Login   Sign Up 



 

For The Good Of The Party

by scriever 

Posted: 18 November 2016
Word Count: 971
Summary: For the flash challenge. Inspired by the ending of a famous novel.


Font Size
 


Printable Version
Print Double spaced


Another grey morning. Out of milk again, so I pick up a faux bacon roll from the kiosk by the tram stop, and make a coffee when I get in. Important to have something in your stomach for the first job. Not just for your health, it doesn’t exactly add to the dignity of the occasion if your stomach’s rumbling.

Only Ted and Harold are in the squad room, Thomas is already out on a job. They’re starting early, must have a lot to get through today. The light above the door blinks, the buzzer goes. Harold’s number 2 today. I’m number 4. He lumbers to his feet, unlocks the cabinet, checks out a piece, carries out the requisite tests, leaves the room. He really needs to lose some weight. This is the worst part of the job. Not what you might think, most people think it would be the business part, the messy bit, but that’s ok when you get used to it. You don’t have to clear up afterwards anyway, we got cleaners for that. You just have to make sure you do a nice professional job. Knowing it's all for the common good, for the good of the Party, you want to do your best. 

Harold’s left his paper. Let’s see what’s going on in the big old world. Full of stories about the war. You’d think we’d have won by now. Been going as long as I remember, and we don’t seem to be any closer to an end, one way or another. A new push on the western front coming. Now there’s a thing: announcing it in the papers like that. Won’t that play right into their hands? The enemy I mean. They’ll have their spies, they’ll get hold of a copy of the paper, course they will. Then they’ll know, be able to prepare. No wonder we never get anywhere. Not the Party's fault, it's the generals, they don't seem to know what they're doing.

Oh look, a story that's not about the war. The birth rate’s declining. We all have to do our bit. Not me, thank goodness. I’d have to get married first. None of us dispatchers are married, come to think of it. Funny. We’re all miserable bastards, perhaps that’s why. But have we always been like this, or did we get like that because of the job we do? All been doing it a while. The squad room’s always pretty quiet, nobody cracks any jokes, nobody has a conversation about the war, the declining birth rate, football, anything. We just sit here.

Buzz. Ted makes his preparations, leaves. Only me now. Wonder who I’ll get? Last one was a female. Young, pretty. Don’t like these ones so much, the ones that look as if they should be starting out in life. Not that I like any of them, just that some are a bit easier to take, they look even more miserable than me. Sometimes, in the dark heart of the night, when I can’t sleep, I see some of them again. Their faces. I don’t like that. Been happening more and more recently too. I should go and see the doc, get some pills. Don't want to let the Party down, they've treated me well over the years.

Buzz. Here goes. Get my piece, the heft of it comfortable, familiar in my hand. Six-point check and in the little holder it goes. Out along the corridor, peeling green paint, cracked lino floor. I’m so used to the process I could do it with my eyes shut. Wonder how many times I've done this? Let’s see. Twelve years and three months, round about that. So that’s 168 weeks, knock off three weeks a year for holidays – 132 weeks. Five days a week, that’s, what, over 600 days. Two a day: 1200 times! Blimey. Wish I was on piece rate.

Who’s on the door today? Gillian. She’s a miserable cow. ‘Morning Gill. What you got for me today?’

She looks at her clipboard. ‘Smith, W. He’s just gone in.’

All business is our Gillian. No small talk. The courtroom’s crowded with the usual thrill seekers, what sad lives they must have. He’s already started, reading out names from his list of people he’s denouncing. Quite a long list. I take my position, hands clasped behind back, eyes forward, in the approved fashion. Finished his speech, he puts the piece of paper away and raises his right hand. He looks up at the picture, the huge face gazing benignly down on the court, says he loves Big Brother. Quite the emotional moment. For him, anyway; me, I’ve seen it before. 1200 times to be precise. It’s my cue, though. I take his arm, gently, and lead him from the room, out of the special door and into the Corridor. I see that he’s got tears running down his face. He doesn’t look sad though. Happy if anything. Seen that before too. Not every time, but often enough. Makes it a bit easier for me, thinking that they’re in a happy frame of mind. 

I walk the prescribed two paces behind him; half way down the Corridor the gun’s in my hand, without any memory of me taking it out. It’s just there. I slide the safety, raise it so it’s almost touching the base of the skull, and, angled at the regulation 45 degrees, pull the trigger.

A nice clean job. Almost no blood splatter. No brains on the wall. He drops like a sack of spuds, right at the door, which opens immediately. The cleaner places the sheet over the body of Smith, W, and starts to clean the little bits of blood off the white tiles. I turn, head back to the squad room. Wonder what’s for lunch today.  
 






Favourite this work Favourite This Author


Comments by other Members



BryanW at 09:59 on 20 November 2016  Report this post
Ross - Thanks for your entry. It looks really good. But as you're the only entrant this week we're keeping this challenge open for an extra one. 
Bryan

TassieDevil at 14:50 on 25 November 2016  Report this post
A very powerful story, Ross, enhanced cleverly bu the first person and immediacy of the present tense. It was one of those that kept me guessing too, wondering if it was about on thing only to be directed elsewhere buy a new word or revelation. I loved the introspective indifference too. Quite refreshing and certainly different to my style but captivating, nevertheless. Thanks for posting. and the opportunity to read it.
Alan

Bazz at 20:50 on 25 November 2016  Report this post
Hi Ross, like the psychology of this and how it unfolds. It's an interesting idea to dovetail a new story into a pre existing one, and it's a bold choice to completely alter the ending. I think this would work just as strongly as its own piece, it compliments the original, but you could just as easily let it stand alone. An interesting piece.

Cliff Hanger at 09:47 on 26 November 2016  Report this post
I've probably missed the point because I don't know which story this comes from but it doesn't matter because it reads brilliantly. I really enjoyed it and the quality of the writing is excellent.

Jane

scriever at 14:24 on 26 November 2016  Report this post
Hi Jane, it's a re-imagining the ending to 1984, which ends with a mention of a bullet in the brain for the hero, Winston Smith, but leaves it unclear whether he actaully does die. Taking the ending literally, I wanted to place it in the perspective of one of the Party's assassins, who must have done this day in, day out if you take the original story in the way I have.

Cliff Hanger at 16:52 on 26 November 2016  Report this post
Gosh
I love that book but didn't connect it. Dementia settling in alright. Great story.
 

BryanW at 14:20 on 27 November 2016  Report this post
What a great idea! We so identify with Winston and Julia in the actual story - seeing ourselves as able to recognise the duplicity of corrupt government and having the courage to stand up against it ( a little bit). You've thrown in another angle. I often wonder as I look at the murderous barbarity of IS or of the supporters of any brutal political/religious ideology just how easy it would be for me to be brainwashed into accepting or taking part in the accepting or commiting of atrocities. Sadly, I suspect I would find myself persuaded through peer pressure, the necessity of fighting against invasion, the idea that honour comes from performing duty, however unpalatable, and, most of all, if I succumb to a vision of a better world that is attainable. 
There are a couple of things I'd suggest if you are to develop the story. The first is language. Orwell was very concerned that the restriction of language, of vocabulary, reduces the ability to think. Words like 'ungood', the paradox of 'blackwhite', the crime of 'ownlife' which, of course leads to Winstone's 'thoughtcrime' or 'ungoodthink' - a sprinkling of these, or equivalents, combined with the sort of simple syntax your MC already shows - might give us a flavour of this. Also, I wonder if your MC would be critical of the generals' failures on the front line unless they had already been denounced by BB as traitors. Everything that goes wrong is blamed upon the enemies of the state.
However, I really enjoyed this - and it certainly brought back my feelings about '1984' when I first read it.
Bryan


To post comments you need to become a member. If you are already a member, please log in .