User:Quipp/An Empty House

An Empty House
Thomas’ father was the treasurer of their block, as such; it afforded him certain superfluous privileges to the normal tenant. Chief among which was the slightly rotten grey door that hung at the ingress to their bedroom. This addition was unusual, as their crumbling apartment in Victory Mansions did not have a telescreen situated in his parent’s bedroom. This haven provided a unique window for the Parson’s; a place where one could be alone with their thoughts. However, ‘security makes people careless’; he had learnt at a Spies meeting last month. He could use that against him.

Tom sat at the end of his bed, silently loading and subsequently unloading his beloved catapult. His father had threatened to take it off him if he ever shot it at anyone again, like he did to his furtive neighbour ‘Smith’. Something flittered in his developing peripheral vision. He turned to investigate; his sister was repositioning her new Spies banner for the thousandth time that day. It’s slightly shiny scarlet edging giving the room a familiar feel.

Their mother came into their room later that day, carrying with her two bowls of eerily greyish soup. They never ate at the table in the living room, it was constantly covered with dirty crockery and old books; which made the room seem in a state of constant overflow. Tom adored his mother, she didn’t yell at him like his dad. An almost fearful look at the two children as she left to room was somehow translated into admiration in the minds of the occupants. ‘Mum would be better off with dad.’ Tom ventured to his sister between mouthfuls of his soup. ‘We would be better off.’ ‘Better off.’ She mimicked, as liquid dribbled down her chin and onto her lap. The scarlet banner flittered at the edge of his vision again. ‘Spies’. The word entered his brain, as a somewhat vicious smile graced his face.

The crushed sleeping pills that Tom had procured at his Spies meeting earlier that day found their way into that evening’s meal. Soup, again, but pale green this time. Even though it was only eighteen hundred hours, both of his parents made their way to their bedroom, each yawning multiple times as the door slowly closed behind them, the hinge creaking in loud protest as it did so. Even his sister soon felt sleepy at the lack of entertainment that annoying their parents provided, and shortly after, followed and made her way to her bed. Tom waited, listening to the latest military triumph blaring excitedly out of the living room telescreen. An hour passed, after which he softly knocked on his parent’s door with one hand, while the other held an ear trumpet against the keyhole. Nothing stirred in the room, so he silently slid the door open; taking care not to let the rusted hinges screech at the disturbance. Tom slinked towards the bed where both his parents peacefully lay asleep. A disused pair of his dad’s bland blue earmuffs were placed gingerly over his mother’s ears. A precaution against the next part of his plan.

There had been stories in the news recently of Eastasian spies breaking into people’s homes and talking to the sleeping occupants. Apparently, this had caused two hundred people to have criminal thoughts against the party over the last week alone. Luckily, the culprit, a once high-ranking member of the inner-party had quickly been caught, and the string of crimes had come to an abrupt end. Tom was going to use this to his advantage. He climbed slowly onto the bed, mouth moving within a centimetre of his father’s slightly sweaty left ear. He was just about to start his administrations, but suddenly realised that the door still lay open behind him. However unlikely it might be, he couldn’t chance the telescreen in the next room hearing him. The door slid closed with a dull thud and Tom repositioned himself by his father’s head. ‘Down with Big Brother.’ He began whispering softly into the stout man’s ear.

Three days later, and the charade continued. Tom silently waited by his parent’s closed door, earmuffs slung around his neck, his fair hair hiding the dark blue outline, and an ear trumpet held against the door. He repeated his knocking exercise, listening intently for any signs of movement within. That’s when he heard it. ‘Down with Big…’ A male voice had murmured. His heart rate increased drastically. This was it, he thought to himself. He opened the door slowly, looking into the darkness as his dad once again muttered the phrase, this time in its complete form. ‘Down with Big Brother.’ Tom turned abruptly, striding swiftly towards the room he shared with his younger sister. Shaking her slender shoulder as she lay in her bed, her eyes flittered open. ‘What?’ The drawn out, incredulous response came thick as treacle. ‘Quickly, dad is a thought-criminal!’ He replied back, his excitement clearly amplified in his voice.

The next day was an interesting one. He had let his little sister turn in their father. She had gone out first thing and approached a patrol in the next street over. His father had promptly been arrested. His sister was beaming; Tom had wanted her to be the one to turn in their dad, after all, she had agreed with him that they would be better off with just their mother. Mother, however, was less than thrilled when the pills had worn off and she had heard of what had happened. She sat for the rest of the day, a fearful expression clear as tears silently rolled down her soft face leaving sorrowful lines. Tom was sure she would get over it shortly, he slept comfortably that night, safe in the knowledge that his beloved mother was looking over him.

He awoke to a snoring sister, and an empty house.