Below is a quick story sketch that was inspired by the book and TV show, The Handmaid’s Tale. I guess you can consider it fan fiction. Enjoy, and leave comments below.
Note: I do not claim any characters as my own.
I cannot stand this room, even though the soft blue color scheme is supposed to be calming. It’s quiet except the creaking of the bed. The Commander doesn’t make eye contact. Good. I can’t look him in the eye anyway. I feel disgusted with this procedure, which is not the name for it, but who gives a shit. I have to have some power here.
My partner in this is silent, looking at everything but me. She hates me. I hate her, but here we are. We’re stuck together on this bed as he “gets the job done.” While he is going about his business, I have to occupy my mind. Most of the time, I just let it go blank and go numb until he recedes and exits the room.
Tonight, my mind goes elsewhere. I think back to before, when there was love in my life. We had love for each other. There was no doubt to that, but I don’t know if he still loves me. I don’t think I will ever know. The man I loved is gone. Instead, this newer man stands in front of me, pumping in and out of this woman I hold onto. They said it would help bring more children into our world, give women like me what we wanted.
Nope. I am forced to hold this woman’s wrists as my husband fucks her. He cannot touch me like that or we break the law. We used to kiss, touch, talk, argue before everything. Now, it’s just this.
This thought causes me to dig my nails into the flesh I hold. I suddenly feel pain as she digs into mine, and I swivel my head down. For a brief moment, our eyes lock. Her red shoulders and white-capped head are surround by the blue of my skirt. We just stare at each other, still digging our nails in. For a brief moment, she looks like she could laugh at the absurdity of this moment. I feel the same. At least, she looks like she hates this whole thing.
My gaze is broken as I hear my husband make a small noise as he shutters and stops thrusting. He doesn’t say a thing as he turns away and walks out of the room. She and I just stay there on the bed. I look back at her and release her wrists as she releases mine. She still has a small smile on her lips. I want to smack that smile off her face. The longer I stare, the more the hate I feel for her creeps back up to the surface and makes me sick.
“Get out,” I say and yank skirt out from under her head. She sits up and turns toward me. She seems to want to say something, and she struggles with it. I want to say something, but I can’t. We are enemies on the battlefield, and we have both lost. She stands, smooths her skirt, and quickly leaves. I sit on the bed and wonder where did it all go wrong.