Fahrenheit 451: Alternate Plot

Chapter 3

Inside the cave, it was pitch black. Clarisse lit a candle and passed it on to the next person, and they passed it to the next person, and so on until every person in the cave had a candle that was lit.

"Everyone here should be familiar with each other. We are gaining a new member tonight. His name is Montag, and he is a fireman."

Clarisse seemed to be the leader of whatever was going on; everyone in the cave was mesmerized by her. When she announced that Montag was a fireman, a few murmurs arose. Montag twitched nervously.

"He is not here to turn us in. Quite the opposite, actually. Montag here is a friend of mine who has come to gain a curiosity about books, although I suspect he has fed this curiosity in the past. Please try to make him feel welcome here and introduce yourselves. Catherine, you can start."

There were about twenty of them in the cave, mostly females, only four or five makes. There was no one his age. They were all young teenagers or elderly. He tried to pay attention, but his mind stopped working as soon as an old man named Franklin introduced himself. Montag's heart sped up, skipped a few beats, then stopped all at once. Franklin was the old man from the park.

"You... Franklin. I've met you before. Do you remember me? That day, in the park, you told me about this place. I came here. During the day. Never at night. I was too afraid."

Montag waited for an answer, but Franklin said nothing. He smiled at Montag and shook his head. It appeared as if he were laughing, but no sound escaped his lips.

The meeting flew by. They read from a few books, and debated different ideas that Montag had never heard of. Afterwards, he approached Franklin.

"That day in the park, you tried to get me to come to the meeting. How did you know? How did you know that I would want to come? What made you suspect that you could trust me, that I wouldn't turn you in?"

"I knew your grandfather. He used to believe like we did. He thought the firemen were evil, and the books were the answer to everything. He saw through the lies. But something happened one day, something changed in him. I suspect he never really changed his opinion; he just couldn't afford to pretend anymore. He had to choose a way to live. He had a wife and a son to take care of. I don't blame him, not fully. His son, your father, never showed any signs that he was intelligent. Pure product of the system. Such a waste. You, however, you showed potential. I was not wrong. I see it now. You look like Cecil. He was a fine man."

This was a lot for Montag to think about. He had never met his grandfather, so he had nothing to compare Franklin's story to. It seemed likely though. So many traits are hereditary; it would make sense that his grandfather behaved the same way he did. He wondered why he decided to stop rebelling. If you knew something was wrong, how could you sit back and let it happen?

Montag knew he had to do something. He did not know exactly what, but he knew if he was to sit back and continue living the way he had that he would go insane. Perhaps he already was.

When Clarisse drove Montag back to his house, no words were spoken. There seemed to be a silent understanding that they both needed time to think.

Ever since Clarisse had entered Montag's life, his whole life had been turned upside down. He was now reading the very things he was supposed to be destroying. He finally came to terms with reality and accepted the fact that he did not love Mildred, at least not in the way a husband should love his wife. Even worse, he was beginning to have feelings for someone else. Maybe he was misinterpreting the feelings, but no one had ever made him feel the way that Clarisse did. No one else cared about things besides television. No one else cared about other people. No one had compassion, or got upset, or angry. They only care about staring at the walls and talking to some robot who does not care about anything or anyone at all. Their whole world was a clock but with no batteries in it. It could have the capability to be functioning and be useful, but someone somewhere was neglecting it. Power and control. That was all that mattered.

Montag's life was not the only one that had been affected. Clarisse's had changed too. She had never cared this much about a person before. He was a fireman, the thing she hated most, but she could not seem to make herself hate him. She knew he was different from the first time she met him. And now, here he was reading books. She felt a little guilty; she was putting his life in danger, but she knew it was necessary. The world had been in bad shape for too long. It was time to change.

"This night has opened my eyes. I'll never sleep again."

Montag looked at Clarisse, breaking the silence.

"Good. Things are bad Montag, really bad. We need to do something about it. We cannot just sit back and watch as the whole world goes to waste."

"I get that we need to do something, but how? And when? How long will it take it change things? Back there, in the cave, there were maybe twenty of us. There are so many other people in the world, people who have never laid eyes on a book and are so corrupted that even if we got them to read one they would not understand a single word of it. It's useless, Clarisse."

"These things take time, Montag. Just stretch out and wait. Before you know it, things will be changing. Big things are happening now. Just wait."

"How soon is now?"

Clarisse smiled at Montag and unlocked the doors, so he could leave.

When Montag stepped inside, Mildred was sitting on the couch, just staring. Something was wrong. She did not have the sea shells in.

"Millie? Is everything alright?"

She looked up at him, startled. She shook her head. She was trembling.

"I am going to die."

"Millie, no you aren't. It's okay. You aren't going to die."

She picked up an empty bottle of sleeping pills.

"Yes I am. I took all of these. It was a new bottle. I'm going to die."

Montag called someone to come pump the contents of her stomach out. This was not the first time Mildred had overdosed, but she had never been aware of it. He had always come home and found a bottle lying on the floor, empty. She was always passed out in the bed, unaware she had taken so many. But this time... This time she had known. Did she do it on purpose? She had to, hadn't she? But for why? Why did she take them? Did she want to die? It did not make any sense.

The medics arrived and snaked the long black cord into her. Montag stood there, watching them. They did it so nonchalantly. It bothered him. He just wish he knew why Mildred had done it. He knew she would not tell him. God, it was all so messed up. She should be happy, happy as people can be in their society. All she did was watch television! How on earth could she consciously take all of the pills? She only ever overdosed because she had forgotten she had taken them. Or had those time not been accidents either? Was this just the first time he had been here to see her before she passed out from the affects? So many questions, but he had no answers.