You are wind. A particularly windy wind, to be more specific. You don't have a name, or a gender. You just know that you blow things around, and you whoosh around the place with no set goal in mind. That is you, and nothing will ever change that. You will always be wind.
Of course, being a windy wind, you go a lot of places; you see a lot of things. It's part of the job description. Take right now, for instance.
You are a zephyr, snaking through the wet grass. You rustle old leaves as you go, twisting and turning through the numerous tree roots barring your way like forgotten ruins demanding to be remembered. You decide that's rather boring and flit up through the falling leaves, playing with the dew drops bouncing in your wake. Splish splash whip! What was that? Whip! There it was again! It tickles! These peculiar pointy things are going straight through you, creating a strange shivering sensation. You haven't experienced these foreign oddities before, so you follow them. You curl around their streamlined shape and find that they're made out of cool, hard metal. They're travelling quite quickly; you have to push yourself to keep up. The forest is reduced to an unimportant brown blur flying past you – these pointy things are far too exciting! A voice floats towards you from the background.
"Quickly, they're dodging the bullets. We have to catch up!"
Bullets? Is that what these strange things were? What an apt name! They 'bulleted' right through you! Heehee. You droll! The flash of red and yellow to your left seems to compliment your mirth. Wait, red and yellow? You discard the bullets, and you glide to the source of the break in the monotony. A couple of those two-legged-things lie huddled amongst the thorny bracken and the forgiving tree roots, one in sensible hiking boots, and the other, littler, in a dull yellow dress. What a development! You tickle the ankles of Yellow-Dress to say hello, and she hiccoughs painfully. You brush the tense face of Sensible-Boots, feeling the worry lines around her eyes. Shush! The harsh puff from her lips forces you away.
Another time, you don't know how much later (you don't really keep track of time, you're far too busy being windy) you're winding through more neglected pillars, this time being more of the two-legged-things. They're not as interesting as the other two were - this time they're all separated into different coloured dresses: submissive Reds in the front, haughty Blues in the back, and demure Greens on the sides. No one is moving. You naughtily skirt past the Blues' feet, and ruffle the veils on the Reds' concealed faces, pinging the white wings on the sides of their heads. They are all sitting there, in front of a brown stage (brown is such a boring colour, you think) looking quite peaceful. You love it when the two-legged-things are peaceful. They're so much more fun to play with when they're not beating each other and creating gory messes that are not enjoyable to fly through at all. You soar to the stage, where a few of the two-legged-things have white hoods on and are hanging by their necks from ropes attached to a stand. They must have invented a new game, and the others are watching them play! What a show! You end up putting on a little performance yourself (after all, you can't have them have all the fun!), zipping and twirling through the swinging feet of the White-Hoods, and sneak and frisk under the white covers shadowing their faces. Their skirts flutter in response to your antics, but that's the only reaction you get. The rest of the two-legged things just sit there placidly in their rows, devoid of your cheerful play. What bores! You huff frustratedly, deciding not to bother with these snoots and their exclusive games. You merely whoosh away, going back to your escapades of being a windy wind. You can come back to them later and see if they'll be more interesting then. As you fly off, you hear the tinny scratch of a loudspeaker on stage say:
"Offred, for numerous charges of treason, misconduct and unchastity, will now be Salvaged."