Part 3: Chapter VI

The Chestnut Tree Cafe looks the same. The telescreen remains in the top-left corner, still stuck on the same channel. The chessboards are still plastered to the tables. Except the waiters here grew more persistant; surely they must know I can't drink all of this Victory Gin. I have a feeling they won't be watching me too closely, because their is no threat at hand. I no longer have desire to commit thoughtcrime. My only intention is to be a top-noch comrade. My job is much better, considering the fact I get paid more, as well as being further away from Julia. Julia. That will be my last glimpse of her. No more nonsense with her lustful ways. The day we met after we were set free, I made it very clear that I betrayed her. She's so naive to still be planning these clandestine meetings. I am done with her. As I watch the telescreen, an exclusive report came in; we have won the battle. So this is what ignorance feels like. Not bad at all. I have won my battle. It has taken me four scores, but it is settled. My new love is with Big Brother.

Part 3 Chapter V

I wish that stealthy bullet would unexpectedly strike me already. As they opened the door to Room 101, a pungent odor of, what seemed blood and dirt, striked me instantly. My head is unable to move. It appears it is in some kind of metal cage. They have agreed to let me write my last thoughts in this diary before the interrogation begins. Calm down, calm down. I can easily fool the perspicacious O'brien through simple quotes like, "Ignorance is strength", "War is Peace", etc. He will not break me down. I can't seem to concentrate though, some annoying sound is limiting me. It sounds like little chirps of some kind of animal. Here comes O'brien. I must stop writing, but can't help but notice a metallic cage in his left hand. Oh no. It can't be. Not...rats! I'm sorry Julia. But I must give you up.

Part 3: Chapter IV

Finally. They are allowing me to gather myself back up. The guards have been considerate and fed me a well balanced meal. My hair is growing back, as well as my process of thinking. They even slipped a box of cigarretes. "Victory Cigarretes" it read. My thoughts are becoming more clearer. I am accepting the rules of Ingsoc. My grammar is also becoming more rich in Newspeak. Yes. How easy it is to agree.
Oh no, what have I done. My blissful reverie of the Golden Country has brought attention to the guards. I must have screamed Julia's name. Either that or the usual thoughtcrime of Big Brother. Thump, thump, thump. My heart's rapid beating is corresponding with the tramping boots of the guards. I am probably going to Room 101, oh well. When O'brien comes, I cannot lie. I hate Big Brother.

Part 3: Chapter III

O'brien is wrong. Hope does lie in the proletarians; we both know it does. For now in this corrupt society, their untapped potential is the only source for the destruction of Ingsoc.
Even though the belief of Big Brother has captured the ignorant minds, he has not captured mine. O'brien cannot control the stars or the universe. Yes. Now I know their secret. Because of their brainwashing motives, and especially the fear they implant in each individual, they think they can control anything. All they want is power. Not even for humanitarian reasons, but for the word itself.
The interrogations have gone too far. Doesn't he see I confessed everything I know? And my eyes, I can barely see anything in this dark labyrinth. But I saw...my reflection. My frail fingers, knocked-out teeth, bald scalp. Worst of all, I saw O'brien, with his full-fleshed body chuckling behind my complexion. I am reaching the point...the point of betrayal.

Part 3: Chapter II

Enough with the questions, enough! Each contradict themselves beyond doublethink, so it is O'brien commiting the crime, not me. I wish I can take off this contraption. I can't take it any more. Each jolt can power up 100 telescreens, therefore why waste it on me. This pain is too much. I see one, two, three, four. Count them your self! Four fingers you hold up, thus I say four. 2 + 2 does not make 5, and you can definetely not float off the ground like "a bubble" (considering your weight). Big Brother is imaginary; in a sense, he does not occupy the same amount of matter in this world as me, meaning I am real. Release me this instant! You can hurt me, punish me, tortue me to the fullest, but you will never break me. At least I am proud to say that I have not betrayed anyone, including Julia.

Part 3: Chapter I

Where am I. It seems...no, it must be the Ministry of Love. Due to my aquaintance with one of the guards, I am able to write in this diary; but not for long. Its over. Each telescreen on each wall knows what I am writing. No matter. In this dreaded place where time freezes and malnutrition occurs, anybody would do anything, just to stop the pain. I wonder what time it is, what year, what month...Julia! I trust her. Our love is stronger than this wreched odor of this densley-populated cell. Let me count. One, two, three,...Eleven. Eleven comrades are in the same state as me, all jumbled on this 5 milimeter bench near me. Near me, a elderly woman holds the same name as I. Maybe she is my mother. Who can you trust. Even Parsons, the least I would expect to be here was given by his daughter. Poor fellow. His teeth have been chattering ever since he came. Now if I can get up and swiftly snatch that bread crumb on the floor I can make it through another hour.

Part 2 Chapter X

Dear diary,
Forgive me reader for the following incomplete sentences, but the Thought Police has arrived! The telescreen behind the... Mr. Charrington with the fake appear... I am to remain still, but I must write, even if they burn this. Ugh!
I must write, even if I... Ugh! Julia. She is being brutally beaten, worse than I. I am sorry for not completing this. This might be my final conclusion in the diary of Winston Smith. Farewell to whoever obtains this. Remember, whoever controls the past, controls the...

Part 2 Chapter IX

Dear diary,
After reading the perspicacious author's-Goldstein-work, I am quite impressed. It is interesting that the title for each of his chapters corresponds with the Party's slogans. He seems to know an abundant amount of information about the Party-information I already know. Maybe he used to be an informative member of the Party. Or maybe he was the rebellious person who did not except any of the Party's beliefs, like so. I only wish Julia would become more interested with his inspiring work. Maybe on a free day where I am not busy at the office, I could visit the red-haired proletarian who sings each day near Mr. Charrington's room, and read her this book; she definitely has the potential to embrace it and possibly cause a riot. As for now, I think I will rest to, due to a long day at the office, constantly rewriting papers based off of lies.

Part 2 Chapter VIII

Dear diary,
I think I have recruited yet another member towards my side; O'brien. He is an intellectual fellow indeed. He receives all of these amenities and privileges due to his state as a member of the Inner-Party. His opulence at his flat is exquisite, except the drink called "wine;" it was a bit sour. One privilege I am concerned of is the on-and-off switch to the telescreen. He sure is duping the party. Soon we will acquire more members of the Brotherhood to rid of this Party once and for all. This book he gave me should be a good start. Off with Big Brother, and on with the teachings of Goldstein.

Part 2 Chapter VII

Oh mother. I am sorry. I was a fool. You were taking care of the baby, yourself, as well as I. I want to say I am sorry. It is my fault you left with the baby; you had the right too. I was a juvenile delinquent only concerned with myself. My inconsiderate actions were unnecessary. Even today I am an unchanged man. I am a criminal, barely escaping my punishments. One day I will save enough money to afford us a wonderful dinner, to make up for all of the hunger you have been through. If you are still alive, I have a piece of chocolate in my drawer here at the flat. It is melted, but it is the least I could do to apologize. I miss you. Please continue to take care of the baby; let her grow up into a well-educated woman(hopefully against the Party). I love you mom. I love you sister. Please forgive me.

Part 2 Chapter VI

Dear diary,
It is the hour before the required time in which I arrive to O'brien's house. This is the moment I have been waiting for. We shall meet in the place where there will be no darkness. I am quite positive I am not arriving at his house to pick up the latest edition of the Newspeak dictionary. His tone during our brief conversation, the allusion to Syme; surely he is pointing out something. I will bring Julia, to further convince him of my state of rebellion. Hopefully we lie on the same page. Why should I worry. He's probably a member of the Brotherhood. I just hope I return back to my flat after my visit.

Part 2 Chapter V

Dear diary,
The heat is unbearable here at the flat. The boiled cabbage smell thickened, polluting the elevators and stairs. Work was the usual, although on my normal stroll through the Ministy of Truth's cubicles, I looked at the Chess Committee board, which to my guess, was one name shorter. Syme was probably vaporized. Poor Syme. He was an intelligent man too. He had the potential to overthrow this so called Party.

My instructions were specific; go to Mr. Charrington's room, leave after an hour, and arrive home by a different route. Folly. We are stealthy criminals exhilarated by our nonsense. It should not be a while though we are caught and.... Oh what am I saying. According to Julia, the Thought Police does not even exist. Hopefully, she is right.

Part 2: Chapter IV

It is 23:30, and I have ust arrived from Mr. Charrington's room. We have agreed to meet there a few more times, but I am beggining to feel unceartin. But if so, I hope she can bring us another platter of bread and coffee. Oh that coffee was superb, with its fine, granulated beans in the brown dust that could easily fill the airs of Airstrip One. Then again, I think we should meet in another location. I don't want to see another rat. I don't. Not in my dreams or reality.

That cute song still is preminant in my mind. "You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's, When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey..." I wonder how the rest goes? I will ask Mr. Charrington on our next visit.

Part 2 Chapter III

Oh we are criminals! Filthy criminals! There are so many stealthy parts around Airstr... I mean London where we are no longer comrades. Yet, there is a bit of uneasieness in me. I enjoy the fact we are away from telescreens, microphones, etc. but are we still being watched? Nonsense! They will never catch us. I am sure there are more Party members who feel the same rebellious dictation like Julia and me. For now on, every small glance of oppurtunity I will take advantage of. No more hiding in the small corner away from the telescreen at home. I will rebel.

Part 2: Chapter II

Two hours have passed, and I remain remorseful. I now realize my political disobedience. This is beyond thoughtcrime; its physical crime. I should have never... I don't want to see her again. I should just remain in my own cubicle-away from her-and go my own way. She just causes trouble. No more associating with her at lunch. I'd rather be with Mr. Parsons, or Syme. Syme is a wiser man filled with vast knowledge. Maybe one day he could help me come up with a word for what I have done. The friendship of the black-haired girl: terminated.

Part 2: Chapter I

Oh the joy of life. I once was depressed, but now I have a reason to live! The words "I love you" surely cannot come from a Party Spy. Now I eagerly await for a splendid mingle of words with each other at....What were the directions again? Right! Paddington Station, where I will take the train from there on. Although, I hope she knows where we're going and who will be among us. Oh, of course she knows! Her sagacious wits of furtively slipping the note in my hand is more than enough proof of her wisdom. I cannot wait.

Part I

Currently I am beyond doublethink. I know 2 + 2 + 4, the Earth revolves around the sun, and Airstrip One is a lie. Surely the society must use their common sense; they should know it is a lie. We don't sit 12 hours a day on the telespeak doing nothing. We- as the Ministry of Plenty- are committing a crime. Its a filthy lie that has gone drastic.

They have pushed it too far with the multiple posters literally following you, not to mention the telescreen. (It's getting a little claustrophobic in my little unseen-corner at Victory Mansions). Yet, it is the only few cubicle meters where I can freely change my facial expression, write and think. Again I reiterate, I am past thoughtcrime/doublethink through this journal whoever I am writing for. If any body moves the small crumb at the top-corner of this page, indicating my landmark, it is the end.

Who is on my side? Surely I cannot be the only one. O'Brien! Yes, he must share my point of view. Through that millisecond glance I saw an intellectual man, a protester, and a friend. What about the dark-haired girl? Every step I make she is one step behind me. I don't know, I don't know! Has this world gone mad!

Most likely I am target #1. The purchase of the diary, the dark-haired stalker, the entrance into the Proles, and so on; my steps have been watched.

Our only hope lies with the proles. Thankfully Big Brother perceives them as naive. It's contradictory though; they have the potential. The sad part is they think they're free-at least they have more freedom than me- but they're not. As of now, I think I am becoming more acquainted with them. If I continue to visit the Proles, say, twice a month, hopefully I can gradually influence them towards a massive riot.