A Stroke Of Originality

It’s been two years since the defeat of my beloved rebels. Along with my capture, and the rise of the new government of what used to be the United States. A dictator government who swears everything they are doing is in the interest of the people. I’m fifteen years old and I knew better to believe something like that. Every since I was captured along with fourteen other girls we’ve been forced to get up and get dressed at zero five every morning to go to the schoolhouse. We would stay there isolated from the real world for twelve hours out of the day with a teacher that would teach us every day about the rebels who were these bad people. He would try to brainwash us and tell us that the rebels are in the past, that they had been eradicated by the forces of Gentry. That its a new era of order one with less violence, less crime, and more unity. Seeing that they separate us from the boys all but one hour of the day, I don’t see how we are so unified. After the twelve hours at the schoolhouse we would line up in a single file line in front of the schoolhouse and wait for an armed guard to take us to meet the elder woman. The elder woman’s job is to teach us how to be proper housewives for our future husbands, who are the new leaders of this nation. They expect us to wash them, clothe them, keep them happy, bare their children, and raise them to be the future followers of Gentry. They want us to be submissive to our future husbands, bow to them, and not have our own opinions.

Little do they know my name is Bellona Robinson, and I am the daughter of the late William Robinson. The man who started the rebellion, and they can depict him as this fanatic all they want. I know the truth about my father, and he was a man with vision. A man who experienced freedom and would not willingly lay down while someone tried to strip him or others of their freedoms. He stood up for what he believed in, and taught me some of the core values while I was growing up. He taught me to be my own person, to never let anyone take my freedom, to follow my dreams, and to follow until I can lead. I will follow their rules now, but they will slip up and when they do, I will be there to help them fall. For as long as I live the rebels aren’t dead, they’re just in hiding for the rebellion lives on in me. They may have won the battle, but the war is just beginning.

This was my entry to the Handmaid Tales had to be a short story of 500 words or less.

Please feel free to critique and tell me what you think.