Write An Alternate Ending To George Orwell's 1984

Since her exit of the Ministry of Love, things had fallen back into their usual routine. Or what she assumed was her usual routine- her past was peppered with fake memories. Though it had not been long, Julia felt as though she had aged sixty years. Her hair has lost its luster, and the bags under her eyes were reason enough to avoid mirrors. Not to mention the loathsome scar on her forehead that was a constant reminder of the crimes she had committed. She worked in the Ministry of Truth now, a place she had detested before she had been cured. The job had been handed to her, and she hardly did much except sit around. The task of eliminating records bored her. She could feel her brain cells cringing with every reach towards the file cabinet.

One of her comrades walked by, dropping a newspaper dated some weeks back onto her desk. The sound made her flinch, a side effect of being sane. She glanced up into the eyes of the portrait of Big Brother that hung on the wall across from her and felt reassurement.
She picked up her briefcase as a bell sounded, signaling the end of her work day. Julia shivered and walked through the park towards her apartment with her head down. She guessed it was sometime in late March-her least favorite time of year. The grass crunched below her feet and she was again amazed that it could continue to recover and even thrive during the summer months. Julia walked fast with her eyes squinted shut to keep the frosty air from blinding her, but she could feel his gaze. She hoped she was wrong, and that it wasn’t Winston, but she always did seem to have a knack for guessing. She continued to walk, even picking up her speed. She did not want to see him. With Winston came trouble. But as she shouldered the cold, she resigned herself. A part of her yearned to see him, to see how he had changed. She turned a corner and found herself facing him. They stood a few paces apart. He moved his hand to reach around her waist and she did not flinch. She had expected that. She remained rigid. He looked her up and down and the distaste was plain on his face.
They walked back across the grass and Julia looked him in the eyes for the first time since the Ministry of Love.

She no longer felt the rush of rebelliousness that she had once been so addicting. She now only felt shame. She had the sudden urge to punch Winston. It was his fault that O’brien had been so disappointed in her, his fault that she had strayed away from the The Party, and his fault that she shrank back at the glances of her comrades, always riddled with guilt. But she could also thank him. It was his fault that she now looked at the pictures of Big Brother with pride. She chose to remain silent.

Winston walked towards an iron bench, Julia instinctively in tow. They did not speak. She fidgeted and crushed a twig with her foot.

“I betrayed you.” Julia took herself by surprise with the phrase, not realizing until that moment that a confession had been in place for some time. He repeated it back with a similar tone. For some reason, despite her dislike for the man to her left, she felt compelled to expand; to justify the blatancy of her first statement. Julia felt herself rambling about the motives behind her betrayal and quickly decided to end her sermon with something that could be taken as an accusation, but she meant as a matter of fact.

“All you care about is

yourself.”
“All you care about is yourself,” he echoed her for the second time in their short conversation.
Neither of them felt the need to apologize for their actions. They agreed that there were no feelings between the two, yet they also agreed that a second meeting was in order. As soon as the conversation ended, it occurred to Julia how desperately cold she was. Her fist seemed to be frozen shut around her briefcase and she could no longer feel her toes.
“I have to catch my Tube.” she said rather quickly and sprung up to leave. Winston seemed to have taken it upon himself to escort her to the station. Julia walked fast. She weaved through small crowds of people, rather clumsily dodging children that barely came to her upper thigh, their faces already looking older than they should have, and found herself walking alone once again.
Julia unlocked her apartment, struggling with the lock a bit. The thing had been a problem since she moved in, but she was not bothered enough to file a report, knowing full-well that those things went straight into the trash. Blowing a loose strand of hair from her face with a puff, she gave the door a final shove and toppled into the entryway. She tossed her briefcase rather unceremoniously onto the couch and planted herself beside it. On the coffee table, next to the newest edition of the Newspeak Dictionary, was a half-full cup of Victory Gin. She assumed it was fairly recent, though she had seemed to develope an awful habit of leaving partial glasses throughout the living space. She picked it up and gave it a sniff, more out of habit than anything, knowing that she would drink it despite the reek. She ran her fingers over the scar on her temple mindlessly while she thought about the encounter with Winston. She was careful to keep her face blank seeing as the telescreen had a clear view of the couch, though Julia suspected that the Party had stopped watching her ages ago; she was no longer a threat to the government- she was sane now.
Julia thought about Winston’s last suggestion of a second meeting. She had agreed without hesitation, but the gin seemed to clear her jumbled thoughts enough to reach an awareness- if she ever saw Winston again, she would turn him in as a criminal. He must have some sort of anti-Party motives to arrange another conference, and she had no choice but to put a stop to it. She pitied Winston. The poor man must not have been completely cured.
Oh well, she thought, I will do what I must. She drained the glass and picked up the Newspeak Dictionary, each addition slimmer than the last, and gazed lovingly into the eyes of Big Brother that glared up from the cover. Julia felt content. She loved Big Brother. And Victory Gin, a realization she made when she caught sight of her empty glass out of the corner of her eye.