It was a torture to burn.
A long time back, Montag had enjoyed the feel of a cold, heavy brass nozzle in his hands, spewing kerosene on the leather bound books, followed by a blazing fire that turned their yellowed pages into black smoke. Dickens, Shakespeare or Doyle. He burned the books, then burned their ashes with a proud glint on his face, a smile plastered for forever. Montag was addicted to the adrenaline that surged through him, the smell of kerosene that followed wherever he went, a drug he never wanted to let go of.
Until now.
Montag felt the cold waters nip on his skin, his head at the verge of exploding. His skin had started to shrivel, a sign that he has been in the river for far too long. He knew he had to get out some time …show more content…
A pretty one, at that.”, Granger said. “Before we met you, there was this girl, traveling with her family. She had noticed me and Mr. Simmons arguing over where we are heading next. The girl walked over to us, with a cheery smile, and asked if she could join in. I was surprised at first, thought she was one of those murderous kids, ones that would kill. I waved her off, but she was persistent. Eventually, we gave in and explained our problems, while not revealing too much. One thing led to another, and for all I know we were talking about books.”
“Books?”, Montag said in disbelief.
“Yes, books. I had never seen anyone so open and curious. She was different from the lot at the city.”
A quiet silence ensued after.
Montag was curious.
“Did you get her name?”
Granger opened to speak twice, trying to remember. His eyebrows scrunched as he tried to remember, muttering strange words under his breath. He walked to the river, repeating Montag’s actions, hoping he would remember but nothing came up. His mind was blank, an empty sheet, with no recollection of her name. Then, suddenly, all tension disappeared from Granger’s face as he looked behind Montag.
“Speak of the devil, Clarisse McClellan, what are you doing here?”
In that moment Montag felt the wind being, quite literally, knocked out of him. It can’t be her. It can’t be my Clarisse. No, it can’t.
“Montag, you okay? Your face is getting paler by the second.”
“Clarisse?”
“Yes, quite certain of it. Your na-” …show more content…
Hello, Montag. What brings you here?”
Montag stood up and walked up to the fast-flowing stream, then turned and sat back down on the rocks. It didn’t make sense, she was dead, died this year. Her lifeless body was at the morgue, where it had always been. No, can’t be her. Then, who was she? A ghost? No, can’t be. After all, Mildred said she was dead and Beatty confirmed it.
Mildred said she was dead and Beatty confirmed it.
A cool autumn wind blew past him. It all had come together. Mildred never said she knew, she thought she knew. She was unsure, unsure of what had happened to Clarisse and Montag knew that Beatty wasn’t to be trusted. He was a fool.
“Montag, you okay?”
He was a fool. An idiot. He never denied her death, never checked, never doubted. Why would her family leave after her death? Why would they disappear? Montag was on his knees, with his head in his hands, as he felt tears pool in his eyes. He turned around, it was Clarisse. She was here. She was right in front of him, peering down with her electric blue eyes, never once breaking their gaze.
Montag’s breath left him entirely, his heart beating erratically as he jumped from his spot, and hugged Clarisse. She hugged him back, with the same intensity, as she tried explaining something to Montag. He never heard any of it as he still was to recover from the
A long time back, Montag had enjoyed the feel of a cold, heavy brass nozzle in his hands, spewing kerosene on the leather bound books, followed by a blazing fire that turned their yellowed pages into black smoke. Dickens, Shakespeare or Doyle. He burned the books, then burned their ashes with a proud glint on his face, a smile plastered for forever. Montag was addicted to the adrenaline that surged through him, the smell of kerosene that followed wherever he went, a drug he never wanted to let go of.
Until now.
Montag felt the cold waters nip on his skin, his head at the verge of exploding. His skin had started to shrivel, a sign that he has been in the river for far too long. He knew he had to get out some time …show more content…
A pretty one, at that.”, Granger said. “Before we met you, there was this girl, traveling with her family. She had noticed me and Mr. Simmons arguing over where we are heading next. The girl walked over to us, with a cheery smile, and asked if she could join in. I was surprised at first, thought she was one of those murderous kids, ones that would kill. I waved her off, but she was persistent. Eventually, we gave in and explained our problems, while not revealing too much. One thing led to another, and for all I know we were talking about books.”
“Books?”, Montag said in disbelief.
“Yes, books. I had never seen anyone so open and curious. She was different from the lot at the city.”
A quiet silence ensued after.
Montag was curious.
“Did you get her name?”
Granger opened to speak twice, trying to remember. His eyebrows scrunched as he tried to remember, muttering strange words under his breath. He walked to the river, repeating Montag’s actions, hoping he would remember but nothing came up. His mind was blank, an empty sheet, with no recollection of her name. Then, suddenly, all tension disappeared from Granger’s face as he looked behind Montag.
“Speak of the devil, Clarisse McClellan, what are you doing here?”
In that moment Montag felt the wind being, quite literally, knocked out of him. It can’t be her. It can’t be my Clarisse. No, it can’t.
“Montag, you okay? Your face is getting paler by the second.”
“Clarisse?”
“Yes, quite certain of it. Your na-” …show more content…
Hello, Montag. What brings you here?”
Montag stood up and walked up to the fast-flowing stream, then turned and sat back down on the rocks. It didn’t make sense, she was dead, died this year. Her lifeless body was at the morgue, where it had always been. No, can’t be her. Then, who was she? A ghost? No, can’t be. After all, Mildred said she was dead and Beatty confirmed it.
Mildred said she was dead and Beatty confirmed it.
A cool autumn wind blew past him. It all had come together. Mildred never said she knew, she thought she knew. She was unsure, unsure of what had happened to Clarisse and Montag knew that Beatty wasn’t to be trusted. He was a fool.
“Montag, you okay?”
He was a fool. An idiot. He never denied her death, never checked, never doubted. Why would her family leave after her death? Why would they disappear? Montag was on his knees, with his head in his hands, as he felt tears pool in his eyes. He turned around, it was Clarisse. She was here. She was right in front of him, peering down with her electric blue eyes, never once breaking their gaze.
Montag’s breath left him entirely, his heart beating erratically as he jumped from his spot, and hugged Clarisse. She hugged him back, with the same intensity, as she tried explaining something to Montag. He never heard any of it as he still was to recover from the