Somewhere in the industrial sector of Torlargrad
In-between the vast smoking pillars of industrial communalism and the 'ever united' working class cultural propaganda rested a multitude of small hovels. Now, the state boasted greatly about their 100% employment and housing programs. However, the conditions of these employments and housings were a different issue. Ivlon was the owner of this specific hovel, one that had the privilege of also housing the only radio for the residence of the small community. At noon, the scheduled break-hour for all industrial workers in Torlargrad, the small hovel would quickly fill with worn industrial labourers, and Ivlon would settle down the grumbling men and turn the radio on for the news...
"Greetings Comrades! Today the entire Union cheers for Comrade-Premier Starlings ever growing Elan-Based Northern Birds! The Northern Birds remain the pride in the skies for the working man and the Northern lands. In fact, after the grand display performed by the Northern Bird Brigade for Comrade-Premier Starling, a composition by the Working Men's Choir and Orchestra was performed about our glorious Union airmen! Glory to Comrade Starling! Glory to the Revolutionary Party! Glory to the Central Committee, and glory to the Union!"
Perhaps it was the bottles of potato-based alcohol being passed about the space, or perhaps it was simply the booming patriotism and praise that came from the Reporter's voice, but the small hovel became deafening with whoops and hollers praising the North and their revolution. Ivlon knew, of course, that this was nothing more than the muddled minds of tired workers showing the only emotion they could still create in their minds... Blind Patriotism. Before she could think further, however, the radio began to play...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DisPLXjp6cI
I was bored and wanted to write something, so I wrote something Orwellian.