on her. But what a way to go, being run over by a truck? What a way to go…
And those cars were fast, unbelievably so, it was already half way down the lane, hurtling towards her at 400 miles an hour.
Clarisse swallowed, looking up at the moon. So calm, and cold, watching fondly over the world, fondly over her while her blood was splattered mercilessly onto the road. While her life crumbled to dust before her very eyes; her meaningless existence becoming apparent. Had she ever actually helped anyone? Perhaps that fireman, the one that lived next door, where was he? Maybe she'd at least brought him into the right line of thought. Maybe he'd realised how rotten this society had become.
"Oh well." Clarisse sighed "we all die eventually"
At least it could come a little quicker, the driver, realising that the girl wasn't going to run, had started to slow down, wanting his triumphant feeling to last as long as possible.
Were they really all like that, those firemen? Except her neighbour, they all seemed to have glee in murder, destruction, ruin.
For that was what the truck, the yellow salamander splatted onto the front of it, the siren ringing out from atop the vehicle.
No doubt they wanted to kill her because of her strange quirks, her ability to actually see, instead of just looking. Maybe even to spite poor Montag, now that would be an interesting reason. Do the other firemen even have that kind of wit?
The truck was getting closer; it wouldn't be much longer now.
"I wonder…if I jump will I fly when the car hits me?" Clarisse wondered out loud. She prepared to jump, no point missing her one and only chance.
"Who cares, move!" There suddenly, a voice, and a rough shove, the shock making her jump. She ended up flying across the street and slamming into the wall. Pain spread from her head, reverberating down her spine. She collapsed on the ground, her whole body aching and throbbing, head swimming, on the borderline between consciousness and unconsciousness. Yet she was dimly aware of the dull thud as the truck hit body. There was a screech of wheels as the truck rolled back over the person to make sure he was dead, then zooming as the truck sped away.
Clarisse stumbled back onto the road. "H-hello?" she was choking on blood, sick and tears liquid dripping from several parts of her body. She stumbled over a fleshy mass in the centre of the road and fell to her knees beside it. "He-hello? Is that- who are you?"
There was no answer.
Clarisse blinked, shaking her head, trying to get rid of that feeling, what it was; a sense of horror, terror rising within her, but something else too. She knew that person, lying there in the dust of his murderer. She recognised his voice, but whose voice was it?
Clarisse let out a low moan, shaking the body again and again.
"Uncle, please wake up, oh uncle!" she sobbed.
Alrighty, this is my first Fahrenheit 451 story, and to start it, I obviously decided to go against my most idolised (by me) author's will and bring my favourite character back to life! Well…at least make sure she never died in the first place… I know, I'm terrible, but ah well. XD
Please leave a review and tell me what you think!