CHAPTER ONE

1985

THE STORY CHALLENGE

GEORGE ORWELLLEWIS DUNHAMSHAHIRA ALLEN

GEORGE GOODERSONELYSA PRITCHARDALICE BRISTOWE

SAMANTHA HARTILLRYAN FISHER

HANNAH BROOMALICE HINES

ANNA DUGGALCLAIRE KELLY

EMMALINE MASTERSONOLI PHILLIPS

TONI WOODSDINA

SHEWOLFFELICIA TAY

ZAIN BAWEJA

1985

Dedicated to the power of the written word

Recent surveys indicate that SMS texting is impacting on young people’s ability to spell correctly and read and write above a 5th grade level.

In George Orwell’s dystopian fiction ‘1984’, he foresaw that excessive usage of short words would lead to reduced intellectual and linguistic capacity, damaging both the English language and our inclination to use a range of words to express a feeling.

Therefore, we invited people to take part in a story telling challenge to revive the power of the written word, that once complete produced this book.

Written by many different individuals, each contributing a new passage following on from the previous one, producing a surreal yet fascinating narrative, more importantly highlighting the joys and power of the written word.

introducingthe concept behind 1985

It was a bright day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quick enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

george orwell08.06.1949 9.00am

1

What was once a lavish and elegantly decorated mansion had not faired well over the ages, time had taken its toll on the pristinely kept halls and what was left was but a meagre shadow of its former glory. The stench of decay filled Winston’s nostrils, it was too overwhelming, he lurched forward and fell to his knees, gasping for clean air and clutching at the ragged carpet. He knew why he was here, despite the circumstances, he had to find what he was looking for, a lot of people were counting on him.

lewis dunham2

14.02.2012 1 .29pm

Mainly his best friend and side kick Rodger. What many people did no realise is that Rodger was a figment of Winstons imagination. A companion he had thought up 5 summers ago in an attempt to keep himself sain. He spoke of Rodger in all his stories, placing his expressions and movements in such detail. So much so that people just assumed he was real! He stood from his ragged carpet and scanned the room, there he was, Rodger sat in his usual place giving his usual look of disappointment. ‘We have no time for your tears Winston’ Rodger said in anger.

shahira allen15.02.2012 10.10am

3

Winston pulled himself to his feet, and with his sooty hands he wiped his eyes. His eyes were now stinging, but he barely noticed it next to the feeling of his heart racing in his chest. Winston was not sure whether it was bravado or foolishness which caused him to return to this harrowing place, but he knew that Roger would not be moving from his place. As he stepped onto the first stair, Winston knew he would be alone upstairs. A single shiver ran up his spine.

george gooderson15.02.2012 3.55pm

4

That same single shiver he’d had since that day, the day he’d tried to convince himself hadn’t happened, the day before Rodger miraculously appeared in his life. Winston realised he’d have this same shiver following him around every day for the rest of his life, he didn’t really mind it. He knew it was a sign that he was alive; a sign that he still had feeling, a sense that he hadn’t lost himself through all anguish life had thrown at him. It was going to be something he dealt with, it had been 5 years after all and Rodger had helped in more ways than he’d ever thought, sort of like a ghost of what happened in his past, what will happen in his present and what would evidently be his future.

elysa pritchard15.02.2012 9.52am

5

Winston moved slowly up another stair, his worn out brogues forcing dust billows out from the raggedy carpet as he walked. That all-too familiar shiver seemed to be embracing his whole body; this house always seemed to do that to him. He turned for the comfort of his friends gaze.

‘Go. There really is no time for you to waste. They’ll be back soon I’m sure of it. Can’t you feel it? Hurry up!’

The staircase seemed to go on for eternity as Winston gazed back up, but he knew Rodger was right. He did need to get a move on, and quickly.

alice bristowe16.02.2012 11 .10pm

6

With every step Winston took, memories started to flood back and filled his heart with joy. Laughter, little footsteps running around, champagne glasses chiming together in celebrations, the smell of mothers finest roasts and the tears of despair. Here is where Winston spent his childhood.

Returning back to such a hollow withered and once a glorious home, sadness but yet an overwhelming feeling of happiness conquered Winston. As he climbed higher and higher edging closer to the end, his shallow grey face turned a slight shade of pink, panting with every breath, suddenly this hollow grave lit up with life.

samantha hartill15.02.2012 11 .11pm

7

The window, illuminated in the same way it had always been. Though it had gone the same way as the rest of the mansion the glass was clean. So clean, it was as if his mother was still walking the hall ways. He walked towards it, scuffing his shoes as he went. The dust clinging to the once polished floor kicking up in plumes of lost memories. Running his finger along the window ledge where he once sat as a child, looking out on the lawns that sprawled into the distance. Memories ran through his head, pleasing at first but then the reason he was here steadily crept in. He turned to where the light from the window rested—His sister Molly’s room. She once described the light from the window as ‘the perfect wake-up call’. Adjusting his eyes, he peered into the room through a crack in the wooden frame, gently pushing on the door.

ryan fisher16.02.2012 1 .34am

8

As Winston applied pressure to the door, it creaked opened and a familiar scent flooded his senses. Memories came pouring back to him as he scanned the room tentatively. He was still searching, longing for the closure that he endlessly craved. Just as he inhaled a deep and powerful breath, a sound erupted from behind him. It grew and grew and Winston was frozen to the spot where he stood. He knew he must turn and face whatever was behind him, but the prospect of what he may find, sent a shiver running deep into his core, almost stopping his heart from beating.

hannah broom16.02.2012 9.27pm

9

But as he turned, dreading what might appear before him, the foreboding sound of what he could only describe as someone bellowing in agony came to an abrupt stop. Could the memories have caused him to imagine such a thing? Bringing his clammy palm of his right hand to his forehead, Winston shook away the absurdity and drew his attention back to that of his sister’s room. As he cautiously stepped through the doorway he started to question what it was that he was hoping to find after all these years.

claire kelly16.02.2012 11 .10pm

10

The sound got louder, Winston stood still, frozen, scared. The possibilities of what it may be filled his head, overcome with emotion Winston fell to his knees, still not looking behind, head in his hands crying and screaming to himself frantically

‘Leave me alone, I can’t take it anymore!’

‘Winston?’ said a chilling voice, ‘Winston, is that you?’ It was the voice of someone he hadn’t seen in many years. Someone who had once been very close to him.

alice hines16.02.2012 11 .20pm

11

‘I didn’t doubt you’d return.’

Winston froze as every breath left his body. His bubble of thought and the deep silence of the house had been broken. He knew the voice, it was the same as it had always been; detatched, aloof and dangerous. Slowly, he moved his body back to face the landing. Keeping his eyes downcast, he took in the picture before him. The same beaten brown shoes, the same heavy trench coat and the same expressionless face.He stood opposite Winston, at the entrance to his old bedroom with a letter in his hand. The room seemed to darken with his presence.

‘It was the right time for you to come back.’ said his father.

anna duggal16.02.2012 11 .31pm

12

Seeing his Father was unexpected and terrorizing, he was not the reason he came back to this place, it was for her, for Meredith to ensure her safety and it was time for all of the secrets to be told, including the ones that would destroy Winston’s father.

‘Albert, I only return to do what is needed, what is right!’‘Will you no longer call me Father?’‘You do not deserve such a nicety, you let it happen!’‘Winston, Son I cannot tell you why it was inevitable’

emmaline masterson16.02.2012 11 .46pm

13

Fifteen years to be exact. Fifteen long and tortuous years. What he witnessed in that house was enough to make the strongest of men think twice about life. He cussed under his warm breath as he continued through the house. As he gradually made it into what was once the kitchen he clenched his hands until the were white and simply screamed out. Winston had managed to keep many a deep dark secret but this one was too painful. It was like the house had control of him. He was simply a mannequin to the powers within.

oli phillips17.02.2012 12.01am

14

17.02.2012 1 .37am

‘Inevitable. Inevitable!’ The word screamed and echoed through Winston’s head.

He should have known that his father would broach the events within the house without emotion, in his usual cold and distant manner. Winston realised that he was no longer the focus of Albert’s attention. His eyes followed Albert’s line of sight and silhouetted against the window stood Meredith. A sickening feeling slowly rose through Winston’s body, his mind a turmoil of anger and fear. He could feel the hatred and venom oozing out of Albert into the icy atmosphere.Meredith’s voice brought an unexpected warmth into the room;

‘Molly?’

Who could have imagined that the utterance of a name could have such an effect. Winston saw Albert’s body stiffen, fists clench and an evilness transform his emotionless face.

‘Don’t you dare mention her name!’

toni woods15

Looking to his left he glanced at the massive cherry wood grandfather clock that had been in the same dusty corner for ages, or at least for all the time he could remember. Today, the tempo of the clock seemed off. Tick, Tick, Tick never reaching Tock the heirloom had a minute finger stuck on precisely 3:16 pm, never moving forward. Moving towards the clock in hopes of inspecting to cause of it’s repetition, he hears a dark chuckle from behind him. Chills run down his spine, knowing the one person such a sinister sound could belong to, feeling as if humdrum atmosphere had all at once vanished.

“Winston, it’s been a while.”

dina17.02.2012 4.20am

16

As he struggled to shut the door he lost his footing and tripped on the Victorian rug that led to the stairwell. He noticed snow frosted his eyelashes when he heard a shrill cry from below. He shivered. He lifted himself erect to the floor and headed past the stairs to a door. He opened the door and listened.

There was a quiet whimpering from below. He crept down without a sound. Once at the bottom he stared at what he left there only two days earlier.

As he unwound his scarf and unbuttoned his winter coat, his eyes never left her. She cried and waited for him. No words were ever exchanged.

He knew what he had to do. She knew he was going to do it.

He didn’t want to though. He bargained within himself with the human inside. The human said, don’t do it. Let her go. The animal said, you must or you’ll be caught! You’ll be exposed! Do it, do it now!

“NO!” he screamed.

shewolf17.02.2012 4.22am

17

He moved slowly towards his father, his wrinkled hands quaking with anger laced with fear. Winston had good reason to be wary of his father. The scars on the back of his neck will always remain fresh wounds. If this man could abuse him as a young boy, he could definitely do much worse to a grown man. Winston drew his breath and spoke in a whispered sneer.

‘You, I had hoped you died in that fight. She worshiped you like you were her god. But everyone knew you were her Satan.’

felicia tay17.02.2012 4.26am

18

Winston wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. He was only vaguely informed of it’s description as Robert was brutally butchered before he could finish telling him of what seemed to be of the utmost importance. However, he had to find it at all costs, his brother had taken a knife to the chest, stabbed repeatedly for it’s purpose. It must really mean something.

He made his way to where his mother’s bedroom used to be. He walked around, suddenly coming to a halt due to what he saw. Winston picked up the tiny object and wiped off the dust. It was his old rattle, his mom used to give it to him while giving him a bath to quiet him down. A tear dropped down his eye as he shook the rattle acknowledging the familiar noise that he once held so close to his heart

Zain Baweja 17.02.2012 5.15am

19

the story continues...

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Matthew Taylor Lee Ashford