The winter month of February brought a frosted wind to the orphanage. Outside, the breezes and gust rattled the window pane with it’s unforgiving swap of blows.Winston had no interest in the weather itself, he rather found himself interestested in nature’s cruelty. Through the snow blanketed London’s buildings like a comforting blanket, that was only facade to its undeniable connivance and conviction. He was certain of it. Then again he was nothing more than a child, only a year shy of seven, quarter to six. He was pale in complexion with a frail stature. Most likely he was below average height teetering on the plane between underweight and average. His hair lacked any individuality except in color, and the few slips of strands that dared …show more content…
Perhaps being acquainted with too much for his liking. His observant gaze, imbalanced with that of a child and adult remained occupied on the window. He had no qualms with the other child nor did he outright dislike him. It was the fact the boy possessed a curiosity that rivaled his own. He was as keen as he was freckled, each dot being a mark of his own intelligence. This child brought out a repressed, questioning of one’s self that been thought to of been lost. Winston hated him for it. To be self aware was to be an individual. Any man who possess these traits was no man at all. In fact, he was better off a nameless corpse in the …show more content…
Not shy of at least three months did the other boy’s eccentric style of speech soon shroud him. One thing lead to another, to the point of where his wits could no longer slip himself free from punishment. Investigations and a little probing lead final nail in the coffins as the books were soon found after. “Winston ya ought tell ‘em blokes, you were in on it too ya? Partners in crime? ‘Ember ‘em knight that don’t go down without a fight?” His voice echoed in his mind as he carted away by the thought police, kicking and screaming in a futile attempt to made his point known. Winston found his eyes elsewhere as he ignored his cries, It was there he had decided to cut his ties once moe and ulearn all the tampering that had been done.
He couldn’t believe that he had subcummbed to such selfish desires of questioning. There were no knight adorned in silver armor nor kings of nations. Castles had never existed. Nothing had ever existed before Big Brother. And that boy…. The name Notch in his memory had linked with his face. There was no Notch. Who was this Notch? He’d never met such a boy in his life. He had no connection with anyone….no one but Big Brother.
Winston was lying to himself. He was sure of it. But he knew this ignorance would save him. After all, no one ever questioned a mindless