Esther watched the Olympics coverage on Good Morning America — fascinated,

not wanting to move. The Games seemed so remote and

no part of her; it was a play apart and

separate, wondrous to watch, not without its strange pleasure. That’s

all for me, she thought, that’s all taking place just

for me, by God. If she wished, she could linger

here, in comfort, and follow highlights from the men’s marathon

on through its swift phases, down alleys across streets, over

empty running avenues, past throngs of spectators, crossing lots and

playgrounds, with pauses here or there for the necessary commercials.


Paraphrases from the novel Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.