Fireman

Author's Note: I wrote this for english, and I liked it enough to post it... so0o0o enjoy! r/r

---

Guy Montag slowly opened his eyes. The bright sun that shone down on him, warmed his cheeks. "Ugh, too early." he mumbled to himself. He closed his eyes again and remembered yesterday's events. He can still hear the planes roaring overhead, the smell of the burning fuel, the explosion, it's aftershocks that sent him falling onto the hard earth, the smell of fire.

How he remembered the smell of fire well! He smelled it all his adult life, being a fireman and all. A fireman who burns books for a living. A fireman living in a world where the government was afraid of the intellectuals, and anyone who can oppose to them. He can remember that faithful night when he discovered volumes of banned lore. "The poor old woman never had a chance," he thought sadly. "She must have had loved her books so much to die for them."

Montag opened his eyes again. The men around him were still asleep. Slowly and quietly he got up and went to a nearby river to wash up. He stood there, surrounded by the beauty of the river bank and the countryside behind him. Was it only yesterday that he washed up upon this bank, and met Granger and the others? It felt like months to him.

Clarisse. It was Clarisse McClellan who changed Montag. She angered him the first time they spoke, with all her annoying questions. He felt sorry for her after awhile. She was a social outcast, due to her eccentric ways. Yet she was happy. In all his years, Montag never met a person as intriguing as Clarisse. She was curious. She was smart. Montag remembered once trying to talk to his own wife, Mildred, and her friends. He couldn't even hold a normal conversation with them! All they wanted to do was watch the television. "That was the past!" he chided himself. "Clarisse is dead. Millie is dead. I'm here now, with Granger and the Book People."

---

When Montag returned, he saw and heard a stout man reciting lines. From what little he heard, he decided it was a wonderful. "Ahh, Montag. There you are!" Montag turned around to see Granger. "Good Morning, Granger. What is he reciting?" he asked, pointing to the stout man. "Who? Machiavelli? Why he's reciting The Prince! Great novel... it's been banned for quite some time. You better get some food and drink. You've got reciting to do."

After his breakfast, Montag sat down. He was the "back-up copy" of the Book of Ecclesiastes. Some man in Youngstown named Harris was the "original". If anything happened to Harris, then he would become the original. Slowly he began to recite the words, verbatim. "Good, Montag. Good." a man they called Charles Darwin said. Montag stopped. "What do you recite, Darwin?" "The Origins of Species." he responded, proudly. Montag nodded. He continued to recite until Granger stood up on a trunk of a tree that had been cut down. "All right people! We are now going to head into the city to see what is left, and if there are any survivors. This is our time to show the world what us intellectuals can do! We didn't stand up when we had the chance, but now we can! We will save all those we can!"

The march into the destruction was like walking to one's doom. The destroyed buildings cast eerie shadows along the streets. There was no sound. No birds chirping, no laughter, no cars. Complete silence. The Book People didn't dare make a sound. Around the town hall area, Granger stopped. "Okay People! Split up and report back here at noon! Take any books you find, any survivors, men, women, and children!"

Montag wandered off by himself. He didn't realize where he was going until he reached his block. He slowly walked down the street to where Clarisse and her family lived. Next door stood the remains of his home. He stared at the sight, remembering. His first encounter with Clarisse. When he and his wife were happy. When he first met Mildred in Chicago. He didn't see hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. "So you return, Guy Montag."

Montag turned around. The face was familiar, yet he didn't know who he was. "I'm Beatty's brother, Tom. I've heard interesting things about you. Particularly what you did to my brother..." "How did you know... the planes, the bomb..." "Oh I've heard from survivors. I live in the city over. We weren't hit at all. I'm the Fire Captain there." The cold gleam in Tom Beatty's eyes sent a shiver down Montag's spine. "Well, it was nice meeting you." Montag said, and turned to walk away. The heavy footsteps followed Montag, and soon it caught up. "Not so fast Guy Montag. You're a Fireman. One of us. I'm not letting YOU get away." Tom said. Montag broke into a jog. The footsteps followed him. He felt his foot catch onto something jutting out of the sidewalk. He fell onto the hard pavement and the world went black.

---

A bright light shone down on Guy Montag's face. Slowly he opened his eyes. Where was he? Where were the Book People? He looked around. He was in a firehouse, he was laying on a cot. "Sorry Guy." a throaty voice said. "Where am I?" "At work. Where else?" "Where is 'at work'?" The man looked at Montag. "Youngstown." he replied. "I'm not from Youngstown." "Yes, I know. You're from that city by Chicago. The one that was bombed. You're a survivor. What's wrong Guy? Are you okay? Did you have that dream again? Well, we've got work to do. Fires to set. Books to burn." Guy looked up. "Yes, yes. Work. Fires to set. Books to burn. Books that burn at 451ยบ Fahrenheit."