Fahrenheit 451: A Short Story

Guy Montag opened his eyes with a start. Fiery images slipped in and out of his mind as he slowly exited the dreamy realms of his subconscious. Brightest of all he saw the number 451, burning like the fire he knew it represented, obscuring the rest until it too faded into smoke and he was awake. Gradually gaining awareness of his surroundings, he pulled his blanket tighter around him as he shivered in the early morning chill.
The time was noon and Montag was hungry. The day was half gone, and yet he felt like he could go no further. His legs burned and his knees trembled, he was barely capable of standing up. He was walking out of sheer willpower, and perhaps the smallest vestiges of energy left over from yesterday’s midday meal. He had not eaten since then, his large stomach was depleted. If he thought about it at all, he would fall right then and there would be no hope of rising. The numbers distracted him.
It was a silent noise that was sensed rather than heard; but Montag was certain that is was not far from him. He stopped walking and turned around, but by twenty he sensed it no longer. He waited until thirty-two and then he slowly continued on his way. Almost immediately, he knew it was there again. Montag was confused, yet he now knew that it would stop if he did. Warily, his nerves on edge, he walked still on.
By 200, Montag was almost relaxed again. Perhaps, he thought dreamingly, it is a spirit. A spirit of the forest, come to protect me. “How do you do, Spirit?” He said aloud. “My name is Montag. Surely you knew that, thought, for spirits must know everything. Oh do tell me, Spirit, how do you