A HandMaid's Diary

A HandMaid’s Diary

Based upon the novel A HandMaid’s Tale by Marguerite Atwood



May 19, 2097
Diary --

It’s mid day and the roads are bumpy. Luke and I are heading for the border. This morning we decided to go, to leave everything behind. Luke had already gathered the passports, gotten things set, but we hadn’t decided on our departure. It had to be unexpected for us, as for the others watching. We had to pretend as we left the front door and headed for the car. We had to be natural. It’s a funny feeling, natural, like surprised, when it is anything except itself. I wonder if anyone noticed.
My daughter is sleeping in the back, buckled and secure. We couldn’t take much of anything, but I managed to save a toy or two for her--a stuffed giraffe and a box of blocks. The giraffe was a gift from Luke on the day she was born, and I just did not have the heart to leave it behind. She’ll be thankful in the long run. I figured the little carved numbers and letters on the blocks could keep her occupied for a while. I cannot lie to you though, I didn’t only pack for her benefit. It is a piece of home.
If I turn my head I can see her there, peaceful; Her little chest moving in rhythm with her breath. I could stare at her forever, still, or at least until Luke calls me silly and makes me face him in embarrassment. It’s an interruption of my serenity, I can tell you that much, but when I see his smile as I turn to him, he is automatically forgiven, and I am calm once again.
I read once of a woman who left love out of impatience and insecurity. She had met a man named Jay Gatsby, who she truly loved, and was separated from him for a time which was only meant to be short. During that time, however, she met a man named Tom Buchanan--a rich, stable fellow--and decided it would be best for her to take the road of easy opportunity. Daisy Buchanan, I believe her name was. I remember thinking of how different we are; how I could never be so self-centered. I would never leave Luke out of selfishness. My morals and goals in life revolve around the people I care for, not around myself.
I managed to gather a few pictures before leaving. I needed something to remind me of Luke just in case. I’ll make sure to stash one away within your pages where I know it’ll be safe.
We’ve only got a couple more miles to go. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I pray for the best. I pray for my daughter, and for Luke. God, I pray for strength.
No matter what happens, diary, I will take you with me.



June 7, 2097

Diary --
We have failed, Luke and I. We have been separated, all of us. I don’t know how they found out about our passports. Maybe it was Mrs. Roberts across the street. She must have seen Luke with the cat and become suspicious. When we left soon after, she must have known. I don’t know where they have gone, where they were taken, Luke and my daughter. I don’t know anything but what is before me--a place called Gilead.
I was picked up by a van with men in military suits. They weren’t the type of suits you would see on a man of honor, but more on a man of force. They told me to sit and stay still. I took their bulky, threatening weapons as a warning not to test them. We drove for what must have been hours, up and down paved roads, dirt roads. We didn’t even stop to go to the bathroom.
There were a wide range of other women sitting with me. Most tried their best to stay motionless, but I did notice the one lady to my right who kept swaying back and forth ever so slightly, in shock. I wanted so badly to rest my arm around her shoulder and tell her that it would all be fine. I wanted to, but there was no use in feeding her lies. I felt for her, for us.
When the van finally stopped we had to walk along the dirt for some time. We passed by a few men, Guardians I believe they’re called, a few gates, a wall. I tried to memorize my shoeprints left in the sand. I’ll retrace, I said in my head as I concentrated on each step. I’ll follow my way right back to Luke. Thinking about it now, it was a stupid thought.
It wasn’t until we made it to another set of guarding bodies that we all formed a line, one behind the other, in front of a brown wooden door. I wasn’t sure what they were doing at first, but as I moved closer I saw a few men in white coats peaking out from the door every so often. I tried to speak to the woman in front of me, then the one behind, but neither of them responded. It was as though they could not hear me, or did not want to. Finally reaching the front of the line, one of the men in the white coats grabbed hold of my arm and led me to the door. Walking in, there was another man, a doctor. He told me to strip myself of my clothes as he inspected. His hands were cold against my skin, and I could feel my hairs sticking up with each chill. It wasn’t too bad, I suppose, considering that I had been checked by other doctors performing physicals in a similar way. Nevertheless, I could not wait for it to be over.
When the doctor was finished he spoke nothing to me. I heard him say to another as I walked out of the room, “Handmaid.” I am not sure what it means, and I am in no hurry to find out. The man he spoke to handed me a slip of paper, and I dressed myself again. I was directed to another line.
The second line was shorter and moved quickly. I could see racks of color hanging in front of me. The sign above the line had a picture of golden lily on it. They gave me a red dress accessorized with a white veil; A uniform. I was placed into a back room where I was to change.
We were allowed a quick second to look at ourselves in a long, thin mirror along the wall. I am concealed, head to toe. My body, my prized possession is now a violation. I feel now like Janie Crawford, a woman from my mother’s tales, covered by cloth of my beauty. Janie’s hair, like my body, is a feared and envied gift that I am forced to mask. Janie’s flowing, long, “white woman” hair is a beauty that others fear. Janie’s husband, Jody Starks, forced Janie to wear a cloth upon her head because he was afraid of others taking too much notice to Janie. He was afraid that it might act as a temptation. Here, my body is the same. It is a temptation to others, and so the ones who control me force me to hide.
I am alone now, sitting in a corner of a dimmed room with other faceless woman. I must be careful not to make myself noticed while with you, and I feel that it should not be too hard of a task to fulfill. I have hid you, thus far, beneath the top of my dress, and there you will be safe until I can find a place more secure. From what I can gather, we are waiting. For what, I am not sure. I heard several men whispering about the assigning of Commanders. The meaning of this you will know as soon as I.



January 12, 2098
Diary --

It has been forever since I have written, and I ask that you forgive me for the carelessness which led to our separation. Reunited, I can tell you that much has happened: I am a Handmaid, a breeder. I hear Rita in the kitchen sometimes, mumbling under her breath when she is aggravated with me, using the name as an insult; a dirty word. She’s very judgmental, Rita. Often I notice her judging by the common, the first impression, much like Reuven Malter, a son of a former friend, and his quick judgment towards others around him. I often think that if Rita might look beyond what her eyes show her, like Reuven with his friend Danny Saunders, she might realize things she had never known before. When Reuven first came in contact with Danny, he saw him as the typical Hasidic Jew. He hated him. However, after Reuven took the time to get to know Danny, he began to understand the complexities within Danny’s character. Through friendship and communication, Reuven’s realization of Danny’s determination to be a psychologist, for example, made him much more than what Reuven had originally seen him to be. Maybe if we talked over coffee one day Rita’s eyes would open like Reuven‘s. Maybe then she would know of my family, and of my dreams to leave this place. I often think this, true, but I also know that words are not allowed to be shared enough here to learn anything about a person. Therefore, I try to ignore her ignorance.
If I wanted to, I suppose I could use Rita’s ways against her. She is a Martha, covered in dull green clothing with a small white apron around her waist. She is the cooker, the cleaner, the doer for the most part. I could mumble her name under my breath, shaming her. I have thought about them, these evil ways, but what is the point? It would lead to nothing but nothing. She, as I, has a task, and we are all equal workers in the Commander‘s house. That is were I live now, tucked away within another man’s walls, serving no purpose but that of another.
The Commander’s Wife makes me uneasy. Serena Joy is her name. Each time she looks at me I feel as though she is cursing me with her eyes. Nothing that I have done to her was with intentions, yet her hatred for me is so deep that it seems to radiate from her. Her eyes are selfish and cold, yet deceiving all together. Much like Jordan Baker cheated her way into winning a tennis tournament, the Commander’s Wife seems the type to do things for her own benefit, forgetting all others. If I had a choice, I would avoid her with entirety.
It is late, and my hours start early. I have found a warm spot for you within my closet, hidden with prayer: Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. I will try to write to you more frequently now. Although it may be difficult, I will try.



March 3, 2098
Diary --

Rita made me buy her eggs and a chicken during my walk today. They let us do that each day, go for a short stroll, pretend to be normal. I didn’t mind her asking much, it gave me a certain task to fulfill. I try my best to enjoy the fresh air, ignoring the way my veil makes it hard for me to breath.
Ofglen and I met at our usual spot. She is my newest partner for these routine events. We were assigned to each other just a couple weeks ago. She seems nice enough, I suppose. It’s hard to tell much of anything without seeing face, expression. We have caught a glimpse of each other occasionally, peaking above our veils or seeing our reflections in a store window. We turn away quickly, of course, in fear of being caught.
Today though, Ofglen and I were rather quick with our greetings before taking off on our feet. We walked first to Milk and Honey, identified by a sign decorated with pictures you might see in a child’s coloring book. They had oranges today, and I longed for one so badly. Oranges have become rare lately, and anything scarce is automatically more tempting. I did not have the coupons for oranges though, and so I restrained myself and continued to look around.
When we finished we saw a group of people coming toward us. They were tourists, I’m sure. I kept my head lowered and did my best to ignore their presence, but it was impossible. “Are you happy?” one of them asked me. I felt like I was choking. I can’t imagine why someone would ask such a question. My only response was “Yes, we are very happy.” I used the word we because the tourists see no single person. They see us as a group, a kind. I feel like I am loosing myself, blending in. Each day feels more like a struggle to keep hold of who I am away from this world--who I was.
I dream of Luke often. When there are times that I feel like I can no longer go on, I dream of Luke as the fictional character, Tea Cake, appreciating and caring for his lover. Once Tea Cake married Janie, he became one with her, treating her with respect. He allowed Janie to have an opinion on things, and even to voice those opinions if she so chose. Tea Cake wanted the best for Janie, as Luke did me. Luke allowed me to work, for instance, despite the fact that he could have stopped me. He was happy for me. This world we live in now is one he would not enjoy, for I am too tied down. I dream of myself as Janie, Tea Cake’s wife, reflecting back and finding peace within myself, even if only for a moment. I had found love, and although I did not need it to survive, it helped me to realize just that. I dream of happiness.
I want to sleep.



February 7, 2098
Diary --

I am ridiculously happy! I saw Moira today during my time at the gymnasium. She was brought in by the Aunts and looked a bit beaten up, but I knew it was her. She was still wearing her normal clothes, and I treasured the appearance of the past. I remember myself in clothes such as Moira’s-- blue jeans and a t-shirt. I remember vaguely, as it feels so very long ago. I wonder how she managed to stay safe for so long of a time. I wonder how she was caught.
She saw me as she came in; I know she saw me. I have to meet with her. I must talk to her. I will find a way.



February 11, 2098
Diary --

I spoke to Moira today as she walked beside me along our field of travel. Although I am sorry for her entering Gilead, I am also very glad. She is my dearest friend, and I now have someone to confide in. I feel like Janie Crawford again, and Moira as my Phoebe. When Janie sits down with Phoebe and tells her of her recent experiences, such as her runaway with Tea Cake, she is putting her complete trust in her friend as she speaks with honesty. I willingly put my trust in Moira, and cannot help but be completely honest in my words. Now all I need is something worthy enough for confiding. I cannot possibly sit and tell her of my entire experience here in this retched place. I will not put her or myself through it.
We meet in the washroom, almost like school girls might do between classes to say hello. It is the only place where no one is watching. We try to go at different times; We try to fool people. I hope it is working.



March 6, 2098
Diary --

Tonight was my third Ceremony with this Commander. It is never something that I like to reflect on. It isn’t something you gossip about, like women in a coffee shop speaking of their newest boyfriends. It isn’t something worth repeating, but I feel that I should not hold anything from you, and therefore I will tell: I am held there, trapped, Commander above me, his wife below. They do not hurt me, and instead barely touch me. All I feel is the heat from the Commander’s face and Serena Joy’s hands holding to my own.
I opened my eyes tonight. I saw the Commander’s face above me, squinted and tense. My lids are usually kept shut as I fall into darkness, ignoring reality. Tonight though, Serena Joy gripped my hands tight enough to turn them blue, and I flinched in pain with the lose of circulation. It is the worst possible thing, being so close to Serena. I am forced to feel as though I am one with her. I am forced to give up myself in those moments, and tonight I felt myself struggling more so to maintain separation.
Soon it was over, and I was asked to leave. You might think that their quick dismissal made me feel more used and filthy, but I am glad that they told me to go without hesitation. I am here with you now, and I am grateful for the ears that you have lent me.
I vow never to read this entry again.



April 2, 2098
Diary --

I woke up feeling very light this morning. Almost cheery. Cora brought me breakfast in a covered blue tray shortly after I rose. I took it from her, said my thanks, and sat aside my bed to eat it. I wasn’t very hungry, but I managed to chew slowly and force most of it down.
The sun was bright through my window this morning. If you had eyes I would have taken you out to see it. The glass window shot off a glare that left rainbow colors along my rug. I sat and stared at it for a while as it filled me with an even greater feeling. I remember how she used to love the colors of the rainbow. Whenever it would finish raining, she would grab my arm and pull me outside to search the sky with her. She was only a couple years old when she started doing that; I was so proud.
After I dressed I made my way along the staircase, slowly descending. There was no one in sight, and so I went to the kitchen to see if maybe I could find someone. Sure enough, Rita was there, tossing a ball of dough during the early hour of the morning. She didn’t speak to me as I walked in, but simply nodded in acknowledgment. I frowned at her, even while knowing she couldn’t see, and told her I was heading out for my walk early. I figured that if the sun could be as captivating as it had from within my room, it must be glorious outside. I stepped out of the kitchen and made my way out of the front door.
I waited for Ofglen as usual. After only a few minutes, I saw her walking toward me--a red blur. Ofglen, you should know, is a little thicker than I am. Looking at her reminds me of a time when I might take pride in my figure. It reminds me of a time when sparking jealousy in another was pleasurable. With Ofglen, thought, I feel differently. She has a soft look to her, like women who aren’t Rita in kitchens, baking cookies and pies. She’s a comfort, almost, if not for her talkative annoyance. Once she reached me, we walked along our trail.
I wondered to myself about where we might be going, knowing already that our first stop would be the church. I was right. Our next stop, I remember thinking, the wall. Right again. Turning ourselves from the church, we saw the wall before us. I do not know how I can stand to stare at the red brick. I wonder why it’s that color. Red. I wonder if it was intentional. Why not brown brick? Why not white? Is there a white? It wouldn’t matter; In the end it would be red. There are hooks for the bodies, as to give you a better picture, and there were bodies hanging from them this morning. There were three men, all with white cloths covering their faces. They were each wearing a white coat, and they each wore a picture of a fetus around their neck. Abortionists.
I find it hard to concentrate when I am looking at the Wall, bodies dangling. I find it hard to feel anything. It seems almost that I have no dissaproval of the way these men have been oppressed and put to death because of a belief, a position. It seems that way, yes, to others and myself for the most part; but, as I thank God now that none of the men were Luke, I realize the strength of my hatred. This is by far the sickest, most disgusting act within this world. How can I stand this? How? I am disgusted.
After Ofglen and I separated, I walked to the Commander’s house again, past the gates and the Guardians. The short distance I had to travel was enough time for me to think in peace, but I chose not to. I have decided that the day did not end as well as it started. Tomorrow, though, is a new day. It is almost ten. I must sleep.



April 16, 2098
Diary --

I haven’t much to say today except that I have taken particular notice to Nick, the man constantly washing the Commander’s car. I catch him staring at me often, and wonder if he knows the boundaries which cannot be crossed. I wonder, yet I do not ask. Maybe if I ignore him he will go away.



April 30, 2098
Diary --

I met Nick in the kitchen just now, if met is the right word for it. I snuck from my room into the darkness of the hall with a mission to steal something from the house. I wanted something of my own value. He was there, behind me. I was shocked at first, and even more so to find out that it was him whispering in my ear. It was a form of excitement at first, and I was overwhelmed with a need to be touched with want. This feeling, however, was overtaken by fear. I wanted him to leave, to go. “He wants to see you,” he told me. I am not positive about who he means, but the only sense I can make out of it is that it is a message from the Commander. Then again, that doesn’t make much sense, either. What does the Commander want with me? What could I possibly offer him, aside from my body? That must be it…
I am afraid. My hands are beginning to shake, and I cannot write anymore. I will return to you in a few days.



May 15, 2098
Diary --

I am to meet with the Commander tonight. I hope my strength lasts that long.
I gave birth today, with the help of Janine of course. It was a day spent entirely within four walls surrounded by other women in red dresses, breathing in, breathing out. I am somewhat envious of Janine, seeing her as the undeserving. What has she got that I haven’t? I am healthy; I am able. Why am I not blessed? I pray that my faith does not lead down the path of an Unwoman.
I am exhausted.



May 19, 2098
Diary --

Moira is gone. She ran away from here. She has done it before, attempted, unsuccessfully. I’ve heard from others how hard it was for her to escape. I heard that she made some sort of weapon out of the bathroom sink. Or was it the toilet? Either way, it worked. Moira has always reminded me of the boyish type who would do anything as long as it was to her advantage. A typical Jordan Baker, as people of the day might say. Just as Jordan, Moira might seem gentle and harmless by appearance, but is always conjuring something new up in her head. Jordan’s cheated tennis tournament and Moira’s escape are both plans to some personal advantage--Jordan wanted a trophy, I suppose. Moira wants freedom. She used the weapon to trick one of the Aunts, holding it against her, threatening to pierce her skin. She tied her up, I think, some place no one would notice. Knowing Moira, I imagine her words being just as fierce as her blows, if there were any. I can almost hear the emphasis on the consonant sounds of her curses. I wonder where she is now. I pray that she is fine. She is free now. She is in control.
I wish I was Moira.



May 30, 2098

Diary --

I have the most entertaining news! I finally met with the Commander, and am alone in my room now where I can laugh at the freest of my will. Let me start at the beginning: I left my room shortly after telling you of Janine’s birth, and walked quietly along the hall to the Commander’s door. I knocked and entered, seeing him standing there in relaxation, as though I might be coming in to say hello or goodnight. I was frightened, I must tell you. So much so that it was hard for me to speak. He sat me down though, and prepared himself to tell me of some unknown favor. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was prepared. I felt ready for him; for anything he had to throw at me. It might be painful, I remember thinking. It might leave a scar, but I will get through it. I had all belief in myself.
My nerves were on edge, as yours might be now if you possessed any, when I finally heard his request: “I’d like you to play a game of Scrabble with me,” he said. My laughter was nearly uncontrollable; It was a request I wasn’t expecting.
It felt wonderful to be able to sit and enjoy myself with someone again. I refreshed my memory of a dozen different things, trying hard to think of words I wouldn’t normally use when writing to you. We didn’t speak much, the Commander and I, and we do not know very much of anything about each other, yet he asked for a kiss from me before I made my way back to the door of my room. I agreed to the first kiss, of course, and the second too, which he asked me to do with meaning. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that everyone is lonely. Even lovers, I’ve realized, tend to get lonely enough to cheat and lie. I am lonely. Serena Joy is lonely. Luke is lonely, I’m sure, wherever he is. The Commander is seeking what we all search for, now more than ever. I cannot feel sorry for him without feeling sorry for myself, and I will not allow that to happen. I must stay strong.
Whether or not an event such as this will occur again is unknown to me, but in a way I hope it does. I feel chosen, selected. For once in a time too long to remember anything, I feel like I have been separated from the others around me. I almost feel special. Praise be.



June 15, 2098
Diary --

It was a strange yet happy day. Ofglen spoke to me. Sure, we have shared a few words; our greetings, our goodbyes, but by no means a conversation, of course.
We were walking along our trail when we made it to the Wall again. I would rather not speak of it, and so I will proceed to tell you that we turned our backs and decided to make the short journey over to Soul Scrolls. It’s such an odd thing to me, technical prayers. I wonder if I could call them that: technical. They are words spit from a machine. Technical. Technology. Lazy. No one bothers with their minds anymore.
We came to a stop as we stood before the tall, stained windows with intentions of holding our heads low to pray; To pretend to pray. I was doing my best when I felt the urge to move my eyes upward, seeing Ofglen in the glass’ reflection before me. Our eyes met, and we held our stare for quite some time before she asked me if I believed God listened. To our prayers, I remember wondering to myself, or to our cries? The prayers, I decided and told her no. I felt for a moment that we should not be talking, risking, but Ofglen reassured me that there was nothing to fear. She thought me to be a true believer. A follower if you will. I wish she hadn’t thought that way of me. I wish I wasn’t just another someone who could not be separated from the crowd. I wish I wasn’t, but I think that I am, and this is a reassurance.
We walked back together and spoke quietly to each other. We did it very discretely, barely noticeable. I am so filled with excitement and joy. It is something new; something different. I wonder how long it will last. I must hold to this feeling as long as I can. I must cherish it. It is forever within your pages, these words: I have a secret.



July 11, 2098

Diary --

I have been meeting with the Commander almost regularly now. We seem to have a plan; a schedule. We do not meet on days of Ceremony, which I am glad for. My feelings toward him always seem to be a bit shaky without time to recover. Aside from that though, gatherings are rather frequent.
The Commander and I do not speak outside of his office. We do not show any sign of friendship or emotion. We simply pass each other by with the quickest of glances and continue with ourselves. Sometimes it is hard to tell if he might ever want to meet with me again. I find myself anxious quite often, wondering when my invitation of normality might expire. Lucky for me, it has not been so.
Nick is our outward communication. Standing, washing the car, hat askew, meet the Commander. Standing, washing the car, hat straight, don’t. There was no need to mention his standing, or even his car washing, for these are things he has done since the day that I have arrived here; however, these are all things of which I take into consideration, and so it works well for emphasis. The Commander’s Nick, the standing washer, reminds me some of Nick Carraway, a man I knew in college, used for the benefit of others. Much like Nick Carraway’s friend Jay Gatsby used him to get closer to his love Daisy Buchanan, the Commander is using his Nick to get closer to me. They are both merely pieces within a puzzle much greater than themselves. I find it funny how they carry the same name.
I hear Cora coming to my door with breakfast. Yes, I forgot to mention, it is within the morning hour. A full day is before me, and I have yet to discover the nature of its outcome. She is closer to my door now (her dragging feet are very distinctive). You will hear from me tonight.



July 11, 2098

Diary --

Vogue. It is such a simple name, like People. Who would think of something as simple as People? We’re something seen everyday, everywhere, yet no one truly pays much attention to the name we are given. No one, of course, until the brilliant individual who decided to give his magazine that name. I wonder what the conversation might have been during the discussion of a title. I imagine it went something like this:
“Well, what have you all come up with?” the genius asks.
“Nothing much, sir,” an employee responds.
“Well then, let us think. What does our magazine offer? What is it about?”
“There are a number of different people within the magazine, sir.”
“Aha!” the genius proclaims. “That is what we will call it!”
The birth of the glossy page, the impossible pose, and the unearthly gossip. A bit improbable, maybe, but a moment, if existing, which I truly appreciate.
The Commander allows me time to sit and enjoy a story from a book by some author, too. Each time I focus my eyes on a new page, I feel as though a new world is unfolding. I feel like Danny Saunders, absorbing as much as I can from the hard cover, the soft cover. Always in secret. Danny’s father forbid him to gain knowledge from things other than his religion, and I was forbidden to gain knowledge from things other than my duties as a Handmaid. Danny had a friend, David Malter, who assisted him with his books and materials, and I have the Commander. In a sense, we are both lucky.
I feel as though I could ask anything of the Commander. If I were to mention my release though, I imagine he would not agree. He is using me as much as I am using him, I believe. I am still not sure what it is that he gains from my company. I am not much for conversation, or even for appearance. I doubt that he solely enjoys a good game of Scrabble, although he does seem to smile almost consistently during the experiences. Maybe it isn’t playing the game which he enjoys, but more of having someone to play with. I feel the Commander to be much unlike Jody Starks, the inconsiderate soul. I sense an appreciation from the Commander; an enjoyment of my company. Jody Starks was never the type to show any sort of consideration toward others around him. His wife, Janie Crawford, for example, was a kind, social woman whom Jody never took much notice of. For years Janie was forced to deal with the verbal abuse of Jody, never knowing how it felt to be special. The Commander makes me feel special. He makes me feel different. One thing I know for sure though, is this: I feel for the Commander, true, but I do not feel for him. I could never.



July 22, 2098
Diary --

I learned something new today. I often think about knowledge; It had always meant good things to me. “Know all you can,” my mother would tell me, “because it will make you more of a person.” She was wrong.
I met the Commander as usual this night. I saw him across from me, sitting in his chair, fingers tapping his desk. He was looking at me, staring. He makes a study out of me. I brush him off, ignore him. I feel comfortable enough to. I feel comfortable for much now, even enough to ask my boldest question. “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum,” I asked him. “What does it mean?” It was a question scratching at my throat, waiting for the right moment to release itself through my mouth. I had to find out. I had to know of the woman before me. Her fate, perhaps, could foreshadow mine, I thought. He was confused at first, sure, but soon responded with amusement and laughter. I found nothing to be amusing. Why is it funny? I wondered. Why is it a joke? I almost felt insulted. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down,” he told me. “That is what it means.” I was confused at first, straining to understand. I did, finally, and realized that it was an old school boy phrase passed on through friends. How could she have written that? I wondered with what must have been on odd look on my face. How could she have known? I know now.
My heart felt nothing for the Commander. My times with him were only an advantage. My advantage. Not anymore. There were others before me, and there will be others after. I was simply next in line. I believe that the separation I felt was nothing but a waste of energy. I am once again nothing more than a part of a group called them.
The woman before me killed herself. I am not so brave.
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. They already have.



August 1, 2098
Diary --

An important decision was made today.
I was walking to the house this afternoon when I saw Serena Joy sitting in the yard, knitting away. Fearing her words, I kept my head down in an attempt to avoid her. This seems to work most of the time; She has never shared more than a few sentences with me at a time. I picked up my pace as to try and pass the moment quicker, but she stopped me in my tracks. “Nothing yet?” she asked me. Pregnant, knocked up, screwed. I hate each word, yet they are in my prayers for my life depends upon them. There have been no symptoms-- no morning sickness, no cravings. I told her there was nothing. She didn’t seem very disappointed, and instead almost glowed. She was thinking.
Serena and I talked. No, Serena talked. She has found someone to help me; A fruitful someone. Everything will be arranged. Everything will be settled. Yes or no? It was a hard decision for a moment, but moments are quick.
What does it matter, diary? Does anyone care who it is I conceive with? No. If no one else cares, then why should I? I must bring a life into this world in order to save my own. What needs doing must be done. I feel almost like Reb Saunders, deciding on action despite the outcomes. Reb Saunders raised his son, Danny, in silence, because it was what he felt he must do for the benefit of the world. Reb’s relationship with his son didn’t exist, and he was willing to give that up for what seemed most important. If I were to conceive, I would not see or know my child, yet I would be doing what seems best. I want to live.
I agreed.



August 7, 2098

Diary --

I have experienced, all in one night, the feelings of two worlds.
Nick’s hat was on sideways today, and so I met the Commander as I was supposed to. When I arrived there though, there was a giddiness to the usually calm man. He left me for a short while and returned with what looked like a Halloween costume from years before. It was a sleazy thing, unpleasable to the eye, yet when he told me to dress myself in it, I did not argue. With that, he helped me apply some make-up, which he must have borrowed from his wife, and we walked out to some car. Nick was the driver. I wonder what Nick thinks of me now after seeing me in such a manner. There is a mystery to him, and it is hard for me to tell what might be going through his head. I tried my best to keep my composure, but it is not an easy task when you are told to lie flat across the floor of a car. At least it paid off; We passed by securities without any problem.
From the destination of the car, we walked along an alley and arrived within a new place, revealing a number of others standing and talking and drinking. All of the women were as I, dressed in odd costumes and overdone with blush and eye shadow. I might not have been the only one looking foolish, but even now I still feel repulsed at the thought of my appearance. The Commander led me in and walked with a grip on my hand. I was being shown off. Shown off, almost as though I was unique; something no one has seen before. No one seemed to notice.
We had a seat on an old ragged couch, and the Commander went off to get us some drinks. Liquor wasn’t very appealing to me, but I agreed to it in an effort to be left alone. Lucky for me it worked, and I saw Moira in the distance. I was relieved at the sight of her, relaxed at the fact that she was fine. She saw me, displayed a signal of ours, and we headed for the restroom. There, I finally spoke to her again. There were others in the bathroom, sitting on old cushions, smoking, chatting. Moira told me that she struggled to escape, that she did to an extent, and that this was better than returning to where she was-- where I am. Moira told me that here, Jezebel they call it, they have a choice. I do not see it. There they are all victims with each other. It is not an end of a struggle, but a display of one. They are all trying desperately to regain themselves; to regain a life they once knew; to be the people they once were. We are all struggling, and the place of which I spent my time tonight is by no means a salvation. My point was proven when I left Moira in the bathroom and was called to a bedroom by the Commander. I am ashamed.
Do not judge me by this, diary, for my other world tonight was one of Nick. Serena had arranged for me to act with someone, and I went along to do my part after my time at Jezebel’s. Serena kept watch as I slipped away through the darkness and into the hands of a glorious lover. I am free. I feel free. I feel loved once again and want nothing to change it. I barely see his face in the darkness, nothing but a shape, and I am instantly captivated. I am in love.



October 19, 2098
Diary --

I am sitting here in my room--this room, not mine--upon my bed. The sheets and covers are neatly fixed. They are a maroon red, cotton texture. I feel ruined. Lost.
Serena has found out about my gatherings with the Commander. “Just like the other one,” she said to me. I cannot argue.
Ofglen has killed herself. She did it for me, so that I may live. I want to live; I will do anything, yet I look around the room in search of something that may end this life. Nothing is in sight. I will concentrate for a second: In, out. In, out. It hurts to breathe. I must keep going.
I hear a noise. It is coming from the window. A black van. Maybe they are not heading for here. Maybe they will turn and leave. No, they are walking toward the door. They are coming for me. I must hide you again in your cupboard. I must put you away. Stay safe so that the next can find you. Let her know what I know. Tell her. I will go with these people without fear, for these people are all I have. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. This time I will fight.