After Winston Smith was broken down, his mind was able to do both terrible and wonderful things. He was able to see clearly for the first time and re-wrote the book by "Goldstein" word for word and formally created the Brotherhood he had once dreamed of. Now his year long struggle is almost at an end.
"Mr Smith?" asked a voice.
There was no reply.
"Mr Smith?" came the voice again, a little higher yet still more cautiously.
Again nothing.
The person sighed and poked the Mr Smith in the throat. The man snored loudly before waking up. He blinked a few times, to allow for his eyes to adjust to the bright new light streaming through the windows and finally turned to the one who was trying to get his attention.
"Ah, thank you Miss Creedy. I was doing it again? Yes. Well I hope I did not cause you too much trouble this morning." said Mr Smith.
"Not at all sir. A pleasure as always, it's just that they are here to see you now, sir." she replied. Mr Smith could see a look of terror which did not at all belong on her beautiful face. He features were terribly bent out of shape when she was scared thought Mr Smith.
He shook the thought out of his mind. Since Juliet had passed away he had been lonely, but had hidden it, he saw no reason to show weakness now. That was where he conflicted with himself, to show weakness was to be human, which was what he was supposed to stand for. He continuously countered himself by claiming that the Brotherhood needed strong leadership. He must not falter.
"Everything all right Mr Smith?" asked Miss Creedy.
"Yes, I'm fine thank you." he paused and frowned before continuing, "Please, Caroline, I have told you before to call me Winston, I'm your friend first, boss second." said Winston, smiling at Caroline.
"Of course Winston, it, it just makes me feel a little uncomfortable is all." she said.
"But of course. Hmm, could you show the gentlemen in now please, I would not want to keep them waiting any longer." Winston smiled warmly at his secretary as she turned to leave.
As soon as she closed the door behind her; he jumped to life.
Where on Earth had he left his notes? And where were his glasses? He needed a strong coffee, his mouth was dry, but it was too late for that. He jumped onto the table and ran down the length of it to his seat at the head of the table, he hopped off the table and span himself into the seat, settling down as the door began to glide open again.
Oh, he thought, he had just sat on top of his only glasses. He reached down and settled a now slightly crooked pair of glasses onto his thin nose. Oh dear, his thoughts continued, at least he had his notes to hand, pulling out the large pad as he always carried about. He began to flick through it. Empty. He had the wrong pad with him. He would have to resort to another No Notes speech which he was now famous for.
He was tired of it all now, anyone would be. He had been resisting for almost a year now, always on the move, never quite safe. All the while his organisation had grown, now the District Leaders were about to meet with him.
Finally it was all over.
They were taking back the British Isles. Tonight.