ReWritten History

1984
By George Orwell
 

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous
face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current  was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up,
and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster
with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.

1984

Rewritten, rephrased and replenished

from the original novel produced By George Orwell

In the beginning it was one of those sparkling bright days in April that are bitterly cold and all the clocks downtown were striking thirteen in unison with only one of them slightly off-sync. Winston Smith had his chin nuzzled deep into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind as he hurried along the denuded sidewalk. He slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, but he wasn't fast enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from being sucked along with him.

The dark hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and damp old rag mats. At one end of the hallway a coloured poster had been tacked to the wall, being too large for indoor display. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a yard wide and almost 2 yards tall. This was the face of a man of somewhere around 40 years old, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston kept his eyes averted from the poster as he made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. It never had worked well, it was whispered, even when first installed. 3 years later and even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours any way. Cutting off the electric current was part of the economy drive surging up in preparation for Hate Week.

The flat was seven flights up, and Winston went slowly, pausing often to rest. Just a few days ago another birthday had caught up with him. Winston was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle.

On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.

Any work in the public domain can be overhauled in the same manner. Is there any real reason why Treasure Island can't be found in the HoneyCombs of Mars?