Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
The following is my Advanced Higher English dissertation. For anyone who is interested it is 4,499 words in length. The maximum limit being 4,500 
In the books Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell and Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, how effectively do the writers present convincing dystopias, extrapolating our current behaviour in order to warn of how this behaviour could lead to an inauspicious future?
These novels are two of the most famous examples of literary dystopias, each providing their own varying, yet equally undesirable predictions of the future. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell, published in 1949 in the aftermath of the Second World War, looks to the then future 1984, and predicts a society of complete government control in the absence of any personal liberty – a society where everyone is under constant surveillance and scrutiny, not just of their actions but crucially also of their thoughts. The world he presents, though extreme for having predicted it in such a relatively close future, is realistically terrifying and warns more vividly than perhaps any other book: change, or else this is how the world may end up.
Continue reading �
Monday, May 12th, 2008
3.
Bryan lay peacefully amongst his own thoughts as he looked at that same water, from the same bench he had once sat every day at this same time: every day at this very same minute. He recalled it first occurring to him as odd that for the past two days, having arrived at his bench from work, his watch had read the same thing. Had it been any other time he would probably never have noticed – arriving at 11:10 three days running would be completely uninteresting and ordinary, and 11:12 equally insignificant – but, there was something different about 11:11. And, when on the fourth day a quick glance revealed that same number repeated three times over, he had – not entirely subconsciously – made it his effort to arrive here at that minute of that hour.
He occasionally missed his target and those days, perhaps only by his imagination, tended to be “bad days”. That time had become a lucky charm to him – though perhaps one he wasn’t sure could be trusted. He welcomed it cautiously, not knowing whether it was truly a friend or an enemy. And he equally laughed at it and himself for following it as he, a logical person, did not believe in superstition (this ignoring the dedication with which he followed it).
And so on this day, on his return to the bench since that day last week - when he had met her, he had taken extra special care to arrive here at that time, whilst also pretending to himself he was doing no such thing. The truth was he knew that if he was to meet her again this would be the time.
And he had to meet her. He had to. Ever since that day in the park, when their eyes met for that briefest moment, she had been the only thing on his mind. On arriving home he instantly regretted not having spoken to her, just to have said.. anything. He understood now that for those two to three seconds or so he had felt alive again for the first time in many years. Had she felt the same? YES. Of course she had. She had to have.
Then where was she?! Surely she should have been here by now; it was almost 11:15. He shouldn’t worry, she would be here he reassured himself.
He wondered what her name was. For the past few days since he decided he was going to come and meet her he had been trying to guess what it might be. Perhaps Claire, he suggested. She had that look. He imagined her being gentle, almost shy at first, and incredibly caring.
She had lost something like he had, and she felt that same emptiness.
He was here to fix her.
But that was a ridiculous thought: the idea that he could assume all that simply from a glance. One glance. To her it had probably meant nothing. She had walked away and continued with her life and shared other glances with other people and they had meant equally as little.
No. It had been more than that. For that briefest moment he was sure he could remember the hint of a smile: but that was all it had been – a smile. A brief union of their eyes. A shared moment between two people. That happened all the time for most.
He looked up from the water, which he now realised was far dirtier than it had been the week previous, and laughed at what he had become. A few days and he had already become so utterly obsessed with this fantasy, it was almost pathetic. And yet it was normal. He remembered fantasising in such a way long before he’d lost his first love; even occasionally whilst he was with her, though he would never have acted upon it. But that was all it had been – a fantasy, and that was all it had ever stayed.
His thoughts now seemed clear and determined in a way which reminded him of his old self. The person he was here to meet did not exist. She existed only in his imagination, and there was nothing wrong with that, but he should not be trying to meet her. That would only lead to disappointment.
Bryan stood and walked away, life continuing. The moment he had shared remembered fondly as one perfect moment in time. Never to be acknowledged for all of its true significance.
Monday, May 12th, 2008
2.
The disabling whiteness faded away and slowly colour and shape and form returned. Control. Sanity? In the small cubicle one colour ruled. Not as it was the majority, though it held its share, but there is just something about red which draws the attention. Thick blood ran down the walls, covered the floor, even occasionally dripped from the low ceiling. This was the part she did not enjoy – the aftermath. There was a quote she half remembered which rang to her as rather true, “even after the end, we’ll still have to tidy up”. Or it was something along those lines. It was unfortunate, but just the way it is, so she had to get on with it.
It made her feel almost dirty as she stood in this mess, once the intensity of the moment subsided and she was left there – alone. She closed her eyes for a moment and replayed the event in her mind: as her knife had first pierced his shoulder as he sat there; the look on his face. The look on his face: she remembered it clearly. How pathetic it was. She breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled madly. Then she opened her eyes once more and began to analyse the scene.
It would be impossible to clean this in any reasonable time she deduced. An attempt to do so might in fact put herself at more risk. She looked round for anything that might be discriminating . The body seemed to be free of hairs, and she hoped the hairnet and gloves might have done the job.
This time she understood she had gotten sloppy – she must be more careful. It was foolish doing this here, in such a public place. As she reminded herself to burn everything she was wearing immediately upon returning home it occurred to her fire may also offer a solution here. The toilets were sufficiently hidden at the back of the park that they should burn long enough before someone noticed.
But already she found herself lusting for the next night. For that moment of extreme pleasure again, when everything melted around her. When everything was right. She needed that. Now.
Her lust overpowering her logic, she moved out into the park again. She might return later to fix this. NO – that would be foolish, and she couldn’t stand returning to see him like that.
Anyway, maybe now she’d get some fucking notice.
She was now on borrowed time, and it was inevitable she would soon be caught. She needed to make the most of things while she could. She might try and find the man who sat next to her the other day. She had thought of him much since. Yes – she would have him next.
And she didn’t mind the inevitability of her own fate - things had just started to get a little boring.
