"Are you happy?"

Author's Note: This is a creative piece that I wrote that goes with the theme, "Are you happy?" in Fahrenheit 451. In Fahrenheit 451, Guy Montag was supposedly happy with his material items and burning books, but finds that what he thought made him happy... actually didn't. I tried to incorporate that into this piece... but I twisted it a bit; with books being something that let my character down, instead of the opposite. 

               “Some people believe that life is scripted by God, and people are only a handful of words, animated. People who think such as stated prior, see the words of truth that captivate our communities. They are engrossed with words.”

                I remember reading this excerpt somewhere… but I don’t know where because I examine so many books! They are everything to me. I disregard the titles on circumstance, but who cares?

                I stare at this quote that I taped against my wall. Most girls my age on Friday darkness go dangle out with their boyfriends or contacts at some Skateland or rather. But I’m at this juncture… looking at my wall.

                “Palette?”

                I rotate behind me, to perceive my little sister holding one of my books in her arms.

                “What do you crave, Aspira? And what are you doing in the midst of my manuscript!” My incisive eyes situate upon my book in her arms to see if any mutilation has come to it. Luckily, I can see no nicks.

                When she opens her maw, she speaks tenderly. “I found it in my room, I just thought I’d give it to you.”

                I huff, speculating what I would’ve done if I’d vanished it. When she hands it to me, I don’t bother to verify the title. I embrace it against my torso, clinching it sternly, shielding it from the world.

                “Palette?”

                “What?”

                She looks at me extraordinarily. “Why do you like books so much, anyways?”

                I shrug then articulate, “I don’t know really.”

                “Are you happy?”

                I gaze at her, wondering.

                She reallocates her mass ineptly in facade of me then says, “I mean, how can a book called Nobody Loves Me make you happy? Or Everybody Looks the Same to Me? Or even Gray is My Favorite Color?” She looks at me apprehensively, “They seem a bit… depressing.”

                Once more, I shrug. “I don’t in actuality reimburse attention to the titles.”

                She narrows her eyes. “What about the insides of the books, though? You do read them, right?”

                “Of course I carry out!” I exclaim. “That’s why I encompass so various books!” I forestall my gaze to my overflowing bookshelves.

                “Are you infatuated with words?”

                I stare at my younger sister, in awe. “Infatuated? I am keen of that word! Where’d you gain knowledge of that word?”

                She revolves her eyes. “That’s my point, Palette. Maybe that’s why you talk weird, too. I mean, you say things… and the sentence fluency is off…” She pauses.  “Do you know what I mean?”

                I impede for a jiffy and think. Do I talk uncanny? I presently thought I sounded so much more highly developed than everybody else. I imply, my word choice is supposed to be unparalleled!

                I wobble my head, trying to ponder everything Aspira just informed me of.

                “So… you’re saying…” I recess a second. “That I don’t actually like books? I just like the words?”

                She nods.

                “No.” I utter.

                “What?”

                I look her straight in the eye. “I do not think I am happy. You asked if I was happy. I guess I was just… infatuated with words.”

                “Palette… Words are empty. Do you understand? They are nothing unless you string them together and make a necklace. Words have individual definitions and meanings of their own, but they have to describe something, or say something purposeful. Words won’t keep you happy, Palette. You aren’t happy… are you?”

                I shake my head, now sad. I thought that books made me smart, and that that would make me happy. But… they didn’t teach me anything. I didn’t gain anything from it. This new understanding inspired me to change…Aspira inspired me to change. My little sister! I smile.

                “Come here,” I say, opening my arms to her. We hug, and I thank her. She walks out the door and I sit on my bed, books surrounding me.

                I look at my books, which I only recently thought made me happy. I look back to all of the dreams I’ve had: of me, crying, walking, but getting nowhere. It lead me to an empty room. And now I understand.

                I shove my books off my bed. All of them. I get a glance at some of the titles: Hugging Myself, Dying on the Inside, Oppressing the Pain. I roll my eyes and throw a blanket over my little pile so I won’t have to look at them.

                Words will not make me happy. Words are not my salvation. And I do not need books.

                I check my phone. 7 o’clock. Still enough time to get to Skateland. I grab (not seize) my sweater (not pullover) and put on cherry (not crimson) lipstick and start to exit (not egress) my room. But before I’m out the door, I see the poster on my wall.

“Some people believe that life is scripted by God, and people are only a handful of words, animated. People who think such as stated prior, see the words of truth that captivate our communities. They are engrossed with words.”

                I quickly get a pen from my bedside table and run back to my poster. I cross out the last line. I step back and examine my work.

“Some people believe that life is scripted by God, and people are only a handful of words, animated. People who think such as stated prior, see the words of truth that captivate our communities. They are engrossed with words.”

That is how I will live my life, I think. I will use words to animate meaning and truth in my life.

I smile and remember the meaning (not the words) of my silent promise as I walk (not trot) out my door.