Write An Alternate Ending To George Orwell's 1984

She stepped slowly from the doorframe, letting the light touch her old and faded face as if it were the sun that was to appreciate her presence. She hardly went on walks when I was around. She’d always just stay in and moan about it being too bright. I definitely remembered this old hag. And if you think 'old hag' was a bit of a harsh term, I am more than willing to argue. Despite her frail appearance and gentle expression, I know what truly lied behind the facet of wrinkles. Stubborn and headstrong like that of a wild boar, with a tongue so sharp, one could nearly be sliced in two if Katherine believed you to be worth her time in the very least, let alone bothered to utter a word to you at all. As a boy, I had the misfortune of continuously
falling victim to the old woman's harsh remarks. She looked so innocent, and peaceful, like she’d never swat a fly. There was always a comment here and there about my unkempt hair, or the way I dressed, walked and talked. It didn't matter if I was in his Sunday best with my face all washed and hair all nice and combed; Katherine always managed to find something wrong, from the way I held a fork right down to the way I used to butter my toast. Nonetheless I loved her then, and I love her now. I hate myself for it. I remember the night she killed me. She spoke to me in a coldness I'd never heard before, her weakened voice maniacally whispering to herself “I don't just want to kill you, Winston, I want to take you by the head and slowly bash it into the wall until your Goddamn head falls off.
I want to hear your cries and gasps for air as drown you, no-one will be able to hear your screams. I don't care if you're sorry anymore, Winston. You’re always sorry, and I don't want to hear it. You should have told me all that shit back when it could have made a difference, back when I loved you so much, and I would have gladly died in your place. You took what was beautiful in me and made it into what it fucking is today. I hope you're proud, it's all your handiwork.” She grinned showing yellowed tea stained teeth, her grey beautiful eyes wider than any sane persons should be. She ran her hands which were frail and caution as if she was almost scared of herself, shaking gently as she reached for the back of my head. Her hands were not ghostly but rather, just subdued and greyish. I think that's the first time I realized how vulnerable she was and how much of a toll I had mentally taken on her. I had no clue why she was doing this, she had never threatened me before. Of course we had my troubles, I had a trouble with gambling in the past, but I stopped for
her. I bought the farm for her, it had always been her dream besides from having a family, she was devastated when she found out I wasn’t able to give her children. She dragged my semi-unconscious body to the lake near the barn, I dunked my head under the water. I was too weak Darkness surrounded me, filling my body with a deep dread. I held her breath as long as I possibly could, too long in fact. Red and black splotches danced in front of me and I couldn't remember if her eyes were opened or closed. The coldness I had felt upon entering the water was completely gone. A desperate hot wave had come over me, warming my frosted toes. My heart was beating rapidly in panic. I felt Katherine’s hands begin to loosen around my nape of neck. The urgency for air was more apparent than ever. There weren't red blotches in my field of vision anymore. It was all black. My opened her mouth, gasping for air under the water. That is the last memory I have. This world I live in now, it gives into sights and sounds of horror. It is as if I were walking in the street and a truck ran me down emotionally. The Katherine I fell in love with is gone, but I am still here, trapped in this never ending hell, watching her every move. However I always ask myself, "How can that be?" Watching life continue, as I sit in this corrupted ebony well. It impacts every part of my being, or what’s left of it. I’m unable to think straight, the constant lingering runs on forever. To call it "walking in a daze," doesn't approach the dark clouds that amass inside my mind. There is a mental tornado in there, which no-one can see. No-one can even see me. This is my new reality.