Work on my novel outlining my fears for the future of mankind is going well. I really feel a sense of things coming together and I’m honestly glad I will not be around to see a future like the one I’m setting for Winston. Big Brother terrifies me and I value my own thoughts too much to consider what such a future might mean for me.
But over the last week I have been plagued with nightmares wherein I find myself living in that very future I describe on the page. Big Brother watches over me constantly and offers a running commentary on whatever I do. And the future is very much different from our own time and from the future I imagine.
On Tuesday, Big Brother said, “You are wearing pink frilly pants under your trousers.” I wasn’t, of course, except when I looked, I was. They were man’s pants but pink with lacy frills along the edge. Big Brother said, “You shouldn’t sit so long on your hover chair. You will find you cannot walk,” and indeed, when I tried to stand up, I collapsed to the floor unable to support my weight even for a second. I hardly even questioned what a hover chair might be.
On Wednesday, Big Brother said, “You should tidy this house. A slovenly abode is a sign of a slovenly person.” That caused me little concern and my dream self pottered about the place, moving a book here, a paper there. When I did not begin tidying in earnest within 15 minutes, Big Brother said, “Tragedy strikes where sloth prevails. Take care around the flame.” Before my dream self could do anything, a candle tipped over onto a pile of papers and began a blaze. I awoke as the fire began burning my dream curtains and sofa, sweat beading on my forehead from terror or the heat of the inferno I know not which.
On Thursday evening I sat upright in my chair for as long as I could, putting off retiring to bed. I hoped with sufficient tiredness, nightmares may not come to me. I had no more than placed my head on the pillow when Big Brother said, “Do not try to avoid me. I see you awake as well as asleep. I watch you in your chair, eyelids drooping hoping to outwit me. What shall I do with you tonight, I wonder. Tear off your foot? Put out your eyes? Smash those precious writing fingers?” And my foot trembled and I could feel pressure on my eyeballs and crushing pains began in my hands.
I remember little else of Thursday night but when I awoke today I stretched out my hands, amazed to see my fingers still in their sockets and moving under my will. They were sore and red but otherwise unharmed. I have spent all of the day clearing my mind of Big Brother and his influence, determined that tonight I will sleep soundly and safely in my bed. I walked for miles around the cliffs and hope sea breezes will clear my mind.
I will sign off now and give myself over to my dreams. I hope I survive the night to write another diary entry tomorrow.
Eric A Blair.