FicWad

I frowned as I sat down in my chair. I knew the telescreen looked at me from behind. It seemed that the propaganda/monitering machine, even when looking at me at the back, could stare into my very sole. However, if it did I would have been dead a while ago. It didn't matter if you were an old woman or a twelve year old boy, if you steped out of line then you were delt with. According to popular belief (which really can't be trusted these days) it happened in the Ministery of Love, one of three innapropriatly name buildings. Thoughtcriminals, it was gossiped, were tortured by some unimaginable force until they stoped being comeplete idiots and accepted The Party to be right, which they of course always are. Then they were shot dead.

My brother was a thoughtcriminal. It was then I realized what an unperson really is. Nothing. It was unbearable for me to ask about my brother, then my mother denying every knowing him. Then I had to agree with her, each word making me feel sick. My beloved brother- wait I never had a sibling!

I never see this among the proles. When a loved one dies, they mourn. They don't just bury him and be expected to get on with their lives. When a new child is born, they embrace him even when he can't speak. They don't just smile and chant 'B.B.' If a woman was unsatasfied with her husband, she could divorce and not have to suffer through it. Proles are allowed to actually feel publicaly. They are free to be human.

My hope is that in the future society will be more like that. The proles could make a change for a better. Even the so-called perfect government knows it.

Only paroles and animals are free.