Willy Martinez's Blog, page 38

1984 by George Orwell – Synopsis

1984 by George Orwell is a dystopian novel that explores themes of totalitarianism, government control, and individual freedom. 1984 by George Orwell is a powerful and thought-provoking dystopian novel that delves into the themes of totalitarianism, government control, and individual freedom.

1984 Overview

The story takes place in a future world where a single ruling party holds absolute power over citizens’ lives, constantly monitoring their every move through advanced technology. This oppressive regime seeks to eliminate all dissent and enforce conformity, leading to the suppression of free thought and speech. The novel follows the protagonist Winston Smith as he questions the government’s propaganda and secretly rebels against its control.

As he becomes more aware of the party’s corruption, he faces unimaginable consequences for his actions. Orwell’s depiction of a society ruled by fear and oppression offers an insightful commentary on political systems that prioritize power over individual rights.

The novel serves as a stark reminder of the importance of preserving freedom in our society today. Overall, 1984 is an unforgettable literary masterpiece that challenges readers to question authority and fight for their rights as individuals.

1984 by George Orwell – Synopsis of 1st Half

The first half of George Orwell’s 1984 introduces the oppressive world of Oceania, where the government controls every aspect of citizens’ lives through surveillance, propaganda, and thought control. The story follows Winston Smith, a low-ranking member of the ruling Party, who begins to question the reality of the world around him and rebels against the government’s control.

The novel opens with Winston’s diary entries, where he expresses his frustrations and doubts about the Party’s propaganda and the oppression of individual freedom. He becomes obsessed with the idea of rebellion and begins to secretly write against the government in his diary.

Winston’s life changes when he meets Julia, a fellow Party member who shares his desire to rebel. They begin an affair and start to meet in secret to discuss their shared discontent with the government. Winston also encounters O’Brien, a member of the Inner Party who he believes is a member of a secret resistance movement against the government.

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As Winston becomes more involved in his rebellion, he starts to experience the dangers of speaking out against the government. He is caught by the Thought Police and taken to the Ministry of Love, where he is tortured and brainwashed until he denounces his rebellious thoughts and confesses his crimes against the Party.

The first half of 1984 establishes the themes of government control, propaganda, and oppression, and introduces the characters who will play critical roles in Winston’s journey towards rebellion. It also sets the stage for the novel’s second half, where Winston’s rebellion against the government will reach its climax.

If you are enjoying the synopsis of 1984 by George Orwell, please visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.

1984 by George Orwell – Synopsis of 2nd Half

The second half of George Orwell’s 1984 continues to follow Winston Smith’s journey of rebellion against the oppressive government of Oceania. After being brainwashed and tortured at the Ministry of Love, Winston is released and returns to his former life, but he is a changed man. He has learned to love Big Brother, the leader of the Party, and has lost his desire for rebellion.

However, Winston’s newfound loyalty to the Party is tested when he encounters Julia again. She too has been brainwashed and has lost her rebellious spirit, but they briefly reconnect and reminisce about their past rebellion. Winston also meets with O’Brien again, who reveals that he is a loyal member of the Inner Party and was merely pretending to be part of a secret resistance movement.

Winston’s final rebellion against the government comes when he is caught by the Thought Police for thoughtcrime and is taken to the Ministry of Love once again. There, he is tortured and brainwashed until he fully accepts the government’s propaganda and denounces his own rebellious thoughts. In the novel’s chilling conclusion, Winston is shown to have fully embraced the Party’s ideology and has become a loyal citizen of Oceania.

1984 is a powerful and haunting novel that explores themes of government control, propaganda, and the dangers of totalitarianism. It serves as a warning against the dangers of allowing a government to exert too much control over its citizens and reminds us of the importance of preserving individual freedom and the right to rebel against oppression.

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Never forget

Never forget

6 Reasons To Buy Books Written By Indie Authors

#1 The Author Owns The Story – When you buy an indie book, you’re supporting a book that was written entirely by the author (and not altered by a big publishing company). No one else took the story and tweaked it in ways that would make it more marketable or more “readable” to a wider […]

6 Reasons To Buy Books Written By Indie Authors

Never Forget

I have waited 20 years to have this opportunity to visit the Global War on Terror Wall and have a beer with you. Until Valhalla

#neverforget

“Flora” Short Story by Willy Martinez Part 2

Mad Men is a collection of three disturbing horror shorts from writers from the Midwest, specifically, Illinois. The themes explored in this collection range from man versus self, man versus man, and man versus creature.

“Flora” by Willy Martinez is the author’s first short story written for publication. It is included in the Mad Men anthology. Mad Men is a collection of three disturbing horror shorts from writers from the Midwest, specifically, Illinois. The themes explored in this collection range from man versus self, man versus man, and man versus creature.

We will be releasing the full short story in three parts. If you enjoy it and want to support the author or read the full anthology, check it out at Barnes and Noble.

Flora Part 2:

Remembering his epic find from traversing the steep ravines from earlier, the big man pulled from his bag a viola sagittate, or, arrowleaf violet, if the reader will.

Noticing his glass empty of juice and only holding the soaked left-over fruits, he lifts the glass up to the dim light at his small table to scan for the fruit mix. Pleasing him, he fills his big mouth with the leftover contents, snorting through his nose as he douses the batch. He lowers the glass to look over towards the bar area to hunt down the waitress. But it was her that was doing the hunting, she had been standing there, watching the hog devour his drink. Having observed this disgusting scene, she convinces herself to go for it. Before he can even blink, she begins walking towards him, smiling, with a fresh pitcher in one hand, and an empty glass in the other.

As he fumbles for a napkin to clean the red dripping sangria from his lips she arrives at the table – she exaggerates a sweep of her tongue over her lip, accentuating her understanding of his red slobber. “I won’t need a new glass young lad…” – “it’s for me” she grumbles as she sits down across from him. From her black apron she pulls out a pack of cigarettes red, and a lighter, slouching as she lights one up and take a deep puff, suspending the end of the breath. She looks him in his eye, and she smirks at him. The gentlemen that he is, he pours her a glass prior to refilling his own.

“Are you familiar with the flora of this area, I find it to be as beautiful, but not as divine as you” he announces to her with a look of sureity. Leaning forward to ash her cigarette, she flicks the burnt ends into the glass he had poured for her, but at least she turns her head to the side so as not to blow smoke in his face.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me about it,” replies the tall, blue eyed blonde. She wore her work hair in a high ponytail, but she was beautiful to him; her face was scarless and despite her slim figure, she wore full lips – the kind one nibbles on after a long kiss, he thought to himself.

From afar, the barista and the cook watch the two juxtaposed from one another – the girl on the left, slim and pretty, and on the right was the pig, round and obscene. Looking past the two, the large winery window backdrop offers the cook a plan. The flashes of lightning are followed by loud crashing thunderous sounds, rattling the small establishment. The barista takes a puff and looks over to the cook – without speaking, they nod to one another.

If you are enjoying “Flora,” visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.

“I love these hills, the rows of grapevines painted alongside the woods and pond are all that I know” she says with adoration. Seeing her come alive, the man gets excited and attempts to readjust his posture to a more refined manner when the sudden movements cause doubt. His balance was edgy, even on the chair. Which was normal from time to time for a man of this girth, but his vision was also slightly blurred. Once his vision returns to focus on her beauty with clarity, he looks down at his glass wondering if the sangria is affecting him already – surely not, it’s only his second pitcher.

Immediately noticing his lapse in balance and self-awareness, the waitress began to cackle loudly at him. Mid laugh, the lights flickered and they both stopped to look at one another. “It’s just the storm, don’t worry about it,” she says as she scoots her chair up closer to the table. He turns his head towards the large window to confirm if there was in fact a storm outside.

To sound as if he was consciously present, “strange” he says as he noticed the rain had now slowed down and the clouds were beginning to either pass or clear up.

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She learns that the closer she got to him, the more rancid his scent became. “I’ll show you,” she tells him, as if to distract him from making sense of the situation. Something felt strange to the man, not only did he feel lighter in weight, but he finally began to wonder why this pretty little thing was sitting with him. He glances back at her as she puts the cigarette butt out in the drink.

“Show me what?” he asked her with attitude. Or was it anxiety?

“Where to find more of those pretty little flowers” she announced. She took another deep breath so as not to smell him and moved even closer to him. She slid off her right shoe and laid her right leg over her left knee, extending it towards the man. As she began brushing her soft toes along the inside of his thighs he shot up in surprise. Having to use the table to balance himself, he looks at her dimly lit smile and demands, “what did you put in my” – at that moment the light goes off.

“That damn thunder, I tell you” she says to him as if to plant scenes into his head. But he didn’t recall any thunder. She stands up directly across from him, pushing her arms out onto the table, mimicking his stance, trying to be cute. “So, let’s go” she demands.

Not quite understanding and not quite having many options in his current state of mind, he convinces himself to stay the course of spontaneity and to continue his education on the flora of the area. The ogre follows the fawn along the path of darkness to discovery. Using her cell phone’s flashlight to lead the way towards the back door, they pass through the kitchen. They could hear the slight shhiikt of what sounded like two knives being rubbed against one another to create friction – were knives being sharpened? The cook is standing there in the dark, lonely, and only the cherry of his cigarette was visible until she briefly shines the light in his direction, but only illuminating his lower half before she points the light forward again.

Turning back to him she says, “Just through here, down by the pond,” pleasantly as ever as she picks up her pace to a sweet skipping. He no longer needs her to illuminate the way, even though the moon was only halfway shinning, it was enough to reveal the tops of the vineyard’s bountiful beauty. The rows of grapevines flowing North to South, 25 meters just within his sight. The stream he heard flowed along the same direction, and the recent rains empowered the current. The soft undulating sound of the stream called him in – his eyes followed the stream towards the grapevine structures. His eyes then focused on the soft light created by her cellphone, leading him down a path between two rows. As heavy as his feet had now become in the thick mud, he easily followed her. Holding his hands and arms out to the sides, stretching along the path he pretended he could feel the leaves of each side, the softness of the leaves mixed with the plumpness of the occasional grape. The sensations were overwhelming, and he didn’t know what to make of it, he really didn’t know what to make of anything at this point; like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

“Right here,” she says as they exit the final steps of the grapevine row and find themselves on a small patch of land between the grapes and a small pond. Although shaded, the moonlit pond reflected beauty and serenity – a calm after the storm. What looked like tall coniferous trees lined the pond area. Extending from the shoreline appeared to be a small walking dock; it led to a romantic paddle boat ride he thought.

“Are we going on a boat ride,” he asked. But no understandable words came out, rather, it was a slur of syllables mixed with a little dribble – not the first time she had seen him slobber. The grotesque display reinforced her doubts on the matter. She was now his champion, offering him solace from such an embarrassing existence. She took pleasure in explaining this next part:

If you are enjoying “Flora,” visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.

“Here we stand on a bed of weeds, originally native to the central Americas. This species can survive in the temperate climates, and unfortunately, so have you.” She bends down to pick a stem from a small growing bush. Disturbing its leaves disseminated a foul odor unknown even to this man. She holds it closer to his face and its rather dull looking with an average green stem and violet colored, trumpet shaped flower.

“The devils’ snare, otherwise known as thornapple jimsonweed. It causes delirium, affecting both mind and body causing effects perceived to be highly unpleasant, causing a state of profound and long lasting disorientation,” she said with her poker face, no longer caring to smile, grin, or entertain the fat man.

Convincing himself that he fully understands, or is aware of the situation, he mumbles, if only legible to himself, “is it fatal?” When from behind him emerges the cook and the barista. The fat man turns to them. Both look like seasoned butchers as they had emerged from the rows carrying sharp knives and a meat cleaver. All he must do is make it past the two kids wearing what appear to be bloodied white aprons, run through the grapevine rows, and then make it to his car, he thinks to himself. But, “shit, my keys” he announces in coded syllables.

The two vineyard employee males look to one another, “fuck he say?” says one to the other and receives a shoulder shrug in response.

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The ogre makes a break for it – it’s short lived – not even one whole step in an open direction and the girl kicks his feet from under him. He flops forward, shooting towards the wet dirt, barely breaking his fall with his hands. The man is too big to get up quickly and the hallucinogenic has him second guessing his depth perception. He’s just too slow – the curly haired cook doesn’t skip a beat, pouncing on his meal as he thrusts a sharp butcher knife into the fat man’s hand, piercing in one end and out through the palm of his right hand, impaling it into the earth. He shrieks in pain, or was it surprise as he wonders to himself if this is really happening to him. He looks down at his hand and perceives the blood to be slowly oozing out, thick as syrup. He attempts to use his left hand to yank out his right arm and hand from impalement, but he’s either too weak or too high. He sobs uncontrollably, once again beginning to drool on himself, creating oozing snot bubbles.

“Hurry up” she tells the two, “You guys know how much a man’s fear can ruin the meat!”

Just then, the barista walks up to the prostrated man and says, “for the betterment of our society,” and proceeds to hit him directly on the temple with the blunt end of the meat cleaver.

They agreed it was a melancholy subject for him to be taking up room in their establishment.

If you are enjoying this short fiction, make sure to subscribe to receive the remaining two sections. Visit our blog at The Ritual.

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“Flora” Short Story by Willy Martinez Part 1

“Flora” by Willy Martinez is the author’s first short story written for publication. It is included in the Mad Men anthology. Mad Men is a collection of three disturbing horror shorts from writers from the Midwest, specifically, Illinois. The themes explored in this collection range from man versus self, man versus man, and man versus creature.

We will be releasing the full short story in three parts. If you enjoy it and want to support the author or read the full anthology, check it out at Barnes and Noble.

Flora by Willy Martinez

Not wanting the day’s adventure to end, he drove up the windy roads through the hills to find a spot to take it all in and boast of his accomplishment. He had to drive slowly because the weight of the passenger pulled the car down low, and these country roads were not meant for old low riders. The car smelled putrid, stinking like old bandages wrapped around a large sack of meaty fluid. It was an extremely hot day and the humidity coupled with hours of hiking were not favorable to this already sweaty skin bag.

The man pulled up at twilight, flicking on his high beams as this evening darkened. An irregular occurrence, he had spent this late afternoon hiking along the limestone bluffs on the pine hills.  As of late, this heavy-set man had become interested in nature and spontaneity, so in his possession, he had a picture book of the common flora of this region. Upon pulling up his destination he noticed there was only one other vehicle in the lot.

Blackened with earth, his boots had left a trail that first caught the bartender’s attention.  The barista wondered if these big prints and dirt trail would lead him to a big man, and they did – once he confirmed his hunch, he called for the waitress. They both now stood behind the bar trying to get a frontal view of the fat man who sat alone, hunching over with a book to his face.  The waitress walked over to take his order, but this fat man had refused any food and only wished to quench his thirst with sangria, and why not, he was trying new things. He sat alone reading his book near a poorly lit window and very little outside ambient light. The weather was shifting and the gathering clouds had seized the sky and were now becoming more and more tumultuous.

You couldn’t see them at first, but behind the ample man, sat a group of five wine connoisseurs who were clearly employees of another vineyard, for they were comparing chardonnays. “I wish these snotty kids would shut up so I can read,” thought the fat man to himself as he surveyed his picture book, studying the various marshland flora.

If you are enjoying “Flora,” visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.

Occupied, this obese simpleton had not noticed the four employees standing behind the bar who was currently in the process of drawing straws. However, this wasn’t a normal game of straws in which the shorter straw drawn accepted the consequence, in this case, the one with the shortest straw would be the one to lead their prey.

The man was about done with his personal pitcher of sangria when the waitress returned with an effulgent smile, captivating the plumper’s mind.  Distracting him from his book, she offered him to taste their new cedar wines which only reverted the man back to his newly found zeal for nature. Trying to impress his waitress, he says, “Did you know that red cedar is more common at the edge of bluffs while yellow” –

“Why is that?” interrupted the tall blonde bartender, piercing through his glasses, right into his eyes.

He fumbled for words while the waitress smiled at him, thinking to herself, “What great steaks this man would make.”  His capacity for analysis was overwhelmed by her beautiful audacity.  Without waiting for more than two quick seconds she walked away, shaking her ass in his stuttering face. In her back pocket rested a white and red striped straw.

Once the group of wine snobs left, the man was once again contemptuous, absorbed by the scientific language of biological sciences and botany. The clouds had now enveloped the rolling hills, the life, and the flora, as the rumblings began to tremble the building, shaking the small orangish light fixture that hung above the man at the table.

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“I can’t do this,” says the waitress to the barista and cook standing behind the bar.

“It’ll be just like last time, why the change of heart now?” asks the barista.

“Told you she wasn’t one of us. We’ll make her next.” Jokes the cook.

“Oh, fuck off. This one is just so nasty. What’s the point anyway?” she replies.

“One less nasty in the world, it’s what Jonathan Swift would’ve wanted,” replies the barista.

“Besides, we’re poor college kids,” jokes the barista.

“You’re the one that chose to waste your time debating philosophy,” says the waitress.

“It’s a modest proposal to prevent this obese man from being a burden to our society,” replies the cook. 

They agreed it was a melancholy subject for him to be taking up room in their establishment.

If you are enjoying this short fiction, make sure to subscribe to receive the remaining two sections. Visit our blog at The Ritual.

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Poe’s Return: Forgetting the Fears of the Modern Age

You know I love Poe. You know I write flash fiction when I’m bored. You should also know that I sometimes write horror with the point of bettering our standard of living. Here is what happens when I mix these three ideologies.

Edgar Allan Poe stood in the middle of the bustling street, his cell phone clutched tightly in his hand. The device beeped and buzzed incessantly, but Poe couldn’t seem to figure out how to answer it. He cursed under his breath, frustrated with the new technology that seemed to be taking over the world.

As he walked down the street, Poe struggled to interact with the people around him. They all seemed so absorbed in their own little worlds, their faces glued to screens. Poe longed for the days when people actually talked to each other and when human connection meant something.

His frustration grew with each passing moment, until finally, he snapped. In his mind, he saw himself committing unspeakable acts of violence against the people around him. He thought about murder, about taking revenge on a world that had left him behind.

But just as quickly as the anger had come, it dissipated. Poe shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He knew that he couldn’t let his frustration get the best of him and that he had to find a way to adapt to this new world.

With a deep breath, Poe pocketed his cell phone and raised his head high. He was Edgar Allan Poe, after all — a master of horror and suspense. He had faced far greater demons than a simple device or the changing social norms. He took solace in the thought that his work had stood the test of time and would continue to do so for generations to come.

As he walked along the street, Poe’s mind wandered, and he began to compose a new story in his head. It was a tale of a man who was tormented by his inability to connect with the world around him. The story was dark and haunting, filled with the kind of imagery that had made Poe famous.

If you are enjoying this flash fiction, visit our blog at The Ritual.

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When he arrived home, Poe sat down at his desk and began to write. The words flowed from his pen, and he lost himself in the story. For a while, he forgot about the cell phone and the people on the street. In that moment, all that mattered was the story, and the way it made him feel.

When he finished writing, Poe sat back in his chair and read over the words. He smiled to himself, pleased with what he had created. The story was a masterpiece, just like all of his other works. He may have struggled with modern technology and social norms, but he knew that his writing would always be relevant, always be appreciated. As he sat there, lost in thought, Poe’s cell phone beeped again. He picked it up and saw that he had a new message. It was from an old friend, someone who he hadn’t spoken to in years. The message was short and simple, just a greeting and an invitation to catch up over coffee. Poe hesitated for a moment, unsure if he wanted to venture out into the world again.

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But then he remembered the story he had just written, and he realized that he couldn’t let his fears hold him back. He replied to the message, accepting the invitation, and felt a sense of relief wash over him. For a moment, he had been lost in the darkness of his own mind, but he had found his way back. He would continue to write, to create, to connect with others. He would not let his fear of the unknown hold him back from experiencing the world around him. And as he walked out of his house and into the bright sunlight, Poe knew that he was not alone. There were people out there just like him, people who struggled with the same issues and fears. But they were also people who could appreciate his writing, who could connect with his stories on a deep and emotional level.

As he sipped his coffee and caught up with his old friend, Poe realized that he had found a new sense of purpose. He would continue to write, create, and connect with others. He would not let modern technology or changing social norms hold him back. He was Edgar Allan Poe, master of horror and suspense, and he would continue to leave his mark on the world.

And as he walked home, feeling a sense of contentment that he hadn’t felt in years, Poe realized that sometimes the scariest things in life were not monsters or ghosts, but the fears that we create within our own minds. But if we face those fears head-on, we can overcome them and find true happiness. And for Poe, that happiness came from his writing and the connections he made through it. He knew that he could never predict the future or control the world around him, but he could control how he reacted to it. And with that thought, he felt a newfound sense of freedom and confidence.

As he sat down at his desk again, ready to start on his next story, Poe smiled to himself. He knew that there would be more challenges and struggles ahead, but he also knew that he had the strength and creativity to face them. And as he picked up his pen and began to write, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation for what the future held. For Edgar Allan Poe, the master of horror and suspense, the world was full of possibilities.

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Mad Men – Part of Our Gothic Summer Giveaway at Barnes and Noble

Gothic Summer Giveaway Sale includes a short horror anthology, “Mad Men.” Simply enter coupon code BNPMADMEN100 at the checkout: Mad Men by A.R. Braun, Matt Leavitt, Willy Martinez | eBook | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Mad Men is a disturbing dark fiction anthology written to better understand the sublime and the infinite strangeness that drives us all. When these writers set out to tell a story, they are less interested in conveying fear and more interested in wonder, the sublime, and the infinite strangeness in which our lives are entrenched.

Mad Men, published by Mind on Fire Books 2020

Mainstream Horror Shorts don’t always satisfy us in the way they should. They don’t open conversations about what we fear, or why we fear such things, they focus mainly on pop culture and gore. The writers in this anthology understand the need for literate horror, opening discussions of man’s psyche.

We start with Matt’s tale, a thought-provoking thriller that causes the reader to question his reality and what he fears within himself. The second tale explores the grotesque juxtaposed with beautiful nature, where the ending unfolds into a horrific dream, waking in even more terrible pain. The third tale is by seasoned horror writer, A.R. Braun – and his diabolical creatures never disappoint!  A.R. Braun’s goal is to be on the banned book list; we think this tale may just be evil enough to be considered. A must-read before it does get banned!

Mad Men is a short three-story horror anthology by A.R. Braun, Matt “Love-it or” Leavitt and Willy Martinez.

Table of Contents

Ch 1. “The Fisherman” by Matt Leavitt
Ch 2. “Flora” by Willy Martinez
Ch 3. “Little Ghoul” by A.R. Braun

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It Was Deep April, and The Morn – Poem by Michael Field

It was deep April, and the morn
Shakspear was born;
The world was on us, pressing sore;
My Love and I took hands and swore,
Against the world, to be
Poets and lovers ever more,
To laugh and dream on Lethe’s shore,
To sing to Charon in his boat,
Heartening the timid souls afloat;
Of judgment never to take heed,
But to those fast-locked souls to speed,
Who never from Apollo fled,
Who spent no hour among the dead;
Continually
With them to dwell,
Indifferent to heaven and hell.

This poem is in the public domain. Poem by Michael Field.

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash.

Thank you for visiting with us. For more poetry or Literature related content, visit our blog at The Ritual.

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Hernando Columbus’s Library

I entered the world of Hernando Columbus and his library when I read The Catalogue of Shipwrecked Books by Edward Wilson-Lee. Hernando Columbus, the son of the explorer credited with discovering America, envisioned a universal library to collect all the books and knowledge available in the 16th century. He conceptualized indexes and catalogues […]

Hernando Columbus’s Library