"Sequel" to Fahrenheit 451
Burning Bright, Burning Right
It was that time of day when the afternoon barely gave away to the glorious wonders of the night. The birds had stopped chirping and the many creatures that stirred in the ruins of the city, those that found it livable, had retreated to their underground homes. It had been a decade, a lifetime since the city had been reduced to rubble. The radiation still lingered in the air. It added a new taste, similar to the taste of an orange or a lemon. The crater from the bomb had been filled with rainwater to form a lagoon. The river’s natural current carried away the radioactive debris to the forest where, undoubtedly, the creatures of the forest would drink the contaminated water. There had been an occasional drizzle now and then soaking most of the wood in the area. Montag had managed though. He had come prepared. It took him three full hours to build the raft and funeral pyre in which Faber’s body now rested on. He looked at the horizon just in time to catch the everlasting rays of the sun fade to the night and began. “Faber, my dear friend; it has been awhile since we talked. Almost three months. I heard that you were shooting propaganda somewhere by the Eastern Battle; probably condemning the unworthy fools that fought against us. Remember when we first met? You called yourself a coward for not standing up to stop the madness when it was beginning. I always found it ironic that you would become the symbol of rebirth, that you would be dubbed the phoenix. A coward really, but that was not my decision to make,” he stopped and took a breath. “You were my mentor. When I was blind to the knowledge of books, you educated me; you showed me what I was missing. You were everything I could ever ask for. Granger was there for me, but you were there for me to the, I mean your, bitter end. I can remember when you were approached about the face of the phoenix. That bright day in St. Louis. “Faber, tell me what happened yesterday? I thought all
It was that time of day when the afternoon barely gave away to the glorious wonders of the night. The birds had stopped chirping and the many creatures that stirred in the ruins of the city, those that found it livable, had retreated to their underground homes. It had been a decade, a lifetime since the city had been reduced to rubble. The radiation still lingered in the air. It added a new taste, similar to the taste of an orange or a lemon. The crater from the bomb had been filled with rainwater to form a lagoon. The river’s natural current carried away the radioactive debris to the forest where, undoubtedly, the creatures of the forest would drink the contaminated water. There had been an occasional drizzle now and then soaking most of the wood in the area. Montag had managed though. He had come prepared. It took him three full hours to build the raft and funeral pyre in which Faber’s body now rested on. He looked at the horizon just in time to catch the everlasting rays of the sun fade to the night and began. “Faber, my dear friend; it has been awhile since we talked. Almost three months. I heard that you were shooting propaganda somewhere by the Eastern Battle; probably condemning the unworthy fools that fought against us. Remember when we first met? You called yourself a coward for not standing up to stop the madness when it was beginning. I always found it ironic that you would become the symbol of rebirth, that you would be dubbed the phoenix. A coward really, but that was not my decision to make,” he stopped and took a breath. “You were my mentor. When I was blind to the knowledge of books, you educated me; you showed me what I was missing. You were everything I could ever ask for. Granger was there for me, but you were there for me to the, I mean your, bitter end. I can remember when you were approached about the face of the phoenix. That bright day in St. Louis. “Faber, tell me what happened yesterday? I thought all