George Orwell's 1984
A satirical piece I wrote for the Not Quite Write Podcast
For NQW’s second round of flash fiction, I decided to do a satire regarding the West’s strange ability to control the narrative of anything they find embarrassing or sheds any negative light on the supposed glorious Western Empire. The prompts for this competition were: Include the word “disco,” incorporate the name of a dance move, and have an action that can be interpreted as “freaking out.”
I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the comments below:
George Orwell’s 1984
“Alright, sir,” the officer says. “First, we’re gonna do a heel-toe step test.”
“Ugh, can’t I take the breathalyzer?” I plead. I’ve only had one beer, after all.
“No. It’s waiting on repairs. Now, pay atten –”
That’s when a giant, discoidal spacecraft about the size of a small warehouse drops from the night sky like a fucking meteor, crashing onto the road beside us with a terrible, grinding screech.
“Holy shit!” I yell, covering my ears. “Did you see that?”
“Um. See what?” He says, brushing debris off his pants.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I point to the ship and gesture at the jagged chunks of asphalt forming a semi-crater around it. Dirt and metallic dust glitter in the moonlight like falling snowflakes. The smell of hot metal burns my throat.
“Sir, are you okay?”
I feel my jaw drop. Am I going crazy? No. I glance once more at the wreckage, then turn back to the officer looking at me as though I’d stated windmills cause cancer. He seems to be intentionally avoiding looking at anything but me.
“You don’t see that spaceship right there?” I splutter, gesturing wildly.
“There’s nothing there, sir,” he calmly replies, and is suddenly very interested in straightening the silver badge pinned to his shirt.
“My god, man! Are you fucking blind?!” My eyes bulge. They might pop out of my head soon, if this uniformed idiot doesn’t start making sense. I know I shouldn’t scream at a cop, but I can’t help myself. “Use your fucking eyes, goddammit!” I start hopping back and forth like a toddler playing on a mattress, using both hands to point. “It’s right here!”
Before he can respond, the chop of helicopter blades approaches from the west. Next thing I know, two dozen feds dressed in fancy suit pants and pressed white shirts are clambering out and setting up a perimeter. One of them, a young blond woman with a severe expression, beckons to the officer and me.
“Officer,” she says. “Take your car north and redirect traffic to the nearest alternative route. We’ve already blocked off the southbound.” He half-salutes and walks away without a word, but I notice he glances over his shoulder at the spacecraft as he does. The fed turns her gaze on me. “Sir, you need to go home. Someone from the Bureau will contact you tomorrow morning.”
I swallow mingled relief and excitement and nod. “Can you believe it? A real alien!”
She raises an eyebrow. “Alien? That’s quite imaginative, sir, but I assure you that’s just a downed hot air balloon.”
The excitement bleeds out of me like oil into a drain pan. Confused, I take another questioning look at the wreckage. It doesn’t look like a hot air balloon, but...
“Are you sure?”
Her nod is firm. Confident. “Just a hot air balloon.”
I shake my head, blow a breath in my palm, and sniff it. Then heel-toe step all the way to my car.