The Handmaid's Tale, my story submission

Daughters

My name is Mare, and my whole life was planned for me before I was ever born.

I have grown up listening to this my whole life. Born for it as it were. My mother raised me like a porcelain doll, behind glass. Dressed in confectionary pink dresses, I was displayed and taken out to be seen. Like a prize, dangled in front of the mothers of boys that she knew, and deemed worthy of her attention. I was taught etiquette and music, poetry and to write a lovely thank you note. But not to think deeply of the classics or to write my own feelings down. I cannot balance a budget or drive a car. I cannot make my own choices.

When I was old enough for school, we walked two by two in neat lines hoods over our heads even in the summer heat. Long pink dresses covering us like wrapped candies melting in the sunlight. I was taught the basics, how to be submissive. How to talk to a Martha and an Econowife, versus how to talk to my Handmaid. I can get away with being cold and indifferent to the Aunts as well, because of my privilege. The privilege of just being born. There are only a dozen other girls in my class. We weren't shredders or worse at least. Violet's mother had another child once...she told me that Handmaid tried to get rid of it but didn't succeed. She was born early and they all thought she was a miracle baby. Praised be. She wasn't though, she was sickly and tiny. She became a shredder less than a year later and her parents were graciously allowed another Handmaid. A better girl, she told me smugly, secure in her privilege of birth.

Walking home with my guardian I sneak smiles at him. I don't know why. He is older than I but still younger than most. He has been with my family for as long as I can remember, I could hazard to think of him as a brother. But I don't. Mother says that he is poor and unworthy of a wife. But why, I asked her once. She laughed at me and sent me to walk in circles in the dining room repeating beatitudes as my punishment.

Blessed are the meek.

Blessed are the poor in spirit.

Blessed are those that hunger and thirst for righteousness.

Blessed are the pure of heart.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake.

She makes sure I repeat the last one loudly. Of course. I think she took satisfaction that she can make me behave as she sees fit. I don't think she loves me as a person, but as a possession. One of the few she can have. She is my master until I am handed over to my husband. But she cannot rule my mind, which thinks these scary and wild thought. I wonder how many other daughters think beyond what they are told?