Look at this unbelievable hot mess I've been workin on for the last two days. You won't get all the references if you haven't read Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury:
Fahrenheit 451: The Sequel
By:
Torrey Martinez & (My partner's name)
Period 5
~~~
How was someone that knew nothing about the world supposed to be thrown into it and expected to survive? Was it planned that some distant instinct from the days that their barbarian ancestors roamed the earth for wild shrubs and hunted for untamed beasts, to return to their domesticated and pampered kinfolk when times became dire? Montag felt alien in this strange planet of rushing, clear water and grass of multiple yellows and browns. No rustle of push from the bowels of his mind told him how to live in this climate. The rusted heavy steel rails and occasional rotted wooden beams that held them up, represented to him the only proof that humans had once trekked these grounds before. Probably for the same reason as him; to find a new life ahead.
They must have experienced similar hopelessness as well. Lost to what was ahead of them. They couldn't really know for sure what was hiding behind each tree. Whether the grass its self would bring some God-forbidden curse of sickness that their foreign immunities would bow under like coiled-over slaves to the work master's black leather lash. Surely this struck the same fear in their hearts as did in Montag's. This fear was demobilizing and electrifying, freezing and burning; turning his feet to lead too heavy to lift and all his courage into a liquid, sticky sweat that dripped from his brow and seeped into the dry soil. How did they push on though? Were their lives burning in a skeletal heap behind them or was there something edging them forward with hopes of new prosperity? A quote from an old government document he had once read in school a long, long time ago bloomed like a bright flower in the dark mist of his mind.
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."* The words slipped over his lips in a light murmur as he remembered them. He had no idea where this quote was from, or its significance; but all the same it seemed important, so he would remember it. Add it to this universal traveling library of people Granger was rambling about. It seemed all a good idea. So, he decided to play along. He still didn't know what he would do in between it all. The only real goal he had now was to meet with Faber.
The rhythmic crunch of pebbles under his feet, off-handedly reminded him that he was still walking, proceeding forward; following the path of rails and beams. Every so often he would look back to see if anyone was following him, only to be reminded he was alone. Apparently the city where he was supposed to meet up with Faber was only a half-day's walk more on the railroad tracks until he would see it on a hazy horizon; so the group had left him walk the way himself while they ventured a different path to another place. Luckily, they had provided him an old kitchen knife with a nearly worn-out leather sheath, connected to a strip of faded moth-eaten cloth so he could tie it to his belt-loop. He would be able to protect himself partially. A small hope of survival against a trained natural predator.
Just as the noon sun's blistering heat beat down on him the hardest, he had managed to find that the track led into a forest of higher underbrush and the thick trunked trees they fought for water for. The track he was following resembled less of a human structure and more of a forgotten, overgrown hiking path. Muted colors began to appear around him in peculiar places. Flashing red splashed here, muted blues gathered there, purples in the creases of rough bark, oranges in dancing in the flashes of the leaves as they fluttered in any light breeze, and of course the greens. Emeralds and pastels, bright and muddled, invaded the land of yellows and browns; taking it as its own. With every step, the rich color slipped forward with him into the wilderness. Was it following him? Or was he following it? To what or where were they going?
Almost in a moment too quick to notice, a gasp interrupted the sound of Montag's feet crunching, followed by a whoosh of air and a muddled thump! A swaying tree branch indicated that whatever the source of the noise was, it had fallen from its perch. His hand immediately went to grip at the handle of his blade and his attention turned to whatever creature was in the tall grass. How could he really think he had the slightest chance against an edgy, unpredictable predator? It had as much care about him as he did of it. Fear sunk his hopelessness down to a whole new level. All the colors and scents and sounds drained from his surroundings and poured forward to create one image of surreal clarity. A nest of long black fur rose up from the vegetation, followed by a white oval that reminded him of a clock's face, on which sat two reflecting onyx eyes filled with curiosity.
Clarisse!
Eyes jolting open, Montag struggled with a sudden intake of air that rushed through his throat and into his lungs. His heart pumped heavily and fast in his ears, spreading the new oxygen throughout his body. Wild thoughts ran through his head, trying to come to reality with the sudden change of atmosphere of his dimly lit room. It was just a dream! Calm down, it was just a dream. The wait for his beat to slow to normal and his panting to lighten was nearly five minutes by his mental count. It wasn't until after did he finally remove his eyes from looking at the ceiling and over to the digital clock on the bedside table. Just past seven. He only got five hours of sleep. The dream seemed so much longer.
A strong aroma slinked under the door and drifted over to his nostrils, tempting him to get out of bed and start the day. After a series of cries and moans of his old metal cot, he lifted himself to his feet and shuffled out of the room. The path to the kitchen was already well memorized in his head from the past few months he had lived there, but the fragrant scent was a helpful guide as well. He was met by a much lighter scene with pushed backed curtains let light shine on the performance of a young woman preparing breakfast. How smoothly she moved from one task to the next reminded him of a ballerina. When her dance came to an end, plates of bacon and eggs with glasses of orange juice sat in front of them both on their little table. He would have smiled, but his was still off.
"Something wrong Guy?" She asked, pushing her sheets of black hair behind her ears and stabbing her fork into some fluffy scrambled eggs.
"Dreams. Memories, really. The one where we found each other on the railroad tracks." He grabbed his bacon and bit into it, savoring the taste and enjoying the crunch. His eyes watched her reaction though.
"Again?" Clarisse remarked, her eyebrows knitting together.
"Clearer. And I actually got to see you this time."
She thought for a moment, her right index finger tapping the side of her plate, "It's been five years. Funny how it keeps getting clearer."
"Right. Do you think it's because of the exercises I've been working on to remember the books?"
"Could be. But, why this memory so much?" Her questions were intuitive as always, making him consider to a further extent. After a few moments of thinking and quiet eating noises, he finally answered.
"I think it was because it was a important moment. I thought you were dead. And when you weren't...It just kind of unhinged a few things." When she had popped out from the grass like some alert prairie dog, he had just stood there starring at her speechless. He hadn't known why, just that he was utterly shocked to see her. It hadn't been till she had come over and poked his forehead that he was knocked out of his daze. He remembered noticing how worn and beaten she looked, but how her eyes still shone the same way as they did the first time he had met her.
"Unhinged..." Montag could see from her face expressions that she was trying to come up with a proper educated response; one that would probably draw the conversation on to the greatest length. "You mean like a change in perception about something?"
"More or less."
"I think it was because everything was still new to you back then. Gosh, you were about to stab me with a kitchen knife."
"I thought you were an animal!"
"No animal would fall out of the tree that easily." Clarisse laughed at his foolishness and he joined her only after a moment of hesitation.
"True. But you have to admit you sort of looked like a animal at that point." He joked.
"Hey! That's rude." She couldn't hold up her faux offended expression and it collapsed in a waterfall of giggles. The conversation continued on to a lighter subject from then on. They finished their breakfast and cleaned off their plates, but during the entire time his mind stayed on their discussion.
For the last three months that they had been in Chicago, Montag had been searching for memories of his past. The only original clue he had had was that he had met Millie here. So, at several occasions in the last five years since he had escaped the city, whose explosion symbolized the end of a brutal eight year World War, he had returned to find any clues from the collapsed part of his mental history. It was a tedious process. Not only did he have to unravel information about himself from nearly nothing, he had to work to become accustomed to his new life.
The world wasn't the same at all as in the city. He read once, while studying at Faber's new literature university in Hartford, the land where he lived used to be part of a country call the United States of America. It was a hard concept to consume that one the many territories and people of America managed to settle their differences enough to unite. The country had a very unique history, with it being the most influential empire of all history. Eventually it collapsed as they all do, when the government changed some rules and a civil war erupted.
The world was different now. Many of the major cities had been bombed as his had and others destroyed in other manners. Foreign countries owned large territories, while newly sprouted civilizations owned others. There were in-between lands of no-ownership and cities, towns, or villages who obeyed only themselves. There were only a few, scarce places that one might hear through rumor that still had book bans. You were more likely to find places where parlors were completely forbidden, or allowed with well-supervised restrictions. Chicago, having fought out of its own book ban at the beginning of the war was a place where people preferred radios generally, in fear that they may once again get lost in the "families inside". Him and Clarisse only owned a small radio that hooked to whatever bag they wished to carry. It was one of her few family relics she had left of her family. They had disappeared in the explosion, trapped in an asylum. That's how he found her actually. She had managed to escape and was on her way to find someone to help her get her family out when the bombers came. Being too depressed to know what to do, she followed the railroad tracks and fell asleep in a tree. Even now, he sympathized for her situation. Gladly agreeing with her to travel with him till she found where she was supposed to go and what she was supposed to do. Over time, they just formed a sort of team; questioning and challenging each other. Montag found it hard to imagine life without her.
So, it was together they traveled in a six-wheeled multi-terrain taxi toward the library as they did every Saturday. People walked the sideways in crowds, avoiding slow-paced cars swerving each other in traffic. They made a game of pointing out signs and measuring their length with their thumbnails, seeing who found the longest. The driver dropped them off at a tall marble building then skidded down the street with a new passenger aboard. Walking past the guards with no words, Montag and Clarisse walked over to the first window available. A stout bulky woman was on the other side of the glass, typing some notes into her computer. She looked up at them, smiled, then asked in a polite voice, "How long will you be staying today?"
"Only a couple hours. Guy Montag and Clarisse McClellan. Our files are already on record."
Tap. Tap. Tap. "Ah, yes. Here you two are. The documents you requested have been place in Study Room 42. Here are your passes."
Two plastic cards with their pictures, names, and bar codes were passed under the glass, which they proceeded to grab. They both gave their thanks and walked over to the security entrance giving their cards to be checked and walked through the safety scanners. A lot of libraries had established intense security systems to protect the books that poured in from the country side. Montag worked as a scribe during the week and Clarisse as a librarian organizing the texts. The systems protected the books, but made a hassle in order to get to them. But, due to their special positions, they were able to reserve some of the more guarded documents for their search of Montag's history.
Getting to the small room labeled "Study Room 42" only took a few moments of quiet walking. They flashed their cards at the scanner by the door and the lock popped open. Inside was nothing but a average wooden table with a matching set of four chairs and several old newspapers. Taking their seats, Clarisse was the first to grab for the top newspaper and read the head line.
"Date August 4th, 2070. The Last Rebellion officially declares war against the Reformists. This was the beginning of the war. Thirteen years ago. Can you think of where you were then?"
Montag concentrated on the date and headline, pulling the names and trying to see if he recognized them in his memory bank. Nothing. Nothing at all. "I think I was in the city by that time. Try the next one."
"Alright..Hmm, this one is a little later, but it's on Chicago." She cleared her throat before reading aloud, "Chicago was effectively captured by the Rebels last night, January 8th, 2071, but the test subjects were nowhere to be found. Assumptions have been made that the Reformists moved them to a new unknown location sometime during the last 72 hours. Rebels take over the control of the city, obliging the mayor to remove the book ban and..."
"Test subjects?" Montag interrupted after a short delay for thought. "What would the Reformists need test subjects for?"
"You didn't notice? Montag did you ever wonder why in the city so many people looked and acted the same? Sure it wasn't perfect, just look at you or me. But compared to all the people we've met since than...it was just unnatural."
In fact, he remembered a thought like that occurring to him one day when he sat at the firehouse playing to cards. "So...they were breeding us? When did you know this?"
"Well I had my suspicions all along, but I didn't know till I heard through discussions at the coffee shop. No one told you?" Clarisse looked very curious on how he could have gone so long without knowing.
"No." Montag answered, beginning to worry if other things were being held back from him. It worried and irritated him that the answers to his questions could be staring him right in the face waiting for him to open his eyes. But, that was beside the point. He needed to focus on what he had now. "Do you think Mildred and I were one of those test subjects moved out of Chicago?"
Flashes of realization glazed over her dark eyes. "That has to be it! How you and your wife met. They moved you, her, and who knows else in order for you to be kept in the same lost condition. Can you think of any memories now that you know that?"
In fact, several flashes and memories were lighting up in the empty region of Montag's brain that he spent so much time probing and found nothing. "I remember...flashing colors, the televisions...we had been put in the same parlor several times. Occasionally we talked. When it was done, I went off for firemen training. I can't remember anything of my parents. Maybe they didn't know me. I wonder if they were like me....Clarisse, I'm from Chicago!"
The realization that there was so much involved in his life was jaw-dropping. Finally an answer to what had happen. A hard concise bit of information that he could really leap from. The relief he had been expecting wasn't there. Instead was a sort of reassuring eagerness for more. His purpose since he left the city wasn't finished either. Just revised and refreshed. He needed to know more and he felt that the true information behind it all wasn't hiding in the fragile pages of these newspapers. Information needed to be uncovered on why the Reformists treated humans like lab rats, breeding them and poking them with needles till they burst so that they could create a better version of that person later.
"I think we finally have a good lead here."Clarisse noted with a smile, watching Montag's collage of reactions.
"Me too. Now just to make the right appointments."