The Inner Revelation
The rotund form slowly made its way up the stairs of Victory Mansions. With every step, Parson's overweight body bounced up and down. He shivered as he made his way up the stairs, and down the hallway to his room, the furnace must have died again. He pulled open the door to notice the house was more or less empty, his family must have gone to see the hanging. The strident voice on the telescreen was stating the latest increase in boot lace production.
"We are happy to announce that boot lace production has gone up by fifty- three percent, the chocolate ration has been reduced to twenty grammes a week, the production of razor blades has been increased by thirty-five percent, and we are closer to winning the war against Eurasia than ever before. We would like to thank Big Brother for delivering us into our new happy lives."
The message ended but the indefatigable voice switched to a military song. It was funny he thought, that the production of razor blades had increased, because of late he had to reuse the same blade for four weeks. A voice inside himself told him that the Party was lying, there had been no razor blade production, the Party was lying to him. But no, it couldn't be, the Party would never lie, he loved Big Brother, Big Brother loved him. How could he think such ungrateful thoughts after all the party had done for him? He needed a distraction of some sort, thankfully Two Minutes Hate would be starting shortly, he decided he would wait here for it, and for the first time see it alone, from his own home.
The Two Minutes hate seemed different by himself. Usually, by the time Emmanuel Goldstein's face appeared on the screen. He was a blubbering animal, screaming at, even hitting the telescreen to make it go away. Today was different somehow, he still felt the same rage against the traitor, but without others goading him on, he never really felt a need to participate. He frightened himself especially near the end when the iron features of Big Brother appeared on the screen, and he felt no emotion. Otherwise he would have burst with happiness, or even wept with joy, breaking down like a baby who found his mother in the throes of a nightmare. However, nothing happened today the face when stood dominant over all the demonic hordes of Eurasia. (Oceania was at war with Eurasia, Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia) He simply sat there. No vigorous chanting of
"B-B! B-B!"
Was something wrong? Surely he had cheered for his saviour, in fact he remembered now that he had. He had pounded the telescreen in rage when and enemy appeared, he had sung out in joy when Big Brother appeared, he had even lead the entire Victory Mansions in the chorus of
"B-B!. B-B!".
Yes, everything was alright, he loved Big Brother, and Big Brother was happy with him. Happy with his accomplishment he strode out, and headed to the canteen for some lunch. Perhaps they would serve the chocolate ration today.
The canteen was a grubby building, grime and food stained its metal walls, and it's many chairs, tables, and utensils were dented, and had not been washed recently. Parsons knew that although it wasn't clean, it was the best Oceania had to offer, and it was a better canteen than it had been last year. More food, drinks, people, tables, and chairs, the telescreen had said so. He happily took his place in line, and peered curiously at what was being served, a pink stew with chunks of meat, some Victory Coffee, even some bread and cheese. This was the same as yesterday, this was probably because Big Brother had produced so much food, that there was excess, this of course was a good thing. The server dropped a ladle full of cold stew, and poured from a metallic cylinder a few chunks of meat, further down the line he was given his bread and cheese, and directed to the bar across the room for his coffee. By the time he sat down the coffee had cooled to room temperature, and the stew had formed a skin on top, but Parsons wasn't a picky eater. Halfway through his meal he noted that his neighbour Winston had entered the room, and Parsons invited him over. Winston seemed depressed as he pulled a chair over, and sat down next to Parsons. Winston almost reminded Parsons of himself today during the Two Minutes Hate, the lack of enthusiasm reminded Parson of his own failure that day. What failure though? Parsons forced the thought back into the subconscious, replacing it with the tale of his enthusiastic chant, and his adoration of Big Brother. It had never happened, and Parsons had dreamt up a wild story about him not participating in Two Minute Hate, that was all. He turned back to Winston, his love for Big Brother renewed. Winston sat quietly, never really talking to Parson, he quietly ate his lunch, so Parsons followed suit.
Just as Parson was finishing his lunch, Symes, another acquaintance of Parsons, joined him and Winston. Symes was at work on the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. Winston and the newcomer immediately struck up a conversation about Newspeak, and Parsons was left out of the conversation, having no knowledge of the structure Newspeak, and having no interest in its roots. A few minutes into their conversation, Parsons remembered remember the hate week collections he was making at Victory Mansions, and decided he would ask Winston.
"Smith old boy, I'll tell you why I'm chasing you. It's that sub you forgot to give me"
"And which sub is that?" Winston seemed reluctant to make his payment.
"For Hate Week. You know... the house-by-house fund. I'm treasurer of our block. We're making an all-out effort... going to put on a tremendous show. I tell you, it won't be my fault if old Victory Mansions doesn't have the biggest of outfit of flags on the whole street. Two dollars you promised me."
Winston dug into the pocket of his blue party overalls, and handed them to Parsons. Winston wasn't a bad man, he just didn't seem to have much enthusiasm for the party, while his friend Symes had pulled out a pen from his pocket, and was working away at a list of verbs. Shortly the telescreen interrupted the meal for an important list of figures. It seems that the quality of life had risen by twenty-three percent. Even the chocolate ration had been raised to twenty grammes a week, when it was previously ten. This announcement of course caused a cry of joy from the crowd. Parsons was puzzled for a second. Hadn't it been reduced to twenty, that's what the telescreen had said earlier. Did they lie? No! They couldn't lie, he must have remembered wrong. Now he realized that this morning it had been raised to ten grammes, and now it was raided to twenty thanks to Big Brother. That must be what happened. How could he think such unappreciative thoughts, after all Big Brother had done? As he dwelled on his own security, he noticed Winston staring at him from the corner of his eye, and quickly averted his gaze when Parsons noticed him. Perhaps Winston had noticed Parsons face and thought he was a traitor. Not knowing what else to do, Parsons started a chant,
"B-B!. B-B!"
Soon the whole canteen was chanting, but in the thick of the celebration, it seemed that Winston had slipped away. But Parsons knew he had done nothing wrong, in fact he had given a cheer when every statistic was read out, especially when the chocolate ration was raised, and Winston had only sat there. After all, Parsons loved Big brother.
Parsons arrived back home at about twenty-two hundred hours, after spending a long time at the community center playing ping-pong and taking part in sing-alongs. His wife was already in bed, and his children were fast asleep. Tiredly he flopped his girth onto the small cot in his room. He though of waking his wife to fulfill their duty to the Party, but though better of it, and drifted off to sleep.
Parsons was caught in the throes of a dream. Twisting and turning he was trapped in a chair, bathed in an undying, unnatural light. He couldn't control himself, he was chanting again and again
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
He shuddered with every word. He tried to stop, but the words poured out. It was as though his whole life he had been hiding this to himself, but he had finally realized that Big brother had lied. The chocolate ration was lowered to twenty grammes, and Oceania was at war with both Eurasia and Eastasia, even though the telescreen said otherwise. Soon he stopped resisting his urge, and whole-heartedly started chanting
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
The boisterous chant reached its climax when out of the light, a black hand grabbed him by the arm. Suddenly the light was gone, and he awoke, covered in darkness. A rough hand was covering his mouth, and he was held down by a great weight. A blinding light suddenly blinked in his eye. He saw his small daughter peering in through the doorway.
"You hate Big Brother, you traitor!"
She screamed, and ran from the room. What was all this? Who were these people, why were they singing an electric torch in his eyes? His head reeled, he was on the verge of the unconscious. Before he slipped into the icy grasp of dreams he caught a glimpse of the man holding him down, it was the Thought Police.
He awoke again with no memory of his dream, or of the previous nights activities, he was in a crowded cell of some sort. He remembered being dragged out of bed, but why he could not recall. Suddenly his memory snapped, and the words rang in his head.
"Down with Big Brother!"
He started sobbing, he was guilty of thought-crime. He must have been a traitor without noticing. He was ashamed of himself. He started blubbering and crying. Eventually a man in a black uniform entered the cell, and led him to another cell. Here Parson was surprised to see Winston sitting glumly in the corner. Winston's head snapped up at Parsons approach
"What are you in for?" asked Winston.
"Thoughtcrime!" Parson snapped immediately back, his nerves were shaking, he couldn't stay still.
"Are you guilty?" said Winston.
"Of course I'm guilty, you don't think the party would arrest an innocent man, do you?" Parsons yelled, the tension in his muscles made him feel like a wooden doll.
Parsons poured out his story to Winston, everything, even his shameful secret, he had been chanting "Down with Big Brother!" In his sleep.
He guessed his daughter had heard him mumbling in his sleep. He almost felt happy having confessed his crime, it would make his trial easier. Nonetheless, the waiting was perhaps the most painful experience Parsons had ever suffered. His bowels twisted, his muscles tensed, his stomach felt as though it were on fire. He could not sit still, again and again he visited the lavatory, or paced the cell. Soon a guard in black came to take him to his trial. He slowly trudged from the cell, and was lead down a corridor to the House of Judgment. As he sat down before the council of Inner party members, he felt as though he could trust them, and that Big brother could forgive him. He had done nothing wrong, he had never chanted anything against Big Brother in his sleep, and he actually dreamt of Big Brother winning the war, again he felt himself slip into the self-denial of doublethink.
Everything would be alright, he loved big brother, in his mind he started chanting "B-B!...B-B!", but could not find the strength to speak.
The council head's voice rang out "Parsons, you have been found guilty of thoughtcrime, which entails death. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Parsons stammered, he had not committed thoughtcrime, he was loyal to Big Brother, he loved Big Brother, Big Brother, Big Brother. The words echoed back at him, in his own mind. He couldn't deny it any longer. He gained the strength to speak, his boisterous voice filled the room.
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
Again and again he chanted, the council ordered silence, but he could not stop, it was like the dream. All his life he had denied himself the right to think, he had relied on doublethink in order to lie to himself. Finally after all these years his feelings poured out.
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
The black guards rushed in, beating him with truncheons. Through bloodied teeth the cry continued, Parsons could not be silenced. At last a doctor ran in and forced a needle into the flab of Parson's arm. Slowly his chant died away, and he became calm again. Who were these people? Why was he here? Faint memories stirred, Oceania was at war with Eurasia, Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. He loved Big Brother, that was all there was to it. He was lead out of the room by the doctor, staring dumbly around him. A new chant started
"B-B!...B-B!"
He couldn't deny that he loved Big brother. He was being lead down a bright hallway, he has happy. Everything was forgiven, He cried wondering how he ever could have hated Big Brother. In the midst of Parsons gleeful chant came the gunshot. Parsons died with one last thought
"I love Big Brother!"
The rotund form slowly made its way up the stairs of Victory Mansions. With every step, Parson's overweight body bounced up and down. He shivered as he made his way up the stairs, and down the hallway to his room, the furnace must have died again. He pulled open the door to notice the house was more or less empty, his family must have gone to see the hanging. The strident voice on the telescreen was stating the latest increase in boot lace production.
"We are happy to announce that boot lace production has gone up by fifty- three percent, the chocolate ration has been reduced to twenty grammes a week, the production of razor blades has been increased by thirty-five percent, and we are closer to winning the war against Eurasia than ever before. We would like to thank Big Brother for delivering us into our new happy lives."
The message ended but the indefatigable voice switched to a military song. It was funny he thought, that the production of razor blades had increased, because of late he had to reuse the same blade for four weeks. A voice inside himself told him that the Party was lying, there had been no razor blade production, the Party was lying to him. But no, it couldn't be, the Party would never lie, he loved Big Brother, Big Brother loved him. How could he think such ungrateful thoughts after all the party had done for him? He needed a distraction of some sort, thankfully Two Minutes Hate would be starting shortly, he decided he would wait here for it, and for the first time see it alone, from his own home.
The Two Minutes hate seemed different by himself. Usually, by the time Emmanuel Goldstein's face appeared on the screen. He was a blubbering animal, screaming at, even hitting the telescreen to make it go away. Today was different somehow, he still felt the same rage against the traitor, but without others goading him on, he never really felt a need to participate. He frightened himself especially near the end when the iron features of Big Brother appeared on the screen, and he felt no emotion. Otherwise he would have burst with happiness, or even wept with joy, breaking down like a baby who found his mother in the throes of a nightmare. However, nothing happened today the face when stood dominant over all the demonic hordes of Eurasia. (Oceania was at war with Eurasia, Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia) He simply sat there. No vigorous chanting of
"B-B! B-B!"
Was something wrong? Surely he had cheered for his saviour, in fact he remembered now that he had. He had pounded the telescreen in rage when and enemy appeared, he had sung out in joy when Big Brother appeared, he had even lead the entire Victory Mansions in the chorus of
"B-B!. B-B!".
Yes, everything was alright, he loved Big Brother, and Big Brother was happy with him. Happy with his accomplishment he strode out, and headed to the canteen for some lunch. Perhaps they would serve the chocolate ration today.
The canteen was a grubby building, grime and food stained its metal walls, and it's many chairs, tables, and utensils were dented, and had not been washed recently. Parsons knew that although it wasn't clean, it was the best Oceania had to offer, and it was a better canteen than it had been last year. More food, drinks, people, tables, and chairs, the telescreen had said so. He happily took his place in line, and peered curiously at what was being served, a pink stew with chunks of meat, some Victory Coffee, even some bread and cheese. This was the same as yesterday, this was probably because Big Brother had produced so much food, that there was excess, this of course was a good thing. The server dropped a ladle full of cold stew, and poured from a metallic cylinder a few chunks of meat, further down the line he was given his bread and cheese, and directed to the bar across the room for his coffee. By the time he sat down the coffee had cooled to room temperature, and the stew had formed a skin on top, but Parsons wasn't a picky eater. Halfway through his meal he noted that his neighbour Winston had entered the room, and Parsons invited him over. Winston seemed depressed as he pulled a chair over, and sat down next to Parsons. Winston almost reminded Parsons of himself today during the Two Minutes Hate, the lack of enthusiasm reminded Parson of his own failure that day. What failure though? Parsons forced the thought back into the subconscious, replacing it with the tale of his enthusiastic chant, and his adoration of Big Brother. It had never happened, and Parsons had dreamt up a wild story about him not participating in Two Minute Hate, that was all. He turned back to Winston, his love for Big Brother renewed. Winston sat quietly, never really talking to Parson, he quietly ate his lunch, so Parsons followed suit.
Just as Parson was finishing his lunch, Symes, another acquaintance of Parsons, joined him and Winston. Symes was at work on the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. Winston and the newcomer immediately struck up a conversation about Newspeak, and Parsons was left out of the conversation, having no knowledge of the structure Newspeak, and having no interest in its roots. A few minutes into their conversation, Parsons remembered remember the hate week collections he was making at Victory Mansions, and decided he would ask Winston.
"Smith old boy, I'll tell you why I'm chasing you. It's that sub you forgot to give me"
"And which sub is that?" Winston seemed reluctant to make his payment.
"For Hate Week. You know... the house-by-house fund. I'm treasurer of our block. We're making an all-out effort... going to put on a tremendous show. I tell you, it won't be my fault if old Victory Mansions doesn't have the biggest of outfit of flags on the whole street. Two dollars you promised me."
Winston dug into the pocket of his blue party overalls, and handed them to Parsons. Winston wasn't a bad man, he just didn't seem to have much enthusiasm for the party, while his friend Symes had pulled out a pen from his pocket, and was working away at a list of verbs. Shortly the telescreen interrupted the meal for an important list of figures. It seems that the quality of life had risen by twenty-three percent. Even the chocolate ration had been raised to twenty grammes a week, when it was previously ten. This announcement of course caused a cry of joy from the crowd. Parsons was puzzled for a second. Hadn't it been reduced to twenty, that's what the telescreen had said earlier. Did they lie? No! They couldn't lie, he must have remembered wrong. Now he realized that this morning it had been raised to ten grammes, and now it was raided to twenty thanks to Big Brother. That must be what happened. How could he think such unappreciative thoughts, after all Big Brother had done? As he dwelled on his own security, he noticed Winston staring at him from the corner of his eye, and quickly averted his gaze when Parsons noticed him. Perhaps Winston had noticed Parsons face and thought he was a traitor. Not knowing what else to do, Parsons started a chant,
"B-B!. B-B!"
Soon the whole canteen was chanting, but in the thick of the celebration, it seemed that Winston had slipped away. But Parsons knew he had done nothing wrong, in fact he had given a cheer when every statistic was read out, especially when the chocolate ration was raised, and Winston had only sat there. After all, Parsons loved Big brother.
Parsons arrived back home at about twenty-two hundred hours, after spending a long time at the community center playing ping-pong and taking part in sing-alongs. His wife was already in bed, and his children were fast asleep. Tiredly he flopped his girth onto the small cot in his room. He though of waking his wife to fulfill their duty to the Party, but though better of it, and drifted off to sleep.
Parsons was caught in the throes of a dream. Twisting and turning he was trapped in a chair, bathed in an undying, unnatural light. He couldn't control himself, he was chanting again and again
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
He shuddered with every word. He tried to stop, but the words poured out. It was as though his whole life he had been hiding this to himself, but he had finally realized that Big brother had lied. The chocolate ration was lowered to twenty grammes, and Oceania was at war with both Eurasia and Eastasia, even though the telescreen said otherwise. Soon he stopped resisting his urge, and whole-heartedly started chanting
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
The boisterous chant reached its climax when out of the light, a black hand grabbed him by the arm. Suddenly the light was gone, and he awoke, covered in darkness. A rough hand was covering his mouth, and he was held down by a great weight. A blinding light suddenly blinked in his eye. He saw his small daughter peering in through the doorway.
"You hate Big Brother, you traitor!"
She screamed, and ran from the room. What was all this? Who were these people, why were they singing an electric torch in his eyes? His head reeled, he was on the verge of the unconscious. Before he slipped into the icy grasp of dreams he caught a glimpse of the man holding him down, it was the Thought Police.
He awoke again with no memory of his dream, or of the previous nights activities, he was in a crowded cell of some sort. He remembered being dragged out of bed, but why he could not recall. Suddenly his memory snapped, and the words rang in his head.
"Down with Big Brother!"
He started sobbing, he was guilty of thought-crime. He must have been a traitor without noticing. He was ashamed of himself. He started blubbering and crying. Eventually a man in a black uniform entered the cell, and led him to another cell. Here Parson was surprised to see Winston sitting glumly in the corner. Winston's head snapped up at Parsons approach
"What are you in for?" asked Winston.
"Thoughtcrime!" Parson snapped immediately back, his nerves were shaking, he couldn't stay still.
"Are you guilty?" said Winston.
"Of course I'm guilty, you don't think the party would arrest an innocent man, do you?" Parsons yelled, the tension in his muscles made him feel like a wooden doll.
Parsons poured out his story to Winston, everything, even his shameful secret, he had been chanting "Down with Big Brother!" In his sleep.
He guessed his daughter had heard him mumbling in his sleep. He almost felt happy having confessed his crime, it would make his trial easier. Nonetheless, the waiting was perhaps the most painful experience Parsons had ever suffered. His bowels twisted, his muscles tensed, his stomach felt as though it were on fire. He could not sit still, again and again he visited the lavatory, or paced the cell. Soon a guard in black came to take him to his trial. He slowly trudged from the cell, and was lead down a corridor to the House of Judgment. As he sat down before the council of Inner party members, he felt as though he could trust them, and that Big brother could forgive him. He had done nothing wrong, he had never chanted anything against Big Brother in his sleep, and he actually dreamt of Big Brother winning the war, again he felt himself slip into the self-denial of doublethink.
Everything would be alright, he loved big brother, in his mind he started chanting "B-B!...B-B!", but could not find the strength to speak.
The council head's voice rang out "Parsons, you have been found guilty of thoughtcrime, which entails death. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Parsons stammered, he had not committed thoughtcrime, he was loyal to Big Brother, he loved Big Brother, Big Brother, Big Brother. The words echoed back at him, in his own mind. He couldn't deny it any longer. He gained the strength to speak, his boisterous voice filled the room.
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
Again and again he chanted, the council ordered silence, but he could not stop, it was like the dream. All his life he had denied himself the right to think, he had relied on doublethink in order to lie to himself. Finally after all these years his feelings poured out.
"Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother! Down with Big Brother!"
The black guards rushed in, beating him with truncheons. Through bloodied teeth the cry continued, Parsons could not be silenced. At last a doctor ran in and forced a needle into the flab of Parson's arm. Slowly his chant died away, and he became calm again. Who were these people? Why was he here? Faint memories stirred, Oceania was at war with Eurasia, Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. He loved Big Brother, that was all there was to it. He was lead out of the room by the doctor, staring dumbly around him. A new chant started
"B-B!...B-B!"
He couldn't deny that he loved Big brother. He was being lead down a bright hallway, he has happy. Everything was forgiven, He cried wondering how he ever could have hated Big Brother. In the midst of Parsons gleeful chant came the gunshot. Parsons died with one last thought
"I love Big Brother!"