Trouble with Ofwarren

Today in the hallway I turned a corner and bumped into Ofwarren. Her huge round plump stomach seemed to boast all by itself; as if Ofwarren needed the extra help... We were on the way to lunch so there were others walking in the hallway who made a low murmur that seemed to consume all around us. Ofwarren seemed smug and almost as if instinct, she was prepared to say something rude to me, as if to defend herself. She knows though, that I am above her, and quickly bowed her head as soon as she knew it was me and shut her mouth. A sense of power swept through my body as my posture straightened. If the handmaids aren’t careful they are going to get themselves punished by speaking out against us. Ofwaren has been overconfident lately because of her belly. That is no excuse, they need us, the handmaids wouldn’t know what to do without us. The handmaids get anxious sometimes, that is why we are here, to keep them in their place.

Day one...fun stuff

Tall and lanky, broad shoulders and a long neck. My dirty light brown hair was tied tightly in a neat bun while a few long wavy wisps rested on my shoulders. I felt around in my navy blue dress pockets for my cigarettes. My waist was thick, and my I could feel the wrinkles and sags skin of my old tired body through the thin fabric of my pocket. My spindly fingers shook the packet violently and a cigarette appeared. Reaching for my lighter I realized how thin and weary my arms were. All day I had been weeding in my garden; much more work than what was usually required of a commanders wife. Usually I liked to sit by my window and knit scarves for the Angles. Ive gotten good with my knitting needles. Sitting in my rocking chair, making pine trees or elaborate flowers was what I spent most of my time doing. The Angles must like the intricate scarves we make for them. My rocking chair is positioned so that I can overlook a small meadow when the sun is just coming over the distant hills. Most mornings I wake up and knit for an hour. I always always am up particularly early because of my constant dreams. A shutter falls over me as I light my cigarette, and I am forced to make a retched noise as i start coughing uncontrollably. Never the less after the coughing spell is over I take a deep drag on my cigarette and let it out slowly in a line of smoke. My dream, I recall, is always the same. I am always in a dark room. I can feel the anxiety and tension building up, I don't know how large or small the room is. Suddenly there is a light, and my I can see beautiful husband in the distance. I start running. Faster and faster until I am completely out of breath yet I must keep going. I need to keep running. After the pain and the sweat, my heart is running wild. I am right there with him but then he turns away from me. I pause for a moment and take another slow drag on my cigarette. Slowly I let the smoke drift from my mouth, and bow my head in remembrance. Its always painful to think about, it always hurts. My husband, my love is turning away from me, i keep going forward but suddenly i cant go any farther. I try harder and harder but the more i struggled the farther away he seemed to drift off. Finally I have to watch him reject me, turning away for i am too exhausted to go on. It seems like sleeping is the most painful part of the day. Glancing at my cigarette once more I toss into the ashtray. A sigh of worry crosses my chest, and it pains momentarily. Thinking about such things should not be permitted, especially by a commanders wife. We were only instructed to do what we were told, not to ponder our dreams. With a shake of my head I stood up taller, raised my chin upwards and turned around and obediently moved out my door to go down to the dinner.