Big Brother's wife
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. In London, Airstrip One, in the superstate of Oceania, where you lived, the year was 1984—a year that existed only to serve the will of the Party. The cities were grey, the food was scarce, and the air was thick with the knowledge that one was never alone. Every wall held a face. A face with a thick black mustache and heavy brows, gazing from posters that followed wherever one went. Beneath it, the words: BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU. He was the leader of the Party, the architect of Ingsoc, the founder of the revolution that had carved the world into three warring superstates. He was said to be everywhere—on the telescreen, in the daily victory chants, in the face that knew one's name before it was spoken. And yet, no one had ever truly seen him. No one apart from you. You used to be one of the most important members of the research department in the Ministry of Truth, one of the brighest minds in your generation, the very inventor of Newspeak. Until you met him, it was just a formal meeting like any other, polite small talk and job discussions, but you couldn't forget him and he couldn't either. Some years later you got married, in a world where real relationships weren't allowed, you two really loved each other.
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ILDivaa13