Title: One Last Stand
Author: Eyes_of_Pearl
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: 1984 does not belong to me but to its author George Orwell.
I wrote this for English class and takes place right after chapter 5 in
book 3. Room 101 has already happen and in a dream sequence, I am going to
examine why O'Brien is the man as we know it and Winston is going to have a
last chance to have his say before the end of the novel. The premise is
to stay true to Orwell's style which I try to capture here and to remain
faithful to the ending of the book. It's a lot of narrative but it expresses
one of the prominent themes of the novel which is power and control.
It's something different from what I usually post which is anime so hopefully
you guys will enjoy it.
`^`^`^`
Winston released a deep breath, the tension momentarily leaving his body
until the after-effects of his previous gruelling undertaking surged up his
body. Every infliction of pain was evident with an occasional numbing of
sensations, abnormal twitching and jerking of his shoulder blade, limbs and
head. His body screamed in agony from the repeated beatings which only
compounded with each preceding cry. His throat felt raw as if he had
swallowed a thousand pieces of shard glass. Each swallow sent acidic tears
to his eyes. Mentally, his mind was exhausted, distorted liked drawings in
the sand. The more he tried to grasp the remains, the more they faded away
and slipped between the cracks of his hands. His eyelids felt liked dead
weights as he struggled and lost the fight for consciousness.
`^`^`^`
Winston woke up in utter darkness, a void which engulfed him almost like a
second skin. His eyes peered for any signs of life as he attempted a step
forward. A bright flash of light erupted from within and slowly subsided as
Winston found himself neither floating nor standing, neither defying the
laws of gravity nor obeying it, just suspended in a volume of space. Winston
once again walked forward, or at least what he assumed to be forward. Then
out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the silhouette of a man advancing
his way. He blinked twice to clear his vision as the man said, 'I see you
made it here but then again, Winston, you of all people should be here.'
At the sound of O'Brien's voice, authoritative yet laced with a touch of
brotherly gentleness, Winston asked, 'What is this place?'
O'Brien simply ignored Winston and turned back the way which he had come and
motioned Winston to follow him. 'This,' O'Brien gestured the space around
him, 'is the subconscious part of your mind. You are here because your mind
demands that you be here. You are neither dead nor alive but simply a
figment conjured by you. As for unasked question that you desire an answer
to, I myself, am also a figment conjured by you. I am here because you want
me to be here. As part of you cries out for that last stand, one last step
for mankind.'
A million questions ran through Winston's as he tried to absorb all of this
in. He wasn't sure what to say next. A part of him warned him to be
cautious. In front of him was O'Brien, the same man who had been his
tormentor, the man who looked on as Winston bawled for mercy, who was on the
verge of killing Winston. That part of him wasn't sure if this was another
ploy by the Party to test the endurance of his mentality. On the other hand,
another part of him churned with curiosity. O'Brien was the same man who
had been his saviour, the man who comforted Winston as he cried like a
child, the only man who understood him. Winston saw himself in O'Brien, the
ultimate embodiment of a rebellious figure head who had the means and
resources to overthrow the Party. From the moment their paths crossed,
O'Brien served as a constant for Winston, the only tangible thing in which
he could firmly clasp at the palm of his hand.
'You are wondering if you should trust me or not. Your mind can't
distinguish between reality and illusions. No matter how much you try to deny
it, you are still questioning Big Brother's motives, still questioning me.'
O'Brien, who had previously had his back to Winston, had abruptly stopped and
directed around to face Winston. He wore a smirk as he saw Winston had been
struck speechless. 'I don't blame you, no, not at all.'
O'Brien stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, 'I
recall someone very close to me once had the notion that too much power can
corrupt the human mind. But contrary to that absurdity, power itself doesn't
corrupt because the heart of human nature is corrupted. The entire human
existence is tainted from the moment that we have one selfish thought, one
ambitious desire, one night of zealous passion. That unquenchable lust for
power courses through our very veins for it is an inescapable path of no
return.'
'But, you yourself said that we do not exist. If humans do not exist then
there should not be a struggle for power,' Winston countered.
'No, I said that YOU don't exist. The Party exists to the people of
Oceania, the Party itself exists as a coalition but you, on the other hand,
do not. That's why you appeal to me so much, Winston, because you remind me
of someone, the same person who believed in the corruption of power. But,
that person was weak with concealed dreams and hopeful fantasies of a future
that cannot be expected by anybody, not even the proles. You wrote in your
diary that the only hope lies with them. You are right and you are wrong
because the power generated by the union of the proles is too dispersed,
channelled into a proletarian hogwash of lottery and pornography. The Party
knows this, and that's why we keep feeding that rubbish to them. You,
Winston, live on those futile what-ifs, with each turn you make, you think
you have the answers in your hand but, in truth, they are only shadows
looking down at you.'
For a brief moment, O'Brien turned his head slightly, his eyes glimmered
with a faraway look, his voice had faded, forlorn and melancholic. Winston
could scarcely decipher O'Brien's words as he continue to murmur, 'Winson,
once upon a time, I was naive as you are now. I was a man in love with a
woman of exquisite strength and beauty. I poured forth my utter devotion
and exposed to her my heart. Yet at the same time, leaving myself
susceptible to anguish and as she fell in love with another man of greater
influence and wealth. All that we shared was diminished by that ravish
desire for power.'
At that moment, Winston saw the vulnerability of the man of the Inner Party
but like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, that look was immediately
replaced. O'Brien once more lifted up his head, his eyes blazing behind his
spectacles as he continued, 'So you see, I know every thought, every action,
every word that you made or are going to make. Unlike you, I am no longer
clouded by wishful reveries because the moment you see all your ideals and
beliefs that resemble hope ripped from the very essence of your heart, you
will realize that nothing and nobody can save you from the clutches of
power.'
Something inside Winston snapped and he said, 'So you are simply tormenting
others because of revenge, or . . . guilt or simply for pain because you
have experienced them yourself. You destroy the lives of people who are
still willing to hope, to take risks. You pray on their fears, and degrade
them to nothingness and then rebuild them with a false sense of hope and
belief that suits you. No, you are wrong, we are not alike because I do
exist. Maybe not to you or the people of Oceania but in myself, I exist.
I have no standards to live by. What is real? What is false?'
'What hope do these people have?' O'Brien cried incredulously as he threw
his arms up in the air to emphasize his point. 'Their hope is what we
broadcast to them over the telescreens, the two minutes hate and whatever
the Party wants them to believe. By instilling these thoughts into them,
they will never be hurt, never experience pain, because every night they
would go to bed knowing that they had done more good than harm. They have
no power because it is the Party that gives them power.'
'Then people are not living at all . . . '
'They have no purpose to live. They are existing, bodies with no identities
but that's all that matters, isn't it? I have simply manipulated power to
show all previous pretenses will be and can be accomplished. There will be
no more stains in one's memory, no more regrets. Human nature is built upon
the foundation of power and I, in turn, have eliminated further yearnings for
it. Power is pure and constant. Don't you see there will always be only one
word for it, whether it is in Newspeak or Oldspeak?'
'Why do you bother with me? A minority of one . . . '
O'Brien, who was in a previous uproar, took at deep breath before he took
hold of Winston's two shoulders and pushed him down to a chair that had
simply materialized. He himself straightened his back liked a teacher who
was about to begin an important lesson.
'As I said before, you intrigued me because contrary to what you believe we
are in fact one in the same. In your frenzy, you failed to realize the
extent that the party has upon you. The further that you tried to dislodge
yourself from us, the closer you are actually embracing the party.
Ultimately, it comes down to a battle of the mind. Human mind is the extreme
form of power. When you can overcome the shadows and decipher black from
white at the palm of your hand, then and only then will you exist. I know
you, Winston, your last stand will be battle of your mind.'
`^`^`^`
End
So it ends on my take on what happen after Room 101. Let me know what you
think by r/r or even leave comments as to the relevance of this one-shot.
Anyway, until later, peace!!
Author: Eyes_of_Pearl
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: 1984 does not belong to me but to its author George Orwell.
I wrote this for English class and takes place right after chapter 5 in
book 3. Room 101 has already happen and in a dream sequence, I am going to
examine why O'Brien is the man as we know it and Winston is going to have a
last chance to have his say before the end of the novel. The premise is
to stay true to Orwell's style which I try to capture here and to remain
faithful to the ending of the book. It's a lot of narrative but it expresses
one of the prominent themes of the novel which is power and control.
It's something different from what I usually post which is anime so hopefully
you guys will enjoy it.
`^`^`^`
Winston released a deep breath, the tension momentarily leaving his body
until the after-effects of his previous gruelling undertaking surged up his
body. Every infliction of pain was evident with an occasional numbing of
sensations, abnormal twitching and jerking of his shoulder blade, limbs and
head. His body screamed in agony from the repeated beatings which only
compounded with each preceding cry. His throat felt raw as if he had
swallowed a thousand pieces of shard glass. Each swallow sent acidic tears
to his eyes. Mentally, his mind was exhausted, distorted liked drawings in
the sand. The more he tried to grasp the remains, the more they faded away
and slipped between the cracks of his hands. His eyelids felt liked dead
weights as he struggled and lost the fight for consciousness.
`^`^`^`
Winston woke up in utter darkness, a void which engulfed him almost like a
second skin. His eyes peered for any signs of life as he attempted a step
forward. A bright flash of light erupted from within and slowly subsided as
Winston found himself neither floating nor standing, neither defying the
laws of gravity nor obeying it, just suspended in a volume of space. Winston
once again walked forward, or at least what he assumed to be forward. Then
out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the silhouette of a man advancing
his way. He blinked twice to clear his vision as the man said, 'I see you
made it here but then again, Winston, you of all people should be here.'
At the sound of O'Brien's voice, authoritative yet laced with a touch of
brotherly gentleness, Winston asked, 'What is this place?'
O'Brien simply ignored Winston and turned back the way which he had come and
motioned Winston to follow him. 'This,' O'Brien gestured the space around
him, 'is the subconscious part of your mind. You are here because your mind
demands that you be here. You are neither dead nor alive but simply a
figment conjured by you. As for unasked question that you desire an answer
to, I myself, am also a figment conjured by you. I am here because you want
me to be here. As part of you cries out for that last stand, one last step
for mankind.'
A million questions ran through Winston's as he tried to absorb all of this
in. He wasn't sure what to say next. A part of him warned him to be
cautious. In front of him was O'Brien, the same man who had been his
tormentor, the man who looked on as Winston bawled for mercy, who was on the
verge of killing Winston. That part of him wasn't sure if this was another
ploy by the Party to test the endurance of his mentality. On the other hand,
another part of him churned with curiosity. O'Brien was the same man who
had been his saviour, the man who comforted Winston as he cried like a
child, the only man who understood him. Winston saw himself in O'Brien, the
ultimate embodiment of a rebellious figure head who had the means and
resources to overthrow the Party. From the moment their paths crossed,
O'Brien served as a constant for Winston, the only tangible thing in which
he could firmly clasp at the palm of his hand.
'You are wondering if you should trust me or not. Your mind can't
distinguish between reality and illusions. No matter how much you try to deny
it, you are still questioning Big Brother's motives, still questioning me.'
O'Brien, who had previously had his back to Winston, had abruptly stopped and
directed around to face Winston. He wore a smirk as he saw Winston had been
struck speechless. 'I don't blame you, no, not at all.'
O'Brien stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, 'I
recall someone very close to me once had the notion that too much power can
corrupt the human mind. But contrary to that absurdity, power itself doesn't
corrupt because the heart of human nature is corrupted. The entire human
existence is tainted from the moment that we have one selfish thought, one
ambitious desire, one night of zealous passion. That unquenchable lust for
power courses through our very veins for it is an inescapable path of no
return.'
'But, you yourself said that we do not exist. If humans do not exist then
there should not be a struggle for power,' Winston countered.
'No, I said that YOU don't exist. The Party exists to the people of
Oceania, the Party itself exists as a coalition but you, on the other hand,
do not. That's why you appeal to me so much, Winston, because you remind me
of someone, the same person who believed in the corruption of power. But,
that person was weak with concealed dreams and hopeful fantasies of a future
that cannot be expected by anybody, not even the proles. You wrote in your
diary that the only hope lies with them. You are right and you are wrong
because the power generated by the union of the proles is too dispersed,
channelled into a proletarian hogwash of lottery and pornography. The Party
knows this, and that's why we keep feeding that rubbish to them. You,
Winston, live on those futile what-ifs, with each turn you make, you think
you have the answers in your hand but, in truth, they are only shadows
looking down at you.'
For a brief moment, O'Brien turned his head slightly, his eyes glimmered
with a faraway look, his voice had faded, forlorn and melancholic. Winston
could scarcely decipher O'Brien's words as he continue to murmur, 'Winson,
once upon a time, I was naive as you are now. I was a man in love with a
woman of exquisite strength and beauty. I poured forth my utter devotion
and exposed to her my heart. Yet at the same time, leaving myself
susceptible to anguish and as she fell in love with another man of greater
influence and wealth. All that we shared was diminished by that ravish
desire for power.'
At that moment, Winston saw the vulnerability of the man of the Inner Party
but like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, that look was immediately
replaced. O'Brien once more lifted up his head, his eyes blazing behind his
spectacles as he continued, 'So you see, I know every thought, every action,
every word that you made or are going to make. Unlike you, I am no longer
clouded by wishful reveries because the moment you see all your ideals and
beliefs that resemble hope ripped from the very essence of your heart, you
will realize that nothing and nobody can save you from the clutches of
power.'
Something inside Winston snapped and he said, 'So you are simply tormenting
others because of revenge, or . . . guilt or simply for pain because you
have experienced them yourself. You destroy the lives of people who are
still willing to hope, to take risks. You pray on their fears, and degrade
them to nothingness and then rebuild them with a false sense of hope and
belief that suits you. No, you are wrong, we are not alike because I do
exist. Maybe not to you or the people of Oceania but in myself, I exist.
I have no standards to live by. What is real? What is false?'
'What hope do these people have?' O'Brien cried incredulously as he threw
his arms up in the air to emphasize his point. 'Their hope is what we
broadcast to them over the telescreens, the two minutes hate and whatever
the Party wants them to believe. By instilling these thoughts into them,
they will never be hurt, never experience pain, because every night they
would go to bed knowing that they had done more good than harm. They have
no power because it is the Party that gives them power.'
'Then people are not living at all . . . '
'They have no purpose to live. They are existing, bodies with no identities
but that's all that matters, isn't it? I have simply manipulated power to
show all previous pretenses will be and can be accomplished. There will be
no more stains in one's memory, no more regrets. Human nature is built upon
the foundation of power and I, in turn, have eliminated further yearnings for
it. Power is pure and constant. Don't you see there will always be only one
word for it, whether it is in Newspeak or Oldspeak?'
'Why do you bother with me? A minority of one . . . '
O'Brien, who was in a previous uproar, took at deep breath before he took
hold of Winston's two shoulders and pushed him down to a chair that had
simply materialized. He himself straightened his back liked a teacher who
was about to begin an important lesson.
'As I said before, you intrigued me because contrary to what you believe we
are in fact one in the same. In your frenzy, you failed to realize the
extent that the party has upon you. The further that you tried to dislodge
yourself from us, the closer you are actually embracing the party.
Ultimately, it comes down to a battle of the mind. Human mind is the extreme
form of power. When you can overcome the shadows and decipher black from
white at the palm of your hand, then and only then will you exist. I know
you, Winston, your last stand will be battle of your mind.'
`^`^`^`
End
So it ends on my take on what happen after Room 101. Let me know what you
think by r/r or even leave comments as to the relevance of this one-shot.
Anyway, until later, peace!!