Fahrenheit 451 Prequel: Beatty POV

Part 1

Is it truly a pleasure to burn?

Throwing a whole set of matches into the already burning mound of corpses, he watched as specks of gold dust began to fill the air, as the gorging fire burned ablaze with renewed strength. Then, black ashy smoke began to rise from the books at a slow but steady rate, much like a tomb of darkness which mercilessly engulfed the already few stars that seeked protection and comfort in the midnight sky. Staring intently at the unwavering flame with an all-mighty orange-red flame in his eyes, the glorious image of the fire seared into his mind for the next minute as if stamped there with fiery steel. Black-haired men surrounded the growing fire like a group of children gathering around a campfire. Cackling away as they tell jokes, the same fierce grin was plastered on all of their faces. He, too, with his symbolic helmet, which had the numbers 451 etched into it, grinned the fierce grin that all men shared, driven back by the flame. Flick, click, flick, click. His fingers mindlessly started to fiddle with the ignitor of his Zippo. Yet, after a brief moment, his fingers stopped moving, as if they were being constrained and held in place by invisible spider webs. That single thought was invading his mind yet again. Seriously, again?

Thinking about this same question has been consuming him for the past few days, much like how the spectacular fire he was witnessing was consuming yet another copy of Willie's Macbeth, Beatty still could not reach a conclusion.

Three days ago, Lucifer had visited Beatty's house right after another day of hero work. That should have been another great day. They burned another 50 copies of Faulkner's The Hamlet. Yet, in Beatty's eyes, it was a significant day. He did something he always thought he could not do. Feel.

His Fire Captain and mentor had asked Beatty to sit down with him for a cup of tea at his front porch.

"How has your day been, my best junior fireman?" asked Lucifer with a fierce grin that reminded Beatty of his own.

"Swell." Beatty responded.

"You always use that word. It's almost making me want to burn you every time you use it," Lucifer teased. He paused. Then, with much caution, he continued,"Beatty, you have great potential as a fireman. You broke the record for the "Most Number of Books Burnt for the Month" for three consecutive months. I see greatness in you. So, I'm offering you a golden opportunity.". His eyes lit up like a golden flame, much like a candle which was rekindled.

"What?" Beatty responded, as a feeling surged in his chest. He could not identify the exact feeling though, he never could. Was it fear? Was it excitement? Or was happiness?

"I want to promote you to the Fire Captain", Lucifer declared.

Silence. Utter silence. A silence as consuming as burning fire ensued. Beatty did not respond.

Back at the firehouse, Beatty was now playing poker once again with his fellow firemen. However, this time. it seemed like a voice was repeating over and over like that catchy advertisement he would occasionally hear on the radio with every move he made. It was Lucifer's voice saying "I want to promote you to the Fire Captain", only a thousand times louder and sharper..

Just as Beatty was about to win the game, Lucifer came sliding down the firepole which connected the Fire Captain's office to the main area. In a casual voice, he asked, "How's everyone? "

After hearing the fire captain's question, all of the firemen responded , "Swell" in unison, like a team of robots doing the same work repeatedly.

Lucifer paused upon hearing the resounding response. He seemed mildly surprised, before speaking, in a slow and interrogative manner, "Beatty, are you okay? Having a sore throat today? You didn't respond."