13 O’clock

It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Yes, you heard right. I said the clocks were striking thirteen. In case you somehow missed the announcement, the government, in an effort to increase productivity among the labor class, has restructured the way it measures time. No, this is not an April Fool's joke. From now on, there will be twenty-six hours in a day. Lunch will begin precisely at thirteen o’clock and end exactly at thirteen-twenty. Anyone caught malingering past the appointed time must work an extra two hours without pay. This change will benefit the entire population. “So, say the one! So, say we all!”

“This actually is an April Fool’s joke, right? George.”

“No, Winston, this is for real. All the clocks are being retrofitted to show the new way of telling time.”

“So, you’re telling me that our illustrious leaders ignored the rotation of the Earth around the Sun? They will disregard the laws of physics and time, just to squeeze an extra couple hours of work out of us. All in the name of the greater good, I suppose?”

“Not so loud, Winston. You know there are listening posts everywhere.”

“You know, George, I really don’t give a damn if they hear me. All this walking on eggshells just to ensure we don’t offend our imperious leader, The One, has gotten very old. If he was a genuine leader, he’d meet with all the people, and not just his close circle of rich friends. Be honest with me, George, you have to be tired of our way of life?”

He never had the opportunity to hear George’s reply. Two men in thought police uniforms emerged from behind a “Hale to our Glorious Leader” billboard, grabbed Winston, and manhandled him into a waiting van. He sat in the van shackled, gagged, and blindfolded. He didn’t need to see where they were taking him. Winston was positive his captors would drop him at the Center for Reeducation.

The van stopped and, still blindfolded, Winston was hustled along what felt like a long corridor. He was pushed into a room and forced into an uncomfortable wooden chair. It was only after they cuffed him to the chair that the blindfold and gag were removed. What he saw boggled his mind. Instead of a room filled with torture devices and people chained to walls, the classically trimmed room sported gold inlaid wall decorations and overstuffed chairs. An ornate ebony desk sat at the far end of the room with one man standing beside it.

“In case you don’t recognize me, my name is B. S. Advance, second in command to The One. Mr. Winston Smyth, you are here because The One sees potential in you. I normally agree with everything he says, but not in your case. I find you to be a despicable, childless dog man who is doing nothing to ensure the security of our great country. The Great One wants to speak to you about his time change plan. You are the only one that has questioned it. The rest of us have said, it’s a beautiful plan. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Before Winston could answer, a large door at the other end of the room opened, and in walked The One, wearing his trademark: blue suit and red tie. He gave a perplexed look at Winston and then asked B. S., “Who is this loser and why is he here? I don’t play golf with riffraff, you know that.”

“He’s not here to play golf, sir. He has some questions about your new time measuring plan.”

“It’s a beautiful plan! Much better than the old plan. Everyone says so. What’s your problem with it, whoever you are?”

“My name is Winston, and your plan won’t work. At some point, the middle of the day will be in the middle of the night. Can you play golf in the dark?”

“B. S. you’re fired! Everyone, put the clocks back the way they were, just fix it.”

“So says The One, so say we all!”

“Winston, do you play golf?”

“No, sir.”

“Good, somebody I can finally beat without having to cheat. Follow me.”