Down with Big Brother!!
Down with Big Brother!!
Down with Big Brother!!
I hate him!!
Down with Big Brother!!
Down with Big Brother!!
Down with Big Brother!!
I hate him!!
To the Future, To anyone who is left.........
Today, the Two Minutes Hate, was different then I have ever experienced. The minute I walked into the room, I had sudden sense of change, like something was going to change, but not really sure what is it. Most of the usual screaming of the masses, the nauseating smell of gin and sweat, and of course, the never stopping Telescreen. The screen burst out, giving off a screech noise as if something mechanical had exploded, but it was deafened by the roar of the crowd. A man named O' Brien, a member of the Inner Party was sitting a few chairs down the row on the other side, looking at his watch, realizing that the Two Minutes Hate had started. He seemed to have a look on his face, one that displayed exactly what I myself was feeling, that this Two Minutes Hate was very inappropriate and unorganized. As I stood up, I kept my eye on him, hoping for some kind of sign that he was in it with me. As a machine gun roared and Goldstein's picture appeared on the screen, every one got up and started screaming nasty remarks to the enemy of the Party. The sense of change suddenly came back as we sat down after the session was done. I turned towards O' Brien to see the expression on his face when I realized he was looking right at me, seeming that he sensed that I was trying to get his attention, he rubbed his glasses and quickly turned away. It was enough though, I knew for sure that he was on my side now.
After work I headed down to the Proles area, trying not to be seen by anyone who looked suspicious. A worker for the Party had no business in the Proles section, otherwise people might become wary and tip a hint to the Though Police of me being in with the Brotherhood, then I would be gone before the night was over. The streets were filled with old garbage and scraps of anything that fell from old, rotting buildings. People were wandering the streets, mostly old woman and men, smelling of decayed flesh and bone. I could smell the people everywhere, on the walls of buildings, sidewalks and in the ruble of abandoned houses. I found myself in a part that I remembered little of, a memory from years ago. There was a pub across the street and a little, run down shop to my left, looking as if it hasn't had a customer in decades. I realized that it was the shop that I bought the little book I'm writing in. I looked around, making sure no-one was watching me and I entered. Seeing as there was no-one in the shop, I quickly left, making my way to the pub across the street. As I drew closer to the pub, I got the faint smell of old beer and new sweat. I opened the door and was suddenly hit by a wave of rancid smells, mostly of the beer, horribly making its way into my nostrils. The smell was hard to handle for a bit, but I got used to it and sat down at the bar. The place was lively with people and cheap beer, which was the only thing the Proles could get, I'm sure they could get gin, considering the sneakiness of them, but it wasn't worth it. I left after feeling dizzy from the smells, reaching the outside, I breathed deeply. Relieved from the horrible place, I wandered back home.
I walked the stairs of the building I lived in, coughing slightly from the effort it took to brave the stairs. This place was a hideously, under-managed living space. The walls were old, and torn, chipping everywhere, littering the floor with dried paint and crumbly cement. You couldn't walk through the halls barefoot, or you would get a nice, rusty iron nail right through it your foot. But what were you to expect nowadays. I entered my room, emptying my pockets of stuff I happen to pick up that day. The Telescreen was blazing its usual, marching songs, speeches, and news reports of a war in the midst. There was no way to turn it off, it was on every minute of every day, sitting there, as you watched it, they watched you. A constant surveillance of the whole person, where you sleep, eat and work, always being watched. There was no escape, only death was an escape, but with death, came nonexistence; the eradication of everything about you from when and where you were born to all records of your workplace and workings. You became a shadow of someone who never was. That is why I fear death, to become erased was more scary than death it self, and since it was very hard to come by a tool for death nowadays, the most common thing was suicide by hanging.
The way my room was set up, it gave a little space right next to the Telescreen which I could get away with stuff and not be seen. The wall next to the Telescreen was cracked, giving way some bricked, which made for a good hiding place where I keep this diary. I don't know why I got this thing, if I'm caught with it, it would be vaporization. Just the act of writing in a diary wasn't illegal, but you could still be killed on charges of plotting against the Party, then no-one would ever see you again. As I sit here, huddled just right so as the two way surveillance mirror, that's just a weird name I call it, can't see me. I always sit here, this spot gives me a relief of a certain amount of privacy, even though it can only go so far and its not as comfortable as I would like it to be, then again, nothing was comfortable these days.
Was this society always like this? Did it always have all the hatred and cruelty that it has today? I don't think it did. No civilization was always the same, they always changed, maybe not for the better, but changed nonetheless. It must have been better before the Revolution, but the Party has mad sure no records exist that prove that theory. Everyday, more and more people keep vanishing, or have been vaporized, not many that I know, but lots within the walls of the Ministry of Truth, since a lot of the forgery of articles takes place there. The Though Police were everywhere and nowhere, that was the scariest part. They even inhabit the minds of children to further strengthen their power over the people. Children turning in their parents, I know it wasn't always like that, it wasn't supposed to be like that, I can just sense it. It's a gut feeling, something that has always been with me, a sense that this way we live shouldn't be, that it must not continue.
Down with Big Brother!! Down with Big Brother!! Are these something I heard somewhere? Are they feelings from the subconscious that came to life in my writing? Big Brother is the symbol of hope in the Party's world, whether he is real or not is not the point. The point is that he is admired by almost everyone even though no-one has ever really seen him in person. He might as very well not exist, or did at one point but died and the Party kept him alive for their proposes. He might just have been some made up figure, just someone they picked off the street, took his picture, and vaporized him afterwards. In my personal opinion, this "Big Brother" doesn't even exist, therefore, all the people who worship him are worshiping a dead or nonexistent idol. Yet, they would most likely do nothing if they if they found out, still to attached to today's way of living. Those hopeless souls, lost in the tyranny of the "Party" for the rest of their short lives, yet I feel no pity, only sorrow and loneliness for what could have been but will never be.
In my last words for this "message" to the future will be about this war. This never ending war that always changes, giving us workers devastating weeks of work to falsify articles, newspapers, pamphlets, and songs. There is no point to this war, one that always changes, not ever winning or losing, a "stalemate" they would call it in chess. Maybe it has been the same war all along, just the cheating of alliances and enemies, but always striving for the same goal. I don't know much, only that every so often, a streamer will rain down from the heavens and cause destruction and death. Where do these "streamers" come from? Are they actually sent by the Party themselves to lower the population and change the attitudes towards the enemies? No one can tell, they hit without warning and with sever devastation, leaving only ruble and dust in their wake. I leave you with this, person from the future, if this entry manages to make it's way through this society and into your hands, learn from it, use it so as not to repeat the same mistake out generation had to go through. Show it to everyone you know, and them to others, make it known to everyone about how the past was, incase of there not being any records. Farwell to the future, from the past.....
-Winston Smith