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