Who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow. Not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.
Whether this is my end or a new beginning, I have no way of knowing. I have given myself over into the hands of strangers. I have no choice. It can’t be helped. And so I step up, into the darkness within or else the light.
What are we going to do? We can’t explain this away. We can’t even report it. To have a pregnant Handmaid run away once is bad enough, but twice? They’ll say we’re part of the Resistance![to Fred]
There’s a window with white curtains, and the glass is shatterproof. But it isn’t running away they’re afraid of. A Handmaid wouldn’t get far. It’s those other escapes. The ones you can open in yourself given a cutting edge. Or a twisted sheet and a chandelier.
The mouth of a woman is a deep pit. He that falls therein will suffer. You are the misery of all man. All of you.[to Offred]
If women don’t want to be defined by their bodies, why are they always using them to get what they want?[to June]
I would like to be without shame. I would like to be shameless. I would like to be ignorant. Then I would not know how ignorant I was.
Heresy. That’s what they’re hanging for. Not for being part of the Resistance, because officially, there is no resistance. Not for helping people escape, because officially, there is no such thing as escape. They hang for being heretics, not martyrs. Martyrs inspire. Heretics are just stupid.
Here’s what we do. We watch them. The men. We study them. We feed them. We please them. We can make them feel strong or weak. We know them that well. We know their worst nightmares. And, with a bit of practice, that’s what we’ll become. Nightmares. One day, when we’re ready, we’re coming for you. Just wait.