Kerosene Dreams | complete

Kerosene Dreams

Kerosene Dreams

Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks,

I been feeling it since 1966, now

Might be over now, but I feel it still

Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks, now

Let me kick it like it's 1986, now

Might be over now, but I feel it still

Kalama Henderson knew the consequences of owning books. She watched her old house burn because of it. But she couldn't help it. They were the only thing that made her feel less lonely.

The smell of Kerosene was still in the air, despite the fact that the fire had gone out an hour prior. I could see the smoke curling up and into the wind from some of the dying embers. The Fire Fighters had long since gone, but the aftermath of their presence had been left, permanently scarring the neighborhood.

"Good riddance, I say!! Mrs. Blake was a crazy old bat, I say!! A crazy old bat!!" I held back a groan as my father continued to rant about how Mrs. Blake was 'a crazy old bat' and 'deserved to burn with her books.' My mind drifted towards the loose floorboard under my bed, the one where I hid all the books Mrs. Blake gave me.

I had first met Mrs. Blake when I was four, just a small child. The only reason I met her was because my parents didn't want to pay a babysitter and Mrs. Blake was too kind to charge money. On the long evenings that my parents were gone, Mrs. Blake would tell me stories. Stories for far away places, of wars that were fought, of talking jewelry that made you invisible, of magical creatures and people running from the law, and young teenagers fighting evil grandparents. Those stories always seemed to get me on the edge of my seat, to get me to feel what the characters were feeling. The love, the sadness, the hate, the joy, envy, jealousy, greed, the power lust and pain.

Oh, so much pain.

I pulled myself away from the window and dragged myself up the stairs, the only sound heard was my feet being dragged across the carpet. I heard the front door close as my father, Mr. Henderson, went to the Fire Station for his shift, leaving me alone in this cold, empty house. The new house was always so quiet without mom around to make it feel like home instead of a house.

Mom had started acting secretive two years ago; she stopped watching the parlor walls, started hiding in the attic, only coming down to eat or use the bathroom. It soon became routine for me to bring mom's food up to her, just to make sure she ate more than two slices of bread a day. And we had kept it a secret from dad, he never knew that his wife wasn't watching the parlor walls all day and was doing god knows what in the attic.

Not until six months ago.

Dad had taken a sudden day off, most likely wanting to see how quickly he could get to the bottom of a bottle of beer. Or, more correctly, wanting to see how quickly he could get to the bottom of a six-pack. He came home to find me walking up the stairs to the attic, a plate of food in my hand. He grabbed the plate out of my hand, storming up the stairs and throwing open the attic door.

Only to find his wife, surrounded by countless amounts of books.

He immediately called the Fire Department and thirty minutes later, I'm standing in the street, watching my house burn down and covering my ears to try and block out my mother's screams. Her last words still ringing in my head, "If we burn, you burn with us!!"

The next day, the City Council gave us the house across the street, replacing everything that we had in our old house for free. Dad took on more shifts than ever, leaving me alone in this cold, empty house.

The door to my bedroom opened with a creak, the light from the stairway leaking into the room. I walked over to my bed and lifted the rug that covered the loose floorboard. I grabbed the board and gave a firm pull, revealing the books I had hidden away underneath. My hand reached in and grabbed the first book it touched, The Outsiders.

It was always my favorite book and I would always ask Mrs. Blake to read it to me when she came over. It seemed like years ago that I would be laying on the couch, Mrs. Blake running her fingers through my hair as she read to me. "I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you're gold when you're a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be."

My mom was like that too. She stayed bright, golden, through her whole life. Always making people smile, always making sure they were happy. I can still see her face as the fire was lit. Her face looked golden in the fire light as the books went up in flames.

I suppose nothing gold can stay.

My bedroom door opened with a loud bang and my father opened the door, smoke trailing in from his cigarette. "Kalama, what are you..." He froze when his eyes landed on the book in my hand. I jumped up and went to explain, "Dad, I..." He slammed the door close and I heard him calling the fire department. My eyes drifted towards the window and at that moment, all I wanted was to grab all my books and jump out the window, making a run for the hills.

I couldn't. My feet seemed glued to the floor.

I could hear the siren from down the street, the fire truck coming to a stop in front of my house. I could hear the front door open with a slam, followed by my bedroom door opening to the same fashion. Firefighters reached under my bed and pulled out my books. My heart clenched as they tore them open, dousing them with kerosene. It didn't feel like getting a piece of paper wet. I felt the same way when I saw my best friend, Clarisse McClellan, get hit by a car.

I felt numb, because without Clarisse, without those books, I was nothing, absolutely nothing at all.

A familiar Firefighter stepped into my view, Guy Montag, as he grabbed my arm and tried to pull me out. I had been with Clarisse when we went on walks with him. He was very interesting, very fascinating. He was different. In the short time we had spent together, I could feel him beginning to pull free from the clutches of this horrid society.

I'm afraid this is the last time I get to see him.

I took the only safe book, The Outsiders, and placed it into his hand, "Please let this book survive. Don't let it end up like the rest." He froze for a second before taking it, stuffing it into his shirt. I smiled faintly, "Stay Gold, Montag, Stay Gold." He was suddenly pulled from the room as the Firefighters began to make their retreat, my father following them. At the last moment, I jumped in front of the door and bolted it closed, leaving me and my father locked in the kerosene filled room.

The Firefighters on the other side of the door started hitting the door, attempting to break it. "If you want to leave with your life, I suggest you leave now." It was silent on the other side before the sound of footsteps made their way to the front door. I turned and looked at my father, seeing him staring blankly at me. His eyes were dull, lacking the possibilities of what could have been and they were left with the aching reality of what was.

He stared at me blankly, as if he had never seen me before in his life.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a single match. I took a step closer to him and he took a step back in turn. The pattern repeated until we were in front of my bedroom window. I could see Montag staring at me with wide eyes and I sent him a small smile, trying to mentally tell him that everything would be okay. I could see a bulky object in his shirt and I could imagine S.E. Hinton's work sitting there, safe from the flames that were about to erupt. My eyes shifted as I stared at Montag, Beatty, Black, Sinclar, before finally resting on my father.

I stared at my father's dull eyes before screaming at the top of my lungs, "IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US!!!"

I struck the match and let it fall.

1518 words