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Creative Writing: The Handmaid's Tale

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The sun was at its highest then, at noon right above where Vanra leaned on his shovel and stopped for a breath. His daily quota of harvest had been nearly doubled, now that the monsoons were near. His mother called him in. “Vanra, take a break. You have been working since sunrise.”
Vanra walked into the clay hut his mother and him lived in. He sighed in relief as the cool air hit him. “Mother, what is for lunch?” Asked Vanra.
“Why ask, when you know it is porridge again? Vanra, I just got fired from my domestic help job because of my disabilities, so, please. Just eat and don’t bother me,” replied his mother. Vanra winced. He felt a pang of guilt every time his mother mentioned her handicap. Times were tough then. His father had died …show more content…

As he made his way out to work again, loud, fast footsteps far in the distance caught his attention. A badly injured man, his tunic red with blood came into the village, riding on a horse. He skidded to a stop and fell off his horse, crying for help. Vanra ran to his aid, as did multiple villagers when the man fell. “Villagers! I bring urgent news from the borders of our country. An old rival of ours has decided to attack our country and he possesses a massive army of human soldiers and an army of demons, only heard before of in old wives tales has infiltrated our country. They are attacking helpless villages just like yours and we need reinforcements to help push them back. Any young men, willing to …show more content…

He raised his hand and said, “I volunteer,” boldly.
He went back to his house and told his mother about his decision to help fight. “Mother, I must help the forces of our country.” Seeing the determined look on his mother’s face and the grave shaking of her head, he pleaded again. “Mother, please. I know things will be tough here, what with me gone but people struggle to fight every single day and I can’t stand staying here while people die out there. They die, mother. Imagine the wives and mothers of people that die every day,” “I heard you right the first time, Vanra. I know better than anyone, how it feels for wives to lose their husbands. Your father had died fighting the same demons they fight right now, Vanra. He didn’t die of a heart disease. Here look at this,” said Vanra’s mother while pulling something covered in cloth. “Look at this. Do you see this? The staff your father fought with. And what did you say? Wives and mothers, right? I am a widow, I do not want to lose my son as well,” said Vanra’s mother through gritted teeth. “Ma,” started Vanra but was lost for words. So many things he never knew. She kept the staff back under the

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