Red… Gold… Orange… Blue… Catching a glimpse of the blue skied day, the leaves rained down on me, swirled by the promise of winter approaching. A faint hint of kerosene perpetually tainted the air, assuring citizens what would occur from hoarding books. As I perched on the branch watching the mindless citizens lazily stroll by, I began to imagine a different world. The world that my uncle and his people describe in their retellings of all the burned stories. A world that appears to be forever lost, despite the attempts of the group to revive the unresponsive community. My uncle finally allowed me to accompany him on one of his “business trips” upon my seventeenth birthday. He says that seventeen once was an important age in a person’s life;
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We talked of the horror that had just occurred to all of those innocent people – the people who did not choose the way of life they had been living. Yet as we talked, the sadness I felt began to dissipate. Of course I was saddened at the loss of so many innocent lives. But how could hope not surge through me as I thought of the possibilities that laid ahead of us. New books could be written with new stories – the old ones could be resurrected. I thought of the art that could fill a new city with the freedom of creativity. A city where creativity is not only accepted, but encouraged. Perhaps for children school would consist of more than mindless activities to tire us out; perhaps we could ask questions. I dreamt of everything that we could make this city, everything that I could make this city. Despite the destruction of everything I had ever known, despite my uncle dragging me to this group, despite all of it, I finally had something that I could make of my own. As I walked with Montag, I began to realize that we were the future of our society. The red, gold, and orange leaves blew from the trees, resurrecting memories of the fire that caused so much destruction in the city. Yet as these leaves surrounded us, a new fire began to arise, a fire inside me. This fire ignited hope inside me as I realized that I could make a
We talked of the horror that had just occurred to all of those innocent people – the people who did not choose the way of life they had been living. Yet as we talked, the sadness I felt began to dissipate. Of course I was saddened at the loss of so many innocent lives. But how could hope not surge through me as I thought of the possibilities that laid ahead of us. New books could be written with new stories – the old ones could be resurrected. I thought of the art that could fill a new city with the freedom of creativity. A city where creativity is not only accepted, but encouraged. Perhaps for children school would consist of more than mindless activities to tire us out; perhaps we could ask questions. I dreamt of everything that we could make this city, everything that I could make this city. Despite the destruction of everything I had ever known, despite my uncle dragging me to this group, despite all of it, I finally had something that I could make of my own. As I walked with Montag, I began to realize that we were the future of our society. The red, gold, and orange leaves blew from the trees, resurrecting memories of the fire that caused so much destruction in the city. Yet as these leaves surrounded us, a new fire began to arise, a fire inside me. This fire ignited hope inside me as I realized that I could make a