This was a story that I wrote for Lit class and I fell in love with the characters while writing it, so I decided to post it so you guys could fall in love with them too! I'm mostly a one-shot girl, so I won't be continuing this one. Thanks. Hope you love it!
Celsius 154
I clicked lazily through the channels on the wall-screen. News story after news story about murders. They were all the same-- everyday news to us. Ironically, my world, thirty years after Guy Montag took his stand, was not so different from his world. My world was the opposite of his--and yet the same. Perhaps a history lesson is in store.
Thirty years ago, Guy Montag, Thomas Granger, and some of their followers led a revolution. They rebuilt our government, our corrupted, mangled government, and made it into something better. Soon there was freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and, most importantly, freedom of choice. However, such a drastic change wasn't necessarily a good thing. While outright lies were traded for blatant truths, peace was traded for violence. Although people were free to think for themselves, there were more assassinations than ever before in our country's history. As people got a feel for their new freedom, more deaths came. Even though Mr. Montag got what he'd been looking for, the world still wasn't what he'd imagined it would be.
I sighed and stood, muttering to the wall to shut itself off. As the screen turned blank, I grabbed my phone and held it to my ear. Five minutes later, I was walking to my favorite hangout, the brisk, fresh, fall air blowing my wavy, black hair around me. Most people preferred to drive or ride the bus, but I enjoyed the exercise. I liked the feel of the wind on my face and the smell of the flowers.
I reached Montag Park and passed the monument dedicated to him. We lived in his city. It was the first city he'd built. A person couldn't turn around without finding something "Montag" behind them. Montag Avenue, Montag Park, you name it. We brought in hundreds of thousands of tourists every year, people hoping to see a shred of the life our forefather had led. I stared down at a famous quote of his. I smiled at his wise words.
I heard the noise of a car pulling up behind me. I whirled to see Chase's sleek, black Edison Turbo--named after the guy who'd invented cars over a hundred years ago. The black-out window flashed down so quickly that if I'd blinked I'd have missed it. Mary Rose sat in the passenger seat and Chase in the driver's.
"Hey Layla!" my best friend called to me. "What are you walking for? It's so chilly out!" She rubbed her hands on her arms for effect.
I grinned at Mary Rose and got into Chase's car. He greeted me nonchalantly, as always. Within seconds we'd reached our destination; the turbo did it's job well. I climbed out of the car and saw Austen already waiting for under the overhang, the wild wind whipping his usually-slicked-back blonde hair into his face. The next few minutes were filled with idle chat about various things. That's when we spotted them. It took all of Austen's strength to hold Chase back. Chase was very territorial and loved fights. He looked for danger, seeking it, stalking it, preying it. I was the exact opposite. I'd do anything to avoid a battle, even one with them--especially them.
They were a gang of sorts. In my world, disagreement crushed any friendship that could have been formed between two people from the beginning. They were of the opposing party to my own. Therefore, we couldn't associate with them. Of course, there were other opposing parties of which we chose to ignore, for their views were not so opposite of ours. The rivalry between us and them was different though. We would never get along and would never want to try.
The blonde, their leader, sneered at Chase, looking him up and down, from his black combat boots to his black-and-blue streaked hair. She taunted him, tempting him to start a fight.
"Chase!" I exclaimed. "Don't even think about it! She's trying to get you kicked out of school. Remember last time the firemen came? If they catch you one more time, you'll be expelled."
He glared at me, but he backed down. The firemen were the law-enforcers. With fire-proofed houses and books legalized, firemen had nothing left to do but uphold the law. The sadness of it all was that they neglected to enforce laws with the adults. By now, I thought they might've given up on that. They were probably trying to correct the problem from the beginning, by starting with the children. Would it ever be corrected? I couldn't say.
That's when the sirens started wailing. The sirens that were a normal part of life for us. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't hear that sound at least once. I even heard it in my dreams sometimes--or rather nightmares is a better word. Not a head in the whole park turned to look at the fire truck as it passed. We all knew what that was likely to mean but we didn't care.
Later
I watched the news on the wall-screen. Earlier today, the president had been assassinated. When he'd died, there hadn't even been a worry. The next man in line took his place with a smile and assured everyone that he had everything under control. Of course this wasn't the first time this had happened. It had happened several times since The Revolution. It had happened before The Revolution, before the time of Guy Montag. It had even happened to President Montag himself, the one who'd given us our freedom, the very man who'd fought for everything we had today.
As I watched the news station play the video and play it again, I remembered something. It was a quote that President Montag had often recited. It was etched into my brain from years and years of hearing it repeated, but up until now I'd never seen the truth in those words. "Before things get better, they must get worse." Things had gotten worse. They would probably get even worse as time wore on, with more deaths. Someday, a man or a woman like Guy Montag or Clarisse McClellan will show up. They'll be the kind of person most people don't see in a lifetime. They'll put a stop to this madness and the world will begin to right itself again. Firemen used to burn books and thoughts and ideas. We were still burning in that fire.