Juan Pablo Del Castillo
"6079... Smith W!"
A thick voice fell heavily on Winston`s ears. He jumped right off ofhis bench in a fraction of a second, like when one removes his hands from a hot surface to avoid being hurt, it was an instinct he`d developed in the endless hours he spent in his cell. The guardsdidn't like it when a prisoner slept during the day, probably not because of any rules, but because they were sick, depraved, freaks who got off on their prisoners` agony, and Winston, like many of hisfellow inmates, had fallen fast asleep, as it is to be expected from anyone trapped in a dirty cell, with an empty stomach and nothing to pass the time with but his thoughts. It was all he didrecently... he slept and when he couldn't sleep he pondered on about his future. As he had suspected the voice came from the guards, but this wasn't one of their routine checkups, there were two of them andone was carrying some sort of wooden plank in his arm opposite to Winston, though he couldn't quite make out what it was.
They approached him, with the same cocky look they always did, smiling becausethey felt in control, because they knew more about your petty future than even you did. `Those filthy guards´, he thought, `Id do anything to wipe that arrogant grin off their faces... What do theywant now?´. His question was quickly answered. The taller guard, who was holding the small wooden plank, dropped the objects he was carrying on the floor inside his cell, turned, and signaled his mateto leave the way they came from.
Winston dashed towards the objects, and only then did he notice, there was paper attached to the plank, and a pen on the side. Confused, he turned his gaze to them,and called out, "What... What is this for?". The guard stopped, and without looking back he mumbled... "Your last thoughts", he took a pause, Winston couldn't see it in their faces...