The King and His Throne
With a click of a button the telescreen is shut off. O'Brian then walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Bordeaux. He pours it into a frosted stem glass and situates himself down into a comfortable spot in his chair.
He takes a sip, recalling the recent light of events. It has been a few months since the release of Winston and Julia from the hold of the Ministry of Love. He giggles at the image of Julia and her current state; but every time he recalls Winston's results, a twisted smile worms its way into his expression.
About a year or so ago the naïve lovers sat in the very room, proclaiming they would do anything to protect each other because they we're "so in love." He grins wickedly in delight as he recalls it took only a heartbeat and Room 101 before the snapped.
O'Brian recalls Winston's torture much more vividly. He remembers the rat cage just ever so close by the foolish man's face. He recalls vividly all the creases and folds of his wrinkling face and the echoes of his trembling bones. He recalls only one thing in Winston's eyes: fear. Winston twisting and fidgeting in his seat, desperately trying to hold his ground had only proven to be futile as he cracked and caved.
"Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care what you do to her," he cried in a panic frenzy. "Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!"
His cries rung on for hours as Winston transformed. O'Brian sits grimly, watching the rats chatter and scamper on the dreadful cage. The crack of the whip and the sound of Winston's pleas all fell on deaf's ears.
Time didn't exist in that room. Winston continues to break down and eventually conforms.
A grin curls on O'Brian's face, victory.
O'Brian continues to casually slip his wine. The foolish fools, stirred in anger and hatred against Samuel Goldstein. Yet, in one snap they bow down to Big Brother.
Yet, again, it didn't always have to be this way. If the Proles we're to really try, if they were to squint very carefully, or if anyone tried really, they could see Big Brother and Samuel Goldstein were very similar in appearance.
A little too similar.
The fools, all of them, O'Brian laughed, they've failed to see they've been staring at the face they both loved and loathed. They've been staring at both the faces of Big Brother and Samuel Goldstein.
It was his face.
The wonders fear took you, he notes to himself, we're beyond all imagination. O'Brian remembers his meetings along with other high ranked members of Eastasia and Eurasia. He remembers that even though they ruled Eastasia and Eurasia respectively, he was really in control of them.
Who else would have suggested this systematic way of stability?
O'Brian sets his glass down and traces his finger across The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism. The dreaded book that sealed him success, a book that will forever secure his success is now and forever in his hands.
Anything and everything was at his fingertips, and yet when he looks out to the Proles in their ignorant life, "who is the real king," he wondered aloud.
O'Brian finishes his glass of wine and flips back on the telescreen and continues to rule his kingdom, with an iron fist.
End
A/N: A little different from normal style. Also a nice break from Pokemon, it's just me fleshing out a bit of a head canon I had after I read 1984. Also if you squint, you might see a bit of a dark side of how I wanted to portray O'Brian. Enjoy.
A/N2: I believe copyright for 1984 is going out soon, but of course credit must go to George Orwell for creating such interesting characters.