To
the future, to anyone that is left…
I awoke this morning to a harsh, shrill whistle that erupted from the
telescreen at exactly seven fifteen. It took my eyes quite a while to adjust to
the faint light of morning and my mind to the reality that this was going to be
another terrible and fearful day. I had only a few short minutes to gain my
bearings before the morning exercises would be forced upon me.
“Thirty to forty group. Please take your places!” A gruff female
voice boomed over the telescreen. She proceeded to demonstrate various stretches
such as touching your toes. It was so hard to do anything with your best effort
so early in the morning, especially when your body isn’t ready to be contorted
into varied positions. As I continued with my stretches, I reflected way back to
my childhood. I have vague memories of my early years, but now it is hard to
know if those pieces of a past life are true or if they even took place. I
remember my mother and little sister, and how they disappeared all those years
ago. I must have been ten or eleven years old when this happened. Now, I am only
left to speculate that my mother, father and little sister had mysteriously
vanished during one of the great purges of the Fifties. I cannot shake the
feeling that they died because of me, so that I may remain in the world of the
living. It distresses me when I think about these things. I am constantly
wondering what truly became of them and if it was entirely necessary for them to
die so my life may be spared. What happened in those seemingly happy years to
cause such ruin and poverty as there is now in 1984? I’m convinced that life
was different in those lost days. I don’t recall if the never-ending presence
of war existed during those years. I remember that an air raid seemed to take
everyone by surprise. I imagine that this occurred just a short while before my
family was taken away. The theory of what happened is that the atomic bomb was
dropped on this country and soon thereafter war and destruction was plagued upon
all man-kind. No one ever talks about it now and it is probably forbidden to
even think about it.
My
home, Oceania, has been at odds with Eurasia ever since that time, or so I’ve
been lead to think. It’s hard to make any recollection of historic events
since nothing is documented and no proof has been kept of these happenings. I
suppose that the Party erased any evidence of the past and probably of the
future. When it was finally time to bring my mind back to the present, I knew I
would have to make my way through a world of disaster and ruin to the Ministry
building where I sadly find my place of work.
Today,
the Two Minutes Hate, which is the part of the day that I loathe, was a little
more full of zeal and hatred than I have previously experienced. Goldstein
showed his despicable face. Just looking into those beady little eyes was enough
to anger anyone and everyone present. Goldstein represented the enemy, Eurasia.
He denounced everything that the Party stands for and put emphasis on his
dislike of Big Brother. The latter really opened up the opportunity for shouts
of outrage to come from those who heard the disgusting accusations. During the
second minute of the Hate, people were jumping out of their seats, screaming as
loud as their lungs would let them, and some even threw objects at the
telescreen to show their distaste. Each and every person wished that all their
efforts of showing their fury would somehow cause Goldstein to melt and
disintegrate before their very eyes. But I did not. My anger and hatred shifted
from Goldstein to the Party, Big Brother and the Thought Police.
The
telescreen is ejecting the soft hum of marching music, which has now reminded me
that it still has authority to record everything you do. Even tucked in a
corner, out of sight of the telescreen, as I write in this diary, I do not feel
safe. Privacy is something no one ever experiences, even if you are out of sight
from the huge window that can look in on your life at any moment. The Thought
Police still exist. They will probably find out about this diary. I don’t
really care. I need to speak as I truly feel. Someone has to in this age when
everything is a lie. I’ve already determined that I will be discovered and
then vaporized. The question is when.
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER!
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER!
Sincerely,
Winston
Smith