Echoes of the Red Cloak

Rain was relentlessly assaulting the earth, the rat-tat-tat of water droplets against the windows like a dystopian soundtrack to our reality. It was a grim and yet comforting notion, a reminder that nature continued on, oblivious and unaffected by our societal decay. I sat by the window, the crimson cloak of my attire a stark contrast to the oppressive grey buildings outside. As a Handmaid under Gilead, this cloak was the emblem of my shackles, an obvious label for my role in this new order.

Not too far, I saw another Handmaid, Mariana, her bonnet lowered, her eyes cast down, her cloak a river of red. We were nothing more than walking wombs, our identities stripped, our names replaced, our freedoms annulled. But, Mariana and I had a shared secret, a thin thread of rebellion: our names. We had refused to forget our real names, a small act of defiance against a regime that sought to erase our individualities.

The rain brought back memories of the time 'before', and I found myself yearning for those days. The 'before' where my name was Elise, mother to a vibrant daughter, wife to a loving man, a woman of volition. But now, I was Ofwarren, owned by a Commander whose name was Warren. I was reduced to a vessel, a surrogate.

The 'before' was now a dangerous dream, it could offer solace just as easily as it could sow seeds of despair. It was inviting to dwell in the past, to escape the dire present. But it was also a trap, a lure that underscored the desolation of the current reality.

Yet, I found solace in the sound of the rain, the lull of its rhythm, the whispering promises of change it seemed to bring. It felt like nature’s own rebellion against the catastrophic human order, a defiant assertion of its own indomitable existence.

My thoughts were interrupted by a deliberate knock. Mariana. We exchanged glances, our communication reduced to mere looks, the fear of discovery keeping us silent. A shared sense of sorrow and resilience passed between us, our identities buried under red cloaks but our will uncrushed. For we were still Elise and Mariana, and we refused to forget. The rain continued to pour, a tangible reminder of an unperturbed world beyond ours. And with every droplet, I felt a strengthening resilience, a growing defiance, an unwavering hope. Gilead had our bodies but not our minds. Not yet.