Note: This is a story I wrote for a school project, where we were asked to reveal Beatty's past. I would really appreciate if anyone had any comments or suggestions! Thank you! (:
The Captain
Beatty watched as a plume of flames burst up from Montag's house. He could feel the heat on his face, although he was not sure if it was from the fire or his own impending rage. The smell of burning pages threw him into the past.
As a child, Beatty's hungry eyes devoured every bit of literature they could consume. It started simply, when he became intrigued by the letters and phrases he saw on the television. He taught himself to read by turning on the captions meant for non-hearing people. That had been the first time Beatty saw any value in the meaningless television programs his mother so caringly placed in front of him. However, Beatty's hunger could not be satisfied by mindless characters and empty plots. His young mind craved new information, desired a deeper understanding. And so, Beatty began his search.
He would never forget the first one that he found. The intricate gold lettering caught the sunlight for such a brief second Beatty was sure he had imagined it. As inconspicuously as possible, he shuffled toward the classroom corner. He carefully peeked behind the rows of learning tablets, all identical and resolute. There it was, glowing with an aura unfamiliar to the curious boy that stood before it. The words "Lord of the Flies" glimmered across the cover. He snatched it up and shoved it under his arm with shaking hands, and returned to his seat. He wasn't worried about the teacher questioning him. The only reason any of the teachers even bothered to show up was so that they could pay the providers of their precious television entertainment.
"The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the lagoon." Beatty must've read the first line of the Lord of the Flies a million times before he moved on to the next sentence. He digested every paragraph, line, and word until he thought he could hold no more. He cherished the book and kept it close at all times. He read it again and again, memorizing his favorite parts and often reciting them to the people around him, without their knowledge. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. The book became a part of him, yet he hungered for more.
The red hand outline on Beatty's face stung. She tore the book away from him, despite his pleas. "Are you stupid, Beatty? Books are illegal," his mother's voice boomed through the house. He remained silent. She dragged the small boy down the stairs by the collar and looked him right in the eyes. "Now, if I ever find out you've even so much as touched another book, I will send you straight to the institution. Don't think I'm lying. I wouldn't hesitate." Beatty's eyes widened as he saw his mother walk towards the fireplace with a strangling hand on his beloved book. She tossed it right into the fireplace, put her Seashells in, and strolled right back into the TV parlor. Beatty scrambled to the fireplace and tried helplessly to comfort his poor book as it died a slow death. How could something I love so much be so bad? Is there something wrong with me? These questions haunted Beatty. Confused tears rolled down his face as he watched his favorite passages burn into nothingness.
The painfulness of the memories launched Beatty back into reality. He examined the salamander on his arm that his mother was so proud of. Funny, he thought, the things people to do to make other people happy. He thought of Clarisse McClellan in that moment, and wondered if he himself were happy. He thought of every book he had sinfully indulged in, burnt to ashes, and then grieved over. No, he decided he was not happy and that he wanted to die just like every one of his precious books.