Fahrenheit 451 Descriptive Writing 2/8

Scene : Montag going to his own house to get burned down.

Montag's Perspective :

The loud and annoying alarm sounds off above me. My world shatters knowing there will be another innocent victim clawed by the hands of fire. I can hear the stomping of firemen making their way towards the brass pole that leads them to the cherry colored vehicle as we call the Salamander. I follow them with a shameful and guilty feeling on my expressionless face. I get into the vehicle. Firemen trample all over me. Beatty stomps on the gas pedal. A nasty smirk draws upon his face, as if he were luring us into a trap. He cuts from corner to corner. Hurrying, he never makes a stop. The tires of the Salamander making an awfully loud screech. A frosty burst of wind blows upon my face. I can only think of Mildred. How much she's drifting far from me. She's become too obsessed with the world and it's useless technology. But much worse, I keep thinking about how much I cannot bare to see another book go up into flames. A book, something that was taken time to be written onto paper. Someone who took their own precious time to write about their personal outlook on life to share with the world. Their thoughts, their feelings. Trashed and burnt by these crazy and selfish firemen. Why can't the world be free like it once was? Why can't we live through a day, with the sun blazing in our hair, the fresh air blowing on our face, without being judged or criticized by another one. Everyone had become too pointlessly ignorant. They forget the smallest most important details in life. I keep wondering off in my field of thoughts. But we finally reach our stop. I wish we just had kept on going till we reach the other end of the world. Away from all this. I step onto the cold heavy ground. Beatty confronts me. That nasty smirk still on his greedy face. He tells me to look up. I squint up at the next sacrifice. It turns out, it was my own home. My heart pounds faster and faster. It felt as if it were about to jump out of my chest and explode into a thousand pieces. But why? What did I do to deserve this? I had not done anything wrong. Was it the books I had been hiding? But how could they have found out? I question on and on, but no answer can come to mind. As I try to forget my current stage, I see Mildred hurriedly making her way towards a cab, as if she were trying to escape life. I face her. She starts talking about all these things. I could not understand anything she was saying. I had blanked out. I could not listen to anyone with their painful words that I could not trust. She finally finishes. She gets in the cab. I felt as if I was going to cry. Like I just had lost a big chunk of my heart. But as I watch the cab drive off in the far distance, I could not feel any tears drip from my eyes. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe her leaving me like this was a sign that I had to make things right. I had to fix what I had caused. These were the consequences to my actions. So, I grab the flame thrower, and I run inside my home. I burn everything that comes in my way. My first stop, was at the parlor. This wasteful device that did nothing but brainwash my wife. I burned it. The glittery sparks that flew up in the air. It was rather enjoyable. I burnt my bedroom walls, filled of lonesome memories. I burnt anything, everything that reminded me of Mildred, this woman that lived with me, who I shared everything with. This woman who will forget me as the days pass into weeks. I slowly walk outside. I stand in front of my house. Watching it burn up in red coals and black ashes. I had burnt them. I had burnt my deepest darkest possession, my books.