John Kramarevskiy
Mrs. Church
Honors English 4
August 16, 2013
Guy Montag
November 13th, 2036
The leaves have lost their color, what’s left of them anyways. Life has been stolen from this desolate wasteland. Not much has changed in the city. Charred remains and burned carcasses remain of those who couldn’t escape the city in time, or wouldn’t have left if they could. I slowly walk, pushing away anything obscuring my way. My nose is irritated, stained with blood from the impact of the explosion. My ear drums are busted, and I can barely hear my own footsteps. Others are around me. Their faces unrecognizable like mine. We haven’t bathed in a long time, and soot covers our raggedy bodies. I look for something that I may recognize. Maybe a landmark that may be intact, or even a huge pile of rubble that may look a bit of what it used to be. But I am useless now. My mind isn’t clear. The image of Mildred is in my mind.
Why? Why is it that missile had to land on top of her hotel? Anywhere else in the area and I could have sneaked an extra few seconds. But then I remember, I’ve spent most of my life with that woman. Yet I feel like I barely knew her, time wasn’t cherished. Then I realize how stupid I sound. If I remained with her, I would have ended up dead in the city. This is the path I took and I must stick to it. I understand that I am no more than a book. No more than the countless words flowing inside me. I am a vessel of knowledge, just like those around me. I used to burn books, so it’s important that I don’t go back to my old ways. My hands, moving themselves along the brushed metal to pump kerosene. Watching an elderly woman light a match, that would eventually be the turning point in my life. Distant memories, yet they are all too real in my head.
Guy Montag
November 15th, 2036
I have just awoken from a deep slumber. Two days ago, I managed to find a raggedy blanket in the bushes. My bed was the most comfortable of those around me. I look around, my eyes dreary. I have slept for two days. My body tired after such a horrendous event. I look around for a familiar face, and I see Granger sitting in a chair. Granger and some of the others have brought in the stuff back at the camp. It’s not much, but it’s comforts that we currently don’t have. He sits, drinking, what looks like coffee. Watching him drink, my stomach lets out a deep rumble. I slowly approach him and the table he sits next to. I take a cup and start to make myself some rich, dark coffee. Granger nods at me, and I nod back. Nobody can hear still.
Many awoke soon after. We grouped around the table, which I was already at. Everyone made foolish hand signs, but we managed to understand each other. I went with a young white gentleman, our assignment was to get some wood from the neighboring forest, which somehow remained untouched. This young gentleman’s managed to scrape some of the soot off his face, and I saw rich blues eyes. They reminded me of Mildred’s. When we found a nice tree, and swung the axe. He had cut many trees, countless amounts. Weather he cut trees before becoming a book, I don’t know. But one hit on that tree, with an axe that was dull and chipped the tree came crashing down with a huge thunderous roar. I ran. Not because I was afraid, but because that’s what you do. You never know which way the tree will fall. One it lay on the ground, we returned to it. The young gentleman and I took turn chopping the wood into smaller, finer pieces. I heard a faint hum. Probably the birds chirping that hadn’t fled. Although I could barely hear them, I was happy to be there, knowing they were singing.
We returned to the camp, with as much wood logs as we could carry in our arms. I noticed that some people had set up tents. I looked around to see where they may have found them, and I see a white trailed in the middle of the camp. I hear granger speaking, but his voice is raspy. I see him speaking to a group of people who look like they are from the north. I am grateful to them, but I don’t want to interrupt. The young gentleman and I set all the wood in a pile, next to what used to be our “fireplace.” Soon after he parts and I am left alone. I think about Mildred.
