Part Three: Section VI

At the Chestnut Tree Café, I sat in my usual corner, glancing up at the poster of Big Brother. A waiter came to fill my glass with some Victory Gin; there was no need to give them any orders since they knew about my habits.

My thoughts wouldn't stop wondering. Almost unconsciously, I traced "2+2=5" in the dust on the table with my finger. I reflected back to the time when I saw Julia on a bitter cold day. We could have had sex if we had wanted to, but my flesh froze with horror at the thought of it. Julia had grown thicker and somehow, she had stiffened. I didn't talk to her, let alone try and kiss her. We admitted that we had betrayed each other, but told each other that we should meet again.


"Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me -"

I heard a voice singing that song from the telescreen. Just like that, my eyes were tearing.

A memory suddenly floated into my mind. I thought of my mother, my sister and all the times I had taken advantage of them. It must have happened almost a month before they disappeared. I had to push the picture out of my mind because I knew it was just a false memory.

I looked up at the portrait of Big Brother. So much had changed since I first started working at the Ministry of Love. It had taken me 40 years to realize the actual smile that was under the dark, cruel mustache. But everything was alright now. The struggle was finished because I, Winston Smith, had finally won the victory over myself. I loved Big Brother. And that was final.

- Winston Smith

Part Three: Section V

I was in Room 101. Maybe I would finally find out, once and for all, what exactly was in this room that O'Brien said everyone knew about. I was tightly strapped upright in a chair. I wasn't able to move anything.

O'Brien walked in with an oblong wire cage with rats in it. I was truly terrified and didn't know what kind of torture he had in store for me. I told him that it was unnecessary, but he didn't listen. I tried to escape from the chair, but it was hopeless. O'Brien had already brought the cage closer. At that point, I was almost unconscious. Everything was black.

There had to be someone who I could transfer my punishment to. Then it came to me. Julia. I told O'Brien that I didn't care if she was hurt. He was satisfied and before I knew it, the cage door had clicked shut and I was safe.

- Winston Smith

Part Three: Part IV

Why had they given me a pillow, mattress, stool to sit on, a bath, warm water to wash with, new underclothes, clean overalls and new dentures? They were treating me like I was some kind of royalty. And everyone knew I wasn't. I was just Winston.

A few weeks or months have probably passed by now. They had started to feed me at regular intervals and even gave me a packet of cigarettes once. All the dreams that had been occurring in my mind had been happy ones; ones where I was in the Golden County or taking about peaceful things. I wasn't bored anymore and had no desire for conversation. I just wanted to be alone and have enough to eat. That was enough for me. I even started to become proud of my body; something I never expected myself to do. I accepted everything now and I had no intention of going back to the way I was before. I had no more doubts, no more arguments and no more fear.

I didn't know how long they were going to keep me here for; it could be months, or even years in solitary confinement. I did know, though, that I still hated the Party, even though I obeyed them. And even though I knew I was in the wrong, it was just the way I liked it.

Somehow O'Brien had read my mind when I happened to be thinking of Big Brother and my true opinions of him. I admitted that I hated him, and I was sent to Room 101.

"Then the time has come for you to take the last step," O'Brien said. "You must love Big Brother. It is not enough to obey him; you must love him."

- Winston Smith

Part Three: Part III

Apparently O'Brien assisted Goldstein in writing the book. And to think I had to ask him if he had read it already. I should have known of his mysterious ways. He told me that the Party's one and only concern was to have complete power. They didn't care about the good of others, wealth, luxury or happiness; all they wanted was pure power and they would do whatever they could to get it.

O'Brien wanted to create a world of victory after victory and triumph after triumph, but I knew it was impossible. There was no way a civilization would able to endure if it was based on fear, hatred and cruelty. O'Brien wouldn't agree, but I knew he would fail. Something would defeat him. Maybe it would be life. I didn't know for sure, but something would cause him to fail. Sooner or later the Party would see O'Brien for who he truly was and they would tear him to pieces. There would be something in the universe that he could not overcome, no matter how hard he tried.

I looked at myself in the mirror and I couldn't believe my eyes. O'Brien had done this to me. I knew he did, even if he denied it. My own face had changed more than I had changed inside. I was aware of my ugliness, but there was nothing I could do.

Sure, they might have beaten me, but if it was one thing I didn't do, it was betray Julia. I had not stopped loving her; my feeling toward her had remained the same throughout all this chaos.

- Winston Smith

Part Three: Section II

Ever since the moment the Thought Police had arrested me, I had not seen darkness or daylight. I had been beaten several times, every time with something different. Sometimes it was steel rods, at others they were boots. The people who beat me, though, were always five or six men in black uniforms. They even slapped my face and pulled my hair. Now I knew what true torture felt like.

My sole concern was to find out what they wanted me to confess and do it as quickly as possible. And that was what I did. I confessed that I had been in a spy, a religious believer, an admirer of Capitalism and a sexual pervert. I had nothing to be afraid of, though. All I had said was the truth.

O'Brien was directing everything. I didn't know what he was anymore. He was the tormentor, the protector, the inquisitor, and the friend. Apparently the Party didn't care about the stupid crimes we had committed; all they were interested in was the thought behind it. He asked me several questions and told me that if I didn't answer the truth, I would instantly cry out in pain. I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but I didn't want to risk anything by taking a chance. O'Brien had stopped my pain and I was truly thankful. I had never loved him more deeply than I did at that moment.

A blinding flash of light hit. As my eyes regained my focus, I, for once, remembered who and where I was. Somewhere, though, I could feel a large path of emptiness. It was almost as if a piece had been taken out of my brain.

"Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves" (256).

I asked O'Brien what he did with Julia, but all he told me was that if I had seen here, I would hardly recognize her. All her rebelliousness and what I knew about her was burned out of her. According to him, it was "a perfect conversion." I even asked him about the Brotherhood, but he told me I would never know. For as long as I lived, it would be an unsolved riddle in my mind. Feeling curious, I finally asked what was in Room 101. He didn't answer, assuming I knew. But I didn't. I had no idea.

- Winston Smith

Part Three: Section I

I didn't know where I was for certain, but I thought it was the Ministry of Love. Since I had been arrested, I had not been fed and I was craving food. Before I was brought here, I was taken to another place. It must have been an ordinary prison or a temporary lock-up used by the patrols. For some reason, the ordinary criminals usually ignored the Party prisoners. They called us "the Polits."

I hardly thought of Julia for the first few days that I was there. I didn't know where I was or what time of day it was. But I did realize that this was the place O'Brien was referring to. It was the place where there was no darkness. There was no difference between night and day in this place.

While I was there, I met Ampleforh and even Parsons. Ampleforth stayed there for a while and was then sent away, but Parsons was released. More prisoners came and went mysteriously. No one knew why.

Whenever my physical sensations were a little under control, my terror returned. I thought of Julia for the first time. Somewhere, she was suffering, probably far worse than I was. But in this place, you couldn't feel anything except for pain and the foreknowledge of pain.

O'Brien approached me. And that was when he told me, "You knew this, Winston. Don't deceive yourself. You did know it -- you have always known it."

Maybe I had always known it, but I was definitely not admitting it. Especially to O'Brien.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section X

I woke up in the morning feeling like I had slept for an eternity. Someone was singing outside and Julia woke up at the sound. We both walked towards the window, in hopes of seeing who was singing, and that was when I noticed how beautiful Julia truly was. I had never imagined that the body of 50 year old woman in her characteristic attitude would be that striking.

If there was any form of hope in Oceania, it lay in the proles. The future, of course, did belong to the proles. The proles sang, but the Party did not.

That was when I heard an iron voice behind me; Julia had a feeling that it was coming from behind a picture. The voice told us to remain exactly where we were and to make no movement unless we were ordered to. We didn’t think about running away or to get out of the house before it was too late; all we could do was stand there, gazing into one another’s eyes. The picture had fallen to the floor, uncovering the telescreen that was behind it. We were told not to touch one another, so we obeyed. I could feel Julia’s body shaking. Or maybe it was mine. I had no idea. Something was being dragged across the stones. I could hear a confusion of angry shouts and loud yells of pain. Julia thought it was a good idea to say our goodbyes, and since we had no choice, that was what we had to do.

I heard something crash onto the bed behind my back. There was a room full of men in black uniforms with iron boots on their feet, stampeding as they ascended up the stairs. Someone had picked up the glass paperweight I brought from Mr. Charrington and had smashed it into pieces.

I heard Julia thrashing about on the floor, fighting for breath. I couldn’t make myself look back, though her gasping face sometimes came into my vision. I knew what pain she was going through; the terrible, agonizing pain. I saw two men carry her out of the room, almost as if she was a sack. I caught a short, last glimpse of her yellow and contorted face. And that was the last I saw of her. No more Julia. No more dark brown-haired girl. She was a part of the past now and there was nothing I could do about it.

I was still alive. No one had come to hit me yet, but I did wonder whether they had caught Mr. Charrington or not. Suddenly, the demeanor of the men in black uniforms had become more subdued. That was when I heard Mr.Charrington in the background say “Pick up those pieces.”

He looked at me with one of those sharp glances he always seemed to do, almost as if he were verifying my identity. After that, he paid no more attention to me. He was still recognizable, but he wasn’t the same person at all. His entire appearance was changed, and for the first time, it occurred to me that I was looking at a member of the Thought Police.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section IX

I had worked more than 90 hours in five days – a truly painful experience. But I wasn’t the only one; everyone in the Ministry had, but now it was all over. My briefcase still had the book in it and had been lying there for six days. It was still unopened.

During the end of Hate Week, there was a riotous interlude, where posters were ripped from the walls and banners were torn to shreds and trampled on. I still didn’t understand why anyone would publicly showcase their hate for the Party for everyone to hear.

I was still anticipating Julia’s arrival, but in the meantime, I noticed the book. I sat down in my armchair and undid the straps of my briefcase. The book was black, amateurishly bound, with no name or title on the cover. The pages were worn and looked like they would fall apart with the slightest touch. But that didn’t stop me from opening to the first page. The title ran “The Theory and Practice of Oligarchial Collectivism” and it was by the one and only Emmanuel Goldstein. I started reading and I truly appreciated that I was able to read in comfort and safety. I was alone and there was no sign of a telescreen anywhere around me.

The book fascinated and reassured me. Even though nothing seemed to strike me as new, that was what interested me. Besides, in my eyes, the best books were the ones that told you what you knew already. I heard Julia’s footsteps on the stairs and went out to meet her. I told her that I had the book and that all members of the Brotherhood must read it. She seemed not to care at first, but then she told me to read it aloud. And that’s exactly what I did.

I kept reading until I finally became aware of the silence that seemed to take over. She was asleep, so I shut the book, carefully put it on the ground, and pulled the comforter over both of us. Maybe we would read the rest of the book in the morning, but for now, all I wanted to do was rest.

I still hadn’t learned the ultimate secret I had set out to find. I mean, I did understand how, but I didn’t understand why.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section VIII

We finally made it to O’Brien’s doorstep. Yes, it was a rash act to come at all and even worse to come together, but we were willing to take the risk. We couldn’t believe it. We were actually inside the Inner Party – somewhere very few people ever stepped foot. O’Brien’s servant had let us in without any questioning, but something suspicious had to be going on before we arrived.

After being there for a while, I realized what a stupid mistake I had just made. But there was no turning back now. O’Brien had his hand on the wall, and he was doing something that I couldn’t see. That was when the voice coming from the telescreen shut off completely. O’Brien had turned it off. And just like that, we were alone.

I didn’t know what sort of help I needed from O’Brien, so it wasn’t easy to tell him. But then I admitted what was on my mind. I told him that Julia and I believed there was some sort of conspiracy, some kind of secret organization, that was working against the Party and that we wanted to join it. We admitted that we were enemies of the Party, thought-criminals and adulterers. We wanted to put ourselves into their mercy. And that was final.

It was then that O’Brien brought us some wine to drink. I imagined the wine having some sort of sweet taste and an intoxicating effect, but when I swallowed it, it was extremely disappointing. After years of drinking gin, I could barely taste it.

O’Brien told us that we would never hear anything else about the Brotherhood, except that it existed and that we belonged to it. He even told us that Julia and I had to leave separately. I had no idea why. Then, he started asking questions about what we were and were not willing to go if we did, in fact, join the Brotherhood. Julia and I agreed to most of them and replied with a simple “yes.” Well, until the last question came up. No matter what, Julia and I were NOT willing to separate and never see one another again.

Before we left, O’Brien told Martin, his servant (who was also part of the Brotherhood), to remember our faces. He was memorizing our appearance but he appeared to have no interest in what he was doing. When Martin silently left the room, O’Brien already had something else to tell us. To sum it all up, he told us that we had to obey his every command and he was the only one that would ever give us an order. When we were finally caught, we had no choice but to confess.

For a moment, I had forgotten about Goldstein. But then it occurred to me…how could we ever defeat him?

It was Julia’s time to leave. Since she couldn’t leave the house smelling like wine, O’Brien had given her a flat white tablet to place on her tongue. And just like that, she was gone. To become a part of the Brotherhood, I would have to read Goldstein’s book, but since they weren’t that many in existence, I would just have to wait.

There was only a couple minutes left until I was forced to leave, but in the mean time, O’Brien had said, “We shall meet again – if we do meet again—“. And I, of course, knew exactly what he meant. We would meet again. In the place where there was no darkness.

As I walked out the door, I looked back to see O’Brien already in the process of putting me out of my mind. And just like that, I left. Within 30 seconds, I knew O’Brien would turn the telescreen back on and work on behalf of the Party.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section VII

When I woke up, my eyes were in tears – I felt like I was drowning in a river of denial. I knew I was awake, but I just laid there, with my eyes closed, still partially in my dream. Until that moment, I thought that I had murdered my mother. I could only remember the uneasy circumstances of the past, but unfortunately, I didn’t know how long ago they occurred. When my father disappeared, my mother didn’t show any form of surprise in her expressions. However, she did, suddenly, become completely spiritless. When I was little, she would sometimes take me into her arms and leave me there without saying anything. All I remembered was the room in which we lived. Dark, filled by a bed with a white counterpane. There was one more thing I remembered; it was my greed. Whenever my mother would give me food, I never thought it was enough. I demanded more, and I didn’t give up until she gave it to me. I knew I was starving my sister and my mother, but it didn’t seem important to me. It was all about me and no one else would take the spotlight away from me.

After I stole the piece of chocolate from my sister (the one my mother had given her), I was ashamed of myself. I roamed the streets until my hunger finally drove me home. After that day, I never saw my mother or my sister ever again. They had disappeared, but they didn’t take anything from the house with them. I didn’t know for certain if my mother was dead or not, but I did know that she was probably sent to a forced-labor camp, along with my sister who probably went to a homeless children center.

I told Julia about the story of my mother, and after that, we had somehow gotten to the topic of the proles. At that moment, it occurred to me that I didn’t actually despise the proles. They had stayed human throughout all those harsh times, and that was something I truly praised.

I told Julia that she was too young, normal and innocent for me, that our relationship would probably not last for much longer and that she would probably live longer if she wasn’t with me, but she refused to agree. She was going to do whatever I was going to, and that was that.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section VI

I’ve been waiting for this moment to happen forever, and finally, it has. It was the same place where Julia had slipped that note into my hand. I felt like someone was walking behind me, so I stopped and turned around. It was O’Brien.

At that point, I wanted to run away and my heart was beating violently. But I knew I couldn’t run away. We were face to face and I didn’t notice it until his hand was on my arm. We were walking side by side. There was something about him that was different than the majority of Inner Party members. He was actually a bit courteous – something most Party members knew the definition of.

He was waiting for an opportunity to talk to me. And it was all because of one of my Newspeak articles. And to be honest, I didn’t even think it was that great. Especially because I had managed to use two words that had already become obsolete. I didn’t know what made O’Brien so intrigued, but I guess it was all right. For now, at least.

Apparently him and Syme used to be friends before he became an unperson because he brought him up in our conversation. It must have been some sort of code word or something. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I knew I would find out eventually. By sharing a small act of thoughtcrime, we were a little bit closer to becoming friends. Or acquaintances. I didn't know yet.

The Tenth Edition of the Newspeak dictionary hadn’t come out yet, but O’Brien had one of the advanced copies that were already being circulated. He asked if I wanted to take a look, and of course, I had to agree. He suggested that I pick it up from his house at night, so he took out a notebook and wrote down his address. I had considered O’Brien to be a wise person, but I had started to doubt my assumption. Why had he written down his address right in front of the telescreen? Didn’t he know that someone was probably watching his every move? I memorized the address anyways and some hours later, I dropped it into the memory hole so no one else could get their hands on it.

The conspiracies that I had dreamed of did, in fact, exist. I knew O’Brien and I had some sort of connection, and somehow, it was getting stronger by the minute. Even though the meanings of O’Brien's words had permanently sunk into my thoughts, a chilly shuddering feeling had taken possession of my body. After all, I had always known that the grave was there waiting to consume me.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section V

I knew Syme would vanish. I just knew it. He thought way too much, and now he’s gone. He had ceased to exist, so he had never existed.

The preparations for Hate Week were already in full swing and everyone was working overtime. For some reason, late at night, rocket bombs crashed more often than ever before, and there were several huge explosions. There were so many rumors going on regarding them, but yet no one could explain the phenomenon.

A new poster had started to appear all over London, but this time, it wasn’t Big Brother. In fact, these posters outnumbered all of Big Brother’s. The posters featured a monstrous figure of a Eurasian soldier and none of them had a single caption.

Julia and I were in the room over Mr. Charrington’s shop, laying side by side naked since the weather was unbelievably hot. We had a plan to tear off all our clothes and make love with sweating bodies, and that’s exactly what we did. As long as we were in this room, we felt like no harm could ever come to us. In all this chaos, we finally found safety.

By then, I had stopped drinking gin daily because I didn’t have the need for it anymore. I had somehow grown fatter, but I lost my varicose ulcer; all that was left was a brown stain on the skin above my ankle, but it was barely noticeable.

There was no way of escaping reality, but we did have the idea of engaging in an active rebellion against the Party. But there was one problem; we didn’t know how to start it. Julia knew that everyone secretly hated the Party and they would break the rules if necessary, but she refused to accept the rest of my thoughts. She only questioned the teachings of the Party when they touched upon her own life. At other times, she simply did not care.

“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book has been rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right...The only evidence is inside my own mind, and I don’t know with any certainty that any other human being shares my memories” (155).

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section IV

I don’t know how I got there, but the next day, I found myself back at Mr. Charrington’s shop – the shop where I bought the paperweight and the diary I am writing in at this moment. Mr. Charrington seemed happy to see me; probably because he was glad of the couple dollars he got from me.

I heard someone singing outside the window. The tune was oddly familiar, but I realized it was the same tune that had been haunting London’s streets for weeks.

In preparation for Hate Week, my work hours were increased, which unfortunately meant that I wouldn’t be able to see Julia that often. We made plans to go back to the clearing in the wood, but she cancelled last minute. I’m not sure why, but I was angry; I felt like Julia was almost cheating on me. The first time we made love was simply an act of will, but the second time, it was completely different. She was becoming a physical necessity; not only something that I needed, but something that I had the right to. After all, every man has the right to sex in my mind. I don’t care about what Big Brother or Goldstein have to say. I wish that Julia and I were a married couple and had a place where we could be alone. Somewhere where we wouldn’t have the obligation of making love every time we met.

Julia passed me a packet that had a strange and yet vaguely familiar feeling. It was real sugar, I knew. Along with the sugar, she also had some coffee and real tea. She told me it was all Inner Party stuff, but I didn’t know how she managed to get hold of them. I guess that would have to remain a mystery.

Julia looked beautiful with her face painted and the fact that she was a Party member and was wearing cosmetics intrigued me. Julia was just as rebellious as I was. And I loved that.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section III

As soon as she woke up, Julia was a completely different person. The graceful way she took off her clothes soon turned businesslike. She put her clothes on, knotted the scarlet sash around her waist and began arranging the details of her journey home. She seemed to have a strange knowledge of the countryside around London and she evened planned out a place where we could meet after school. Unfortunately, the time came that she had to leave. After having a violent kiss, she disappeared into the woods and before I knew it, she was gone.

Julia decided seeing each other for no more than half an hour at a time was the safest way to go, so that’s exactly what we did. Whenever we met up, we made sure we didn’t get carried away; eventually, we had starting to “talk in installments.” Since my work week was 60 hours and Julia’s was even longer, our free days varied and didn’t often coincide.

She was 26 years old and lived in a hostel with 30 other girls. I found out she worked on the novel-writing machines in the Fiction Department and that she hated books. Oh, the irony. She hated the Party and made the crudest remarks towards them, but she never criticized them in public. What I didn’t understand, though, was that she considered any kind of organized revolt against the Party to be stupid. If she hated the Party so much, why didn’t she stand up and fight for her beliefs? Was she scared? But she was young and she, of course, still expected something from life. She didn’t understand that there was no such thing as happiness, that the only victory lay in the far future.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section II

It was the second of May, bluebells surrounded the atmosphere, and all I could hear was the droning of ring doves. I’ll admit I was a bit frightened when I realized the brown haired girl was so experienced and knew her way around. It was impossible not to trample over the bunches of bluebells that filled the ground and they looked so beautiful that I couldn’t help but kneel down and pick some. That was when I decided that I’d give the girl a bunch of flowers when we met.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, so instinctively, I turned around. To my relief, it was the girl. The scarlet sash she was wearing brought out the curve of her hips and it occurred to me that she had probably never seen me in the broad daylight. Today would be full of firsts – or so I hoped.

I followed her to a tiny grassy knoll surrounded by tall saplings that shut it out from the rest of the place completely. She stopped what she was turning and looked at me, and that was when our conversation started. I managed to move closer to her, but she acted natural with a smile on her face. I asked her what color her eyes were, and she told me they were brown. In fact, they were a light shade of brown and had dark lashes that went together perfectly.

Before I knew it, her body was against mine, her dark hair against my face. She was kissing me and I pulled her down to the ground. She was utterly unresisting and at that point, I knew I could do whatever I wanted with her. I was glad this was happening, but I didn’t really have a physical desire to be with her. Besides, I was too used to living without women. On the bright side, I now knew her name – Julia, she told me. But she already knew my name. And she knew it perfectly.

I told her the truth about everything. How I wanted to rape her and murder her after, how I wanted to smash her head with a cobblestone and even how I imagined she was a part of the Thought Police. But she just laughed, taking nothing into serious consideration. She ripped off her Junior Anti-Sex League scarlet sash and flung it onto a bough. She touched her waist and pulled something out. Something important, I thought. But it was just a piece of chocolate. Julia admitted she was a troop leader for the Spies and voluntarily worked three evenings a week for the Junior Anti-Sex League.

She had a feeling I was against them. I think she meant the Party. She talked with such an open hatred which actually made me feel uneasy. Now that her sash was gone, her waist seemed to be much softer than it was before. As I looked around me, I noticed something familiar. I had seen this place before, but I couldn’t remember where. But then it hit me. It was the Golden Country. The one I had seen in my dreams, where I imagined Julia naked.

We were kissing again, and this time, it was different than the hard kisses we had exchanged earlier. I pulled her into me until we were breast to breast and it was almost like her body was melting into mine. Whenever we moved our faces apart, I could hear her sigh. My hands were reaching for the zipper on her overalls, but she tore her clothes off before I had the chance to do it for her.

I told her I hated purity, goodness and I didn’t want any virtues to exist anywhere. I even told her that I wanted everyone to be corrupt to the bones. And she admitted that she adored doing “the thing in itself.” That was all I wanted to hear; it was the only force that would tear the Party to pieces.

The only beautiful thing about Julia was her mouth; the rest was history. I still didn’t know her last name or where she lived. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I loved her. And she loved me.

But having pure love or pure lust was said to not have existed. Because every emotion was mixed up with fear and hatred, no emotion was ever pure. Our embrace had been a battle and to me, it was a political act.

- Winston Smith

Part Two: Section I

It was her. I knew it. I could see her coming towards me from the long, brightly lit corridor. It had been 4 days since I had last seen her outside the junk shop – the day I had somehow convinced myself to buy the coral paperweight. Her eyes were fixed on mine, but I could sense they were filled with fear. Maybe she was afraid of me. But in reality, I was the one who should have been afraid of her. She must have been distracted by me because when I looked back at her, she had fallen flat on her face. I couldn’t help but help her up, though. It was the least I could do, especially if I had the intentions of getting to know her for who she truly was. I helped her up, but she just walked away, acting like nothing had just happened.

That was when I realized she left something in my hands, and there was no question that she had done it intentionally. It was a scrap of paper folded into a square. I wanted to go into one of the water closets to open it, but I was hesitant; there was bound to be a telescreen in there. I wondered what could have been written in the note. Was it a threat or a trap of some kind from the Thought Police? Or was it just a message from an underground organization. Maybe the Brotherhood did exist after all and maybe the girl with the dark brown hair was a part of it.

I love you. The note said I love you. It must have been some sort of mistake. She couldn’t have possibly sent me a note saying I love you, could she? I had no idea what to think. I was stunned, but I couldn’t resist reading it again. Maybe it was just a figment of my imagination, I hoped. But it wasn’t. The note said I love you. And it was from the girl. The girl who had been watching me all along. The one with the dark brown hair.

I had managed to get her image out of my mind altogether, but then the memory of her came rushing back to me. At that point, all I wanted to do was be alone.

I don’t think she’s trying to lay any trap for me anymore, though. If she had, I would have been dead by how, wouldn’t I? And to think I was considering smashing her skull with a cobblestone. I don’t know what I was thinking. All I can do is imagine her naked now. Her naked body as she forcefully tore off her clothes and disdainfully flung them aside.

It had been a week, and still, she was flooding my dreams. The next day, I saw her at the canteen, but we passed each other without saying a word. The next three days, she was gone. But luckily, the day after, she came back. Her beautiful dark hair was strangely irresistible and I just couldn’t stop staring.

She was so unpredictable, but something about her still interested me. I made sure to come early the next day to make sure I didn’t miss seeing her. Besides, it was the only thing I could actually look forward to anymore. But then I saw someone walking toward her table – a little man who had just crushed my hope. I didn’t want to sit with her unless we were alone, but before I knew it, I had somehow managed to be sitting right next to her. I didn’t look and her, and she didn’t look at me, but we exchanged a few necessary words and sooner than later, we had plans to meet up. We met each other at Victory Square and then the next day at Paddington Station.

It seemed like we were holding hands for an eternity, but I can’t complain. I learned every detail of her hand, exploring her long fingers, her shapely nails and best of all, the smooth flesh under her wrist.

Things were finally starting to fall back into place, but for now, all I needed to know was the color of her eyes.

- Winston Smith

Part One: Sections I - VIII

Usually it’s not windy in April, especially in Oceania. But today, today’s different. I don’t know what’s going on at Victory Mansions, but everything is out of place. The hallways smell of boiled cabbage and are filled with posters of Big Brother. “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU,” they all say. Everyone seems to be intimidated by him, but not me. Down with Big Brother. I could care less about following the rules and I’m not afraid to take chances. Even if writing this diary has to be kept a secret from everyone.

Something’s definitely wrong with the telescreen because it never shuts off. I always feel like I’m being watched and I know the Thought Police has something to do with this. I can’t take it anymore. I want privacy and I want it now.

She’s watching me. The girl with the dark brown hair is watching me. Just like the telescreen. She’s watching me. I can see her out of the corner of my eyes. At first, I didn’t know what she was doing there and why exactly I was paying attention to her. But then I noticed something. Something about her is strangely intriguing, even though she’s a woman and she disgusts me. I still think she’s a spy, but she has yet to confront me about my crimes. I’m definitely not losing my life because of a Junior Anti-Sex League member.

The knock at the door startled me, but luckily, it wasn’t the Thought Police. It was Mrs. Parsons asking if I could help her with her plumbing. But when I got to her house, the plumbing was the least bit of my concern. Instead, my mind was flooded with the sound of the children’s loud whines, begging their mom to let them attend the hanging.

Before I knew it, I was alone. The past was out of my reach and my future was unimaginable. I reached into my pocket and took out a coin, but it didn’t ease my loneliness. All I could see was Big Brother. It was almost as if he were watching me – watching every move I made and every thought that crossed my mind.

It has been more than 20 years since my mom passed away, but somehow, I still feel responsible for her disappearance. I guess she just sacrificed her own life for my sake. But still, I can’t help but dream about her. She and my sister, slowly sinking on a ship.

My job at the Ministry of Truth has become a little repetitive. Every day, I arrive at work, destroy obsolete documents, rewrite Big Brother’s speeches if necessary and then repeat the process. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the days kept getting longer and longer. After a while, I couldn’t even keep track of what year it was, let alone what day it was.

When I had lunch with Syme, one of the Party’s members, I got some insight of Newspeak, Oceania’s official language. Every year, hundreds of words were being destroyed, in hopes of creating a language with only six words. But in reality, there would be only one. Originally, this was Big Brother’s idea. Another reason that I’m against it. I mean, seriously, who needs a new language? Oh well, though, I can’t do anything about it. Whatever Big Brother says, goes. Who knows, maybe next time I write in my diary, I’ll be writing in an entirely different language – one that no one will be able to understand.

I still feel like I’m being watched by that same girl. The same girl with the dark brown hair. I don’t know what her name is, but I’m determined to find out. But until then, I’m definitely keeping my eye on her. I’m not letting her get away with anything, even if I need to go against Big Brother and his “Party.”

I usually don’t talk about my wife Katherine, but there’s only one word that comes to mind when I think of her – sex. The only reason we separated was because we realized that we would never have children. And what was the point of being married if we couldn’t? Besides, my recent encounter with the prole prostitute was probably way better than anything my ex-wife would have given me. Because the Party’s main goal is to remove pleasure from sexual intercourse, I am determined to rebel. I desperately need to have an enjoyable sexual affair, even if it means if I have to do it with an old and ugly prostitute. In fact, I think I’ll go through with it. But still, I feel the need to shout profanities at the top of my lungs so everyone can hear me.

I wonder what the past was like before the Revolution. After many attempts at trying to find out for myself, I have failed. Everyone I asked had no answer at all, or an answer that made absolutely no sense. No one seems to know anything anymore. Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s true that the past was better than the present. And maybe in the past, people actually knew what they were doing. Maybe there was no such thing as the “Party,” or “Big Brother.”

But until then, all I can do is hope. Hope that everything will turn out okay. Hope that the girl with the dark hair and Big Brother will stop looking at me. Down with Big Brother and the dark-haired girl.

- Winston Smith