Authoress' note: Yeah, I know; not my usual front. But, originally, this
was actually an assignment I did for 10th grade Humanities class on the
novel, Fahrenheit 451. I'd recommend you read the book if you really want
to get the whole idea of this. It's a first person point of view from a
made up person who is, supposedly, Faber's niece/nephew. There's really
nothing that hints towards one or the other, so imagine what you will.
I'm taking an awful risk, you know, in simply reading a book. But, I have to. I've never even seen a book that wasn't a textbook in my life. After all those pointless years of learning about "how wonderful" our country is and having heard such wonderful daydreams from my uncle about books, it's an irrepressible craving for me when I saw it. The book that will sentence me to a permanent punishment if I'm caught. But, I won't be caught. Not until I'm done. Not until I'm finished reading this breathtaking book.
I probably inherited this bold streak from my mom and dad. After all, wasn't it because they also loved books that they were arrested and I went to live with Uncle Faber? Did I also inherit my supposed insanity from them? The psychologist is always telling me that I'm crazy because I'd rather go outside and climb a tree to gaze at the clouds than stay inside and watch the "parlor walls".
I realize that I'm laughing. They're all so ignorant, thinking they can obtain happiness from a "family" that doesn't even exist. There's so much more to be received from daydreaming.
I'll never drive. Speeding at a wild velocity just doesn't appeal to me. It is rather pointless after all. And, so many people are killed by it. No, I will never drive on our high-speed highways.
Uncle Faber told me about a certain fireman who had done the unthinkable; he'd read a book. Weren't firemen supposed to burn them? He told me that this one realized that maybe there was something more to those volumes than just a bonfire waiting to be lit. He also said that he'd actually talked with this man.
To say the least, I was stunned, but also delighted that someone else also understood. Would I ever be able to talk to that one brave person? Even if they did say that he was killed by a Mechanical Hound, Uncle Faber and I know that Mr. Montag made it.
I'm sorry I never met you, Mr. Montag. It must have taken an awful lot of courage to do what you did. Maybe I will meet you someday. But, that's not my problem now. Breaking my reverie, I realize something: I've just walked into the sidewalk, and I'm still holding that book.
I take in that I've just sealed my own doom. Horrified, I know what danger I've put not only myself, but my only family, my uncle, in. The absolute dreadfulness of this betrayal to the person who raised me sends panic streaming through me. So, I run. Just as I can hear the screeching sirens of police cars behind me, I turn the corner and run that way. There's a secret way I always used to escape the city limits. It's my only hope now.
Even as the cool breezes of the waning afternoon flow past my cheeks, I'm still running, footsore, exhausted, and fearful, but still running. I grin with relief as I see a stretch of trees ahead. They lead to a stream, and when I find it, I can make sure I won't fall victim to a Mechanical Hound.
Everyone knows of those terrible menaces that are only used to track down convicted criminals. I'd rather die running with this book in my hands than to be caught, injected, and later on destroyed because of one of them.
My once white sneakers are now very soiled and wet as I charge through the shallow waters. It's twilight now and the chill of the water soaking my clothes and shoes coupled with my extreme fatigue is starting to get to me. The stream bed is muddy and dry as I walk along it.
Is just reading a single book once really worth all this? Maybe it is. In spite of everything, I was purely happy for once when I read it. Perhaps the knowledge itself coming from it is worth this. Whatever the reason, that doesn't help me right now.
I hear a twig snap behind me and I whirl, terrified that I may have been found, raising that book as an improvised weapon. A man with dark hair and eyebrows faces me. A fireman? Out here? The realization sinks slowly into me. Amazed, I stare blankly at him.
It takes me a minute to hear what he's saying to me. I snap out of my shock and I hear him asking me why I have a book. In a rush, I ask him if he's really who I think he is. Hesitating for a moment, he gives me a quick confirmation with a nod.
Though I'm still very astonished by everything, I quickly tell him what had happened to me, and how I'd found the book, hidden in my uncle's attic, a memento of my parents'. I can tell he's relieved to know that I'm like him. He's definitely more relaxed.
Eventually, Mr. Montag leads me to his friends, other intellectuals! Even if they look like a bunch of hobos, I can see that I'll fit in just fine amongst them. I'm happy that I've finally found my place, but I still dream of the day when books will no longer be burned and people can think for themselves again. Someday, I know it will come true and our dreams will be realities.
I'm taking an awful risk, you know, in simply reading a book. But, I have to. I've never even seen a book that wasn't a textbook in my life. After all those pointless years of learning about "how wonderful" our country is and having heard such wonderful daydreams from my uncle about books, it's an irrepressible craving for me when I saw it. The book that will sentence me to a permanent punishment if I'm caught. But, I won't be caught. Not until I'm done. Not until I'm finished reading this breathtaking book.
I probably inherited this bold streak from my mom and dad. After all, wasn't it because they also loved books that they were arrested and I went to live with Uncle Faber? Did I also inherit my supposed insanity from them? The psychologist is always telling me that I'm crazy because I'd rather go outside and climb a tree to gaze at the clouds than stay inside and watch the "parlor walls".
I realize that I'm laughing. They're all so ignorant, thinking they can obtain happiness from a "family" that doesn't even exist. There's so much more to be received from daydreaming.
I'll never drive. Speeding at a wild velocity just doesn't appeal to me. It is rather pointless after all. And, so many people are killed by it. No, I will never drive on our high-speed highways.
Uncle Faber told me about a certain fireman who had done the unthinkable; he'd read a book. Weren't firemen supposed to burn them? He told me that this one realized that maybe there was something more to those volumes than just a bonfire waiting to be lit. He also said that he'd actually talked with this man.
To say the least, I was stunned, but also delighted that someone else also understood. Would I ever be able to talk to that one brave person? Even if they did say that he was killed by a Mechanical Hound, Uncle Faber and I know that Mr. Montag made it.
I'm sorry I never met you, Mr. Montag. It must have taken an awful lot of courage to do what you did. Maybe I will meet you someday. But, that's not my problem now. Breaking my reverie, I realize something: I've just walked into the sidewalk, and I'm still holding that book.
I take in that I've just sealed my own doom. Horrified, I know what danger I've put not only myself, but my only family, my uncle, in. The absolute dreadfulness of this betrayal to the person who raised me sends panic streaming through me. So, I run. Just as I can hear the screeching sirens of police cars behind me, I turn the corner and run that way. There's a secret way I always used to escape the city limits. It's my only hope now.
Even as the cool breezes of the waning afternoon flow past my cheeks, I'm still running, footsore, exhausted, and fearful, but still running. I grin with relief as I see a stretch of trees ahead. They lead to a stream, and when I find it, I can make sure I won't fall victim to a Mechanical Hound.
Everyone knows of those terrible menaces that are only used to track down convicted criminals. I'd rather die running with this book in my hands than to be caught, injected, and later on destroyed because of one of them.
My once white sneakers are now very soiled and wet as I charge through the shallow waters. It's twilight now and the chill of the water soaking my clothes and shoes coupled with my extreme fatigue is starting to get to me. The stream bed is muddy and dry as I walk along it.
Is just reading a single book once really worth all this? Maybe it is. In spite of everything, I was purely happy for once when I read it. Perhaps the knowledge itself coming from it is worth this. Whatever the reason, that doesn't help me right now.
I hear a twig snap behind me and I whirl, terrified that I may have been found, raising that book as an improvised weapon. A man with dark hair and eyebrows faces me. A fireman? Out here? The realization sinks slowly into me. Amazed, I stare blankly at him.
It takes me a minute to hear what he's saying to me. I snap out of my shock and I hear him asking me why I have a book. In a rush, I ask him if he's really who I think he is. Hesitating for a moment, he gives me a quick confirmation with a nod.
Though I'm still very astonished by everything, I quickly tell him what had happened to me, and how I'd found the book, hidden in my uncle's attic, a memento of my parents'. I can tell he's relieved to know that I'm like him. He's definitely more relaxed.
Eventually, Mr. Montag leads me to his friends, other intellectuals! Even if they look like a bunch of hobos, I can see that I'll fit in just fine amongst them. I'm happy that I've finally found my place, but I still dream of the day when books will no longer be burned and people can think for themselves again. Someday, I know it will come true and our dreams will be realities.