“Guy! Are you home? Hello?” Clarisse McClellan called out in a deafeningly loud volume, awaiting an answer from her friend Guy. She waited patiently outside for a few moments before hesitantly stepping in the door. She wandered around the house until she found light streaming out of one particular room, illuminating the walls outside of the doorway.
“Hello?” Clarisse took yet another chance, swiftly striding into what she would later find to be the TV parlor.
“Who goes there?” replied Mildred, not batting an eyelash to see who was approaching. Her eyes were fixed steadily on the three screens and as if on cue, she blurted out, “Oh, what a shame. I can’t believe he would do that!”
“Yeah, me neither,” replied the screen.
“Too bad,” Mildred finished. The screen promptly shut off, leaving the room deathly quiet and haunting.
“So, are you looking for Guy?” Mildred asked, eyeing up Clarisse. “And you are…Clarisse?”
Clarisse nodded, surveying the room. Three of four walls were covered with the parlor walls; Mildred was holding a script in front of her, mindlessly sipping a cup of iced-tea.
“He’s at work, burning those awful books. I never understood why they ever even existed, just to be burnt up to a crisp! And from what I’ve heard on the news and from my dear friend Mrs. Phelps, they’re supposedly not even that interesting.”
Clarisse cocked her head to one side, slowly trying to process the information she had just been given.
“Wait, you mean to tell me that books are…are worthless?” Clarisse was shocked, and no amount of talking herself down could stop her face from flaming up bright red, anger just brushing the surface of her cheeks.
“Well, I mean, it’s not like the books have ever done me any good.”
“So Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, Mark Twain, Jane Austen…” Mildred stared blankly at Clarisse. “You’re not getting any of this, are you?”
“Not one thing. They all have odd names anyhow, they don’t even sound fun at all.”
“B-but-“
“And who names people Edgar anymore?”
“Wait, Clar-“
“And let me just say, acting is so much more fun! I bet you that they’d never be able to act like I do!”
“Life isn’t all about acting, though,” Clarisse moaned. “It’s about living every day its greatest potential, reading and learning for the future, and becoming great human beings! We need to do things for the world, not just live in it! Live every day like it’s your last! As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words! Are you hearing any of this?”
Mildred was long gone, staring blankly at the parlor wall and day dreaming.
“H-huh-what?”
“I said, are you hearing me? Do you even care about what I’m saying?”
Clarisse finally got something out of Mildred; she got a firm shake of her head, signaling no.
“One day, I hope, you will be able to appreciate life for what it can offer. For now, just…” Clarisse was at a loss of words for Guy’s wife’s self-impaled misery. “Just tell Guy I came by, alright?”
Mildred looed Clarisse over, eyeing her up for any competition.
“Sure,” she muttered, flipping the walls back on. Clarisse rolled her eyes and darted out of the house, praying for Guy to come by sometime soon.
