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Mephistopheles
Filthy Animal
Post #54348
Joined: 09 Aug 2005
Posts: 1
Total Words: 455
Average words per post: 455
PoliMatch: n/a
  
    
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Posted: Tue 2008-03-11 07:48
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| Politics: Communist |
Country: United States |
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| Show off your literary talents: continuation of 1984 |
Post Rating: 2.0/4 (3 votes cast) |
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I'd say this experiment is very much a "literary suggestion".
I'll write the first chapter, and continue once others join in. You can write anything you want, just try to "feel" the mood, i.e. try to keep the storyline reasonable. You can write a paragraph, more paragraphs, or even an entire chapter if you wish.
Anyone can make suggestions, and I'm guessing not everyone wants to write up on Eurasia, so how about a 1984 global story?
I mean "global story" in the sense of if IO wanted to write a chapter on Oceania occurring in the timeline of my original story post.
I'm hoping this will be a nice distraction, and encourage people's writing skills.
Some suggestions that seem to me as reasonable is if someone wrote a chapter on a possible prole rebellion, the eternal war, or even a chapter of the mind of an Inner Party member, sortof like how 1984 was based on the mind of an Outer Party member.
In "George Orwell" subforum, there are fictional descriptions of Eastasian Death Worship, and Eurasian Neo-Bolshevism to get you started because those two nations are largely a mystery in a book written about life in Oceania.
Oh and one little adenda: please leave flame wars behind.
_________________
Yippykiaye motherfucker.
Last edited by Mephistopheles on Tue 2008-03-11 07:55; edited 1 time in total |
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Mephistopheles
Filthy Animal
Post #54349
Joined: 09 Aug 2005
Posts: 1
Total Words: 455
Average words per post: 455
PoliMatch: n/a
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Posted: Tue 2008-03-11 07:49
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| Politics: Communist |
Country: United States |
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| Formerly Moscow |
Post Rating: 2.0/4 (3 votes cast) |
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The Outer Party member of the Communist Party of Eurasia tucked his hands into his overalls as the chill of the cold night air bit his skin, mottling the blood below the epidermis, and was close to freezing him. He took his small bottle of Eurasian Nationalist Vodka out of a deep pocket of his red overalls and took a swig, wiping his lips as he walked. Some Outer Party women walked past him, and looked past him in disgust as he let out a large belch from the alcohol. You couldn't denounce someone for belching in the middle of the night in a remote street of Khrushchevgrad, once called Moscow, now a rubble of its former self, a remnant of the Atomic Wars, but you could denounce someone for just about anything else, so he put the vodka back into the pocket and stepped up the pace in the cold night atmostphere.
He approached the massive Kremlin, housing all ministries of Eurasia. He vaguely remembered talk of it being the headquarters of the capital of a nation called... he couldn't remember. Things nowadays were easily forgotten. "Forget your worries, comrades, and fight for production in the factories and in the fields and in the offices of Eurasia the Great, to fight for another day," was something drilled into everyone from an early age, and right now it seemed appropriate to remember. Burly black-leather-clad guardsmen patrolled the areas around the Kremlin, and he was stopped quite abruptly and harshly. The guardsman grabbed his overalls and ordered him to produce identification and papers. He did so, and was let go, with a warning not to make him ask first next time, and was given a horrible glare. He didn't dare recriprocate: to the gulags as a slave with him he'd go!
Outer Party member Otto Skorzeny, once a dashing, handsome man, was reduced after the Great Patriotic War (as it was now called throughout Eurasia) to passing information from one part of Khrushchevgrad to the other. Spared because he was a military tactician, he once was an Eurasian commander, but lost grace after he looked a little too much at an Inner Party member's wife. Again, spared because he had potential, he was indeed growing old, and he worried about his future, and his very life. A commander who helped fight the British paratroopers in France, he still held clout within Eurasian inner circles.
The vodka started to bug him; it kept moving and slapping his side as he walked in stride, so he slowed down a bit as he reached the Kremlin walls. Luckily for him, the Inner Party member in the Kremlin he constantly delivered messages for was an acquaintance of his. The vodka in his overalls was one of the many little things given to Otto by Nikolai Yablovno, his superior in his section of the Kremlin. Problem was, he didn't even know what section it was called. All he knew was when he would walk into a main room to reach Yablovno's office, it was filled with maps. Maps of Eurasia, Eastasia, Oceania, and the Disputed Territories, with many lines, red arrows, and placements. He figured it was some sort of military strategic nerve center, but it never came up in discussion.
"Otto!" Inner Party members almost always referred to Outer Party members by their first names. It was both a form of domination and humiliation, but Otto had a feeling Yablovno simply did it with him because it was a force of habit, and nothing more or less. "How are you, my comrade?"
Relaxed and comfortable with Yablovno, Otto pulled out his vodka and took another gulp before responding. "Oh, I am fine, thank you. Not a day goes by I am not thankful to Great Comrade, even though he passed away long ago. His strength is my strength."
"Well, I have news for you, Skorzeny." That was a first, and obviously something said deliberately. "The Eurasian High Command has decided your skills are still necessary in our war against Eastasia and Oceania. I am pleased they wish to make you an Inner Party member again." Yablovno turned around, picking up a large suitcase, opening it, to reveal a high quality deep-red suit of a member of the Inner Party. "I trust you won't refuse."
Skorzeny was no longer really Skorzeny anymore. No longer himself, no longer human, he had been told too much, listened too much to the propaganda shows on the radio, and as a result, he died a little bit each day on the inside, until nothing really remained of him but an old man who cared only about his job, and his Republic. Originally from Germany, and then, from the Germanic Republic, in accordance with Communist Party policies, he had been shuffled from Republic to Republic just like the rest of the Outer Party members. Having lived in Frankish Republic and in the Jewish Republic of far-eastern Asia, he was glad to live in the Russian Republic, and especially, in the grand capital of Eurasia. All the grander cities were now in ruins, tribute to the atomic bombs dropped on them.
"Of course not."
"Before you get changed, let's talk." Yablovno took a chair, and sat it beside him, indicating very politely for Skorzeny to sit down, which he did as a freer man. "Our forces on the Arctic Front and on the European Front have discerned weaknesses in Oceanian lines. Eastasia is too fortified for our forces to take them yet, but we can strike against Oceania, and maybe even liberate their Republics. I want you to look at this map and tell me what we should do on both frontlines." He pulled out a huge map, laying it on the office table. Skorzeny studied it, looking at its wonderful beauty, the safety of the red colors, and the dangerous black and yellows. He was ready after a few minutes of studying.
"Suggest to the High Command we attack the Icelandic Republic and Inuit Republic One. With both territories liberated by our forces, we can drive deeper into Oceanian territory. Even if the Oceanians manage to retake them, expending resources to keep their territories back will mean less resources elsewhere, leaving the Oceanians in a vulnerable position."
Yablovno nodded agreeably. "I saw this too, I wanted your opinion first. You should probably get dressed, there's an office in the adjacent room with your name on it, Skorzeny." They both stood up.
"For comradeship and liberation!" said both.
_________________
Yippykiaye motherfucker. |
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