The end of an Era

It's not right. It's just not right. They are my family for god's sake, I should stand by them whatever the situation may be. Thats what I've always been taught after all, to love and respect my government and my family above myself. But I'm sure my family, especially my father has to be an exception to the rule.

Ever since before I was born,my father has been ruling the United Kingdom with an iron fist. I know the entire history of the coup, it has been drilled into my brain since before I could speak. My father, the brave and courageous leader of the great Norsefire Party came to power after a series of tragedies that left the city of London weak. The people believed in him, raised him up until his government was the most powerful force in the world. According to the stories, many rebels have tried to overthrow my father with their sinful ways, their sodomy corruption and violence almost ruined the country. But he prevailed. England prevailed.

Now I'd like to believe that these stories were true, that my father was really as great as the man he makes himself appear to be. I wish I truly believed that England could prevail, at least my father's version of it. If it did, my brothers and I would soon heads of government in this country. I have already had a well paying internship with the mouth, the propaganda department- and have been promised a high ranking job there as soon as my studies are finished. But still something doesn't seem right.

I can remember when I was about 7, my family toured the Larkhill detention facility. It was just a publicity thing, of course. Father gave a speech about the innovations which this center had been given, and the rest of us stood to the side in our nicest clothes, smiling at the press for a photo opportunity. Then we were given the opportunity to inspect the first group of prisoners who had been sent there.

I don't know what I was expecting. Honestly I don't. Maybe a group of burly men in black and white stripes. Maybe some sort of gang people or something. Of course I was ridiculously wrong.

The people that lined up before us were probably the shabbiest group of people I had ever seen. They were all so... skinny... so dirty... so strange. I tried to say hello to some of them or something, because in my 7 year old mind I had never doubted people's eagerness to see the great chairmans family, but none of them answered. None of them even looked us in the eyes. Except for one.

I don't remember much about him, he was an average looking man, a bit skinny, but the rest of the prisoners were skinny as well, so I could hardly judge. All I really can think about was his words.

"Strength through thought, unity though action."

It was my father's slogan! Except it wasn't. As I thought about his words, a guard dragged the man away. I guess the prisoners were not supposed to talk to us that day.

I still remember that prisoner's words. I do not for sure know what became of that man, but I have heard that the prisoners died in a fire so he must not be alive still...

As I've grown older I've constantly thought about this man's words. My father has action and thought, I am sure of that. But does the rest of my family? Do I think? Or do I just do things?

It truly doesn't matter anyway. I am not my father's child. I will never have the strength to lead a party, the wisdom to govern a country, or the rebelliousness to overthrow a state. But maybe there is hope for this country. Maybe my father's questionable deeds will alert someone, someone stronger than me to action. Maybe that man, that prisoner that I met ten years ago, if he is still alive will realize that the time is right to do something.