The Old Man
He remembered.
He remembered the old days. The good old days back before INGSOC and Big Brother. The days when a telescreen was a television, more fondly known as a telly, and no rockets fell from the sky. He remembered ordering pints of beer, real beer, not the sludge that they say is beer these days. He remembers.
He has days where his memory is clearer than others, but even on his bad days he remembers more than most anyone else alive about what the world used to be like. Back to when you doffed your cap when passing those lucky to be higher up in the world, but still, life wasn't so bad. Back when there were such things as top hats and a good mug of coffee didn't cost an arm and a leg. 'An arm and a leg' is never heard now, many of the old sayings were lost. But, what was he thinking about again?
Sometimes he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets where he is. On those days he thinks he's back in good old London, England and thinks to stop and buy himself a pint, maybe watch the latest match on the telly. Or maybe he'll go visit his sister, he hasn't seen her in a while and he really should bring flowers, it would help brighten up her grave and she so loved lilacs...
Some days he can barely remember how to speak. He hears such strange words all the time, like 'doubleplusgood' and 'unperson'. He doesn't know what they mean. He tries to remember the last time he heard that poem, how did it go again? 'Into Death rode six hundred?' No, that wasn't it. 'Into...Into the Valley of...Death rode the six hundred!' That was it. 'Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred.' Then how did it go?
He wants to forget.
He wants to forget the 'before'. It would be so much simpler to simply stop remembering the way it once was. So much easier and less painful. What had he to lose? A few memories that no one else could remember and that only brought misery to himself? There's no point in remembering anymore. No one to listen to an old man and his stories. No one to believe him, either. No, it would be much better to forget.
There is so much pain around him now. He feels that he may go insane from watching. He sees the children and women and men all snatched from life long before their time. He watches and wonders, 'Why not me?' In his mind he cries, 'No! Here! Take me, take me instead! I'm an old man whose already lived a long life. Take me instead!' But still he lives on and still he wonders, 'Why?".
Then he came.
Then he came, the strange man in blue overalls and weary expression. He came to him on one of his bad days, his memory was a bit jumbled up, and ordered him a drink. He was a nice young man, if you could call a middle aged man young, but then, everyone seemed young these days. So young...But the man asked him questions, wanted to hear his stories. He smiled, lips stretching into a warm grin that seemed out of place these days and told the man all that he could remember about the men in top hats, and his sister, and the speeches. As he sat there telling his tales, he felt at peace for the first time since, he didn't know when.
It was the day after the incredible gift of peace he had been given, that it finally came to an end. He sat at home, back to a wall, and felt a sleepiness take hold of him. This was it, he could feel it in his bones and he smiled, calm and peaceful. His last thoughts were of the man, thanking him, and of lilacs.