Originally Posted by Malicious Wakizashi

So far. Give 0 **** about what has been posted. This was not the intention of the thread I haven't read your comments I'm sure they were wonderful. Here is something I've been working on, its full of holes, it helps if you've read Fahrenheit 451:

Mildred is placing one slice of bread over another topped with roast beef, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and provolone, on a plate on the tile kitchen counter, when sheer energy tears her to shreds, and what remains of the house is a small pile of smoking, crumbling carbon in a smoldering, gray wasteland. The monotone scene blends to a sickly yellow hue. “Oh Jesus!”...
“Montag you alright?”
“Who? … Granger... yeah... yeah... just a nightmare.” The sun was just a splinter above and glistening off the puddle by the decrepit highway. Montag gets up from his mat on the grass and pisses on some bushes.
“We're cooking some oatmeal, do you want any?” Yells Granger.
“No thanks,” says Montag, and walks further to the stream. Montag imagines food wrappers and aluminum cans vaporizing in the nuclear blast, transmuting into this green, semi-viscous liquid. Below the opaque mask and scattered plastic, agitation free, lies a layer of ash. He presses his face close to the murkiness. A gleaming object transcends the grain. Montag dips his hand in the water and reaches into the ash and grain, as if an ice cream scooper, and lifts a golden locket and chain. Flipping it open, Montag scratches away a grimy photograph, and thinks of replacing it with leaves.
Montag gets back to the camp, where Yogurt wearing an enthused expression, giving a sermon in front of a seated crowd.
“I read a lot in a warehouse with sketchy kids hiding from firefighters. I find that getting in the zone where I can transmit books throws me back in that warehouse. I remember the glossy purple, designed, drum set they had, whose bass drum some piece of **** kicked and sat in. I can touch some old fart's face, feel the wrinkles like a split open tree.”
This sermon is bull****, Montag thinks, and decides to not feed Yogurt's fire by listening to his dribble.
“Hey Montag, come here a sec, I wanna introduce you to someone,” yells Granger, over by the picnic table left of the highway just shy of the woods.
“Montag, meet Hesus. He used to be a librarian, before the firefighters got him,” Granger says.
“M-M-Montag pleased to...” a blank expression of day dreaminess, drooping mouth, and saliva gathering at the lower lip, displaces Hesus's sentence.
“You too,” says Montag, and he reaches out to shake Hesus's hand. “Are you feeling okay?” Montag asks.
“Umm, Hesus was lobotomized by firefighters for librariating a grand book trade; he can recite books from his black market days, which is why we're gathered here today,” says Granger.

The recounting takes a turn for the worst. Gary's closed, placid expression explodes into widened eyes that stare with Dionysian fury at Montag's face; lips recoil, a deranged yell escapes his teeth.
“Oh ****,” yells Granger, “Hesus is freaking out, maybe he's re-experiencing his capture by the firefighters, watch your neck.”
“Leave me alone you stupid ****ing piiigs! You can burn books but spirit burns in me, ****eeers!” Hesus dashes into the woods and within meters is lost from sight. A high pitched scream drowns into a hiss.
“Ah, ****. I feared this might happen,” says Granger, “I think Hesus might still be experiencing the effects of a drug I administered to ease the recital. He'll most likely mellow out, though, when it wears off, if I had a dart gun I'd attempt to sedate him, but I don't, so I won't.” The others look around bummed.
Montag goes to sit under the highway, breathes in the wasted city on the horizon, reminds himself of his progress, looks up at the starry sky, wonders what, if any, was Mildred's concluding thought, and remembers the sandwich from the dream. He feels tired, lies on his mat, slipping easily into sleep.
The next morning Montag gets up and eats oatmeal with Grangers and the others. “Hey Montag, Hesus is going to tell us about his escape from the firefighters in a minute, he's in the woods now getting prepared,” Granger says.
“Word,” says Montag, hastening his munching to walk into the woods to a grassy clearing where Hesus is on a wooden chain in front of a small, seated group, housed by foliage.