Hey y'all. This is my new fanfiction about The Handmaid's Tale, with elements from both the book and the show. The characters are based off of real people, so I hope you like it! Feel free to leave reviews!


I used to love the smell of the rain. I'd run barefoot on the grassy hill, running my hand through the low-hanging branches on the trees to feel the water splatter. It was my goal to get as muddy as possible. And then, at the end of the day, when my mother was cleaning me up, I'd open my old bedroom window just to smell it. The plants would come into full bloom after the storm was up, brightening my daily life with their bright leaves and pungent odors.

Sometimes I wonder…when this storm lets up, will I be in bloom?

It is raining outside. The smell of wet concrete fills my nostrils as I look at it. The clouds are low, heavy and churning. I stand outside, underneath the concrete entry just outside the door to the apartment complex. Matt has the umbrella today. Quietly I pull the hood of my cloak, but there is no hope; I will definitely be getting wet today. I think about how stupid I must look right now. Normally I would never have put dark green, powder blue, and blood red together, but there you have it.

"We waiting on Jennifer again?" said a quiet, familiar voice. I turn my head and see Lisa exiting the building, not greeting me with so much as a look but rather observing the clouds herself.

"Yeah," I answer just as quiet. "She's always late." She only shrugs in response.

Lisa is my older sister. Somehow that didn't stop her from being shorter than me. It wasn't always this way. When we were kids, I strived to be like her. She was always smiling, telling me long-winded stories that she'd make up, sometimes on the spot. Before, she was an author, and a damn good one. Now she wasn't even allowed to read.

We look alike. She has shorter hair, but it was the exact same shade of strawberry blonde, with the exact same curls. Her jaw is more rounded while mine is more curt. Her eyes are brighter than mine, and they used to glow. The only difference is in our clothing. We have on the same outfit: A white-topped long-sleeved dress, with long alternating stripes of green, blue, and red down the thick full skirt. A pincloak with matching stripes and black netted snoods over our blonde curls. Both our outfits are standard issue, and very worn.

The only difference is in the patches. I patch my dresses with white whenever I have a ripped seam or a hole. Lisa patches hers with powder blue. It's a risk, even for her. Her husband is a Guardian, and she is dearly hoping he'll be promoted so she could be included with the Wives. Even before, she was always worried about being part of the "in-crowd". Fitting in is a big deal to her, even if it is with a bunch of pious privileged bitches.

Jennifer comes out of the building and thank God she has an umbrella. The three of us crowd underneath it and begin our journey. We each walk with our hands clutched around our tokens in our pockets, alongside our passes and our government issued identification card. The fact that we have to carry ID cards doesn't really bother me. Before, we had to. It's the passes that bother me. We are not even allowed to go grocery shopping without permission. Women are not to even carry money anymore. It used to be we all worked hard to earn our keep. Now, our husbands work hard to earn the money, which they trade for the tokens us ladies use to shop. I don't know how that works. Matt tried to explain it to me once, but I was never an auditory learner, and since I wasn't able to complete the transactions myself (or even see a transaction take place) I am not entirely certain how they divvy up who gets what tokens and when.

We stop at the fabric store first. Jennifer has a token for red thread, she must have a rip in the seam of her skirt, which she hands over to the Guardian without looking at him. He provides her with the thread and we go on. From there we head into the market. I clutch my tokens in my pocket. I know exactly what I'm going to get: rice, potatoes, an assortment of herbs including lavender, cinnamon and curry powder, and finally chicken. Matt had managed to snag a chicken token from the shop. The others stare at me as I take the carefully wrapped chicken from the butcher. Meat is a rarity, even for the elite. For someone like me…it is incredibly difficult to manage even the scrawniest of birds. But this meat is thick and juicy, and I am happy with it. Tonight is a special dinner.

We get back to our building, soaking wet and ready for the warmth that awaits us inside. Lisa nods as she disappears down the first floor corridor towards her suite she shares alone with her husband, Blake. She disappears almost silently every day, although Jennifer and I do not take it personally. Lisa has a hard life, we both know. She was assigned to marry Craig, as was Jennifer to Dominic. Both Guardians showed promise for the future, and were thus assigned marriage mates that had the potential to bring them children. But Lisa has a harder time with it for some reason. Maybe it's because she tries too hard to make her life the picture perfect world she originally wanted as a kid, even though things are so different now. At least Jennifer acknowledges that her marriage isn't based on anything resembling love, and cares not for it. As long as she and her husband have a working partnership, she can get by.

One the third floor Jennifer turns to me. "Under His eye," she says solemnly. It is our standard parting.

"Under His eye," I repeat in a soft voice. I look for the Jennifer I used to know, the fun-loving girl I grew up with before. But instead I see the determined, hard-faced girl she'd become since the move. She is the most determined girl I know, the most wanting to survive. I don't see hope and I don't think I need to. Jennifer doesn't need hope to make it in the world we now live in. It is quite shocking because the old Jennifer had hope for a better future every day. I wonder if it got squashed out of her, or if she simply moved on from such trivialities. I notice that she doesn't comment on the date. Is this out of jealousy or because she simply forgot?

My apartment is on the fourth floor. It is small, but I like it just the same. The one wall is green, the rest white. The main area is a living space with a combined kitchen and dining area. A wall juts out where the kitchen counters and sink is, with the fridge being against the edge of the wall and the stove being next to the hallway. The back of the wall is a bathroom area, with cupboards and two sinks, a water closet and a washroom with a shower. Branching off the hall are two bedrooms, one for Matt and me, one for my parents. All in all, a small square space, quaint and somehow airy. It doesn't feel as small as it is. I like it.

"Hi mom," I say as I push the door close behind me. I notice immediately that she has lit a fire in the wood stove. Matthew won't like that. He likes the cold over the heat.

My mom is sitting on the couch with her feet up. Her arthritis is why I do the shopping rather than her. She wore a white nightgown today. Must be feeling unwell to have skipped her daily walk. Either than or she noticed the rain.

"Blessed day," she muttered, looking over at me. "I got the bread started for you."

No wonder for the fire. She'd been baking bread. Mom's bread is the best. When she can get her hands on it, she always puts beer in the bread part in place of the yeast, part in place of the water for the dough. It's Matt's favorite, as well as mine. We have beer today.

"Praised be," I said back feelingly. "Thank you." My mom rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. She was crazy reckless with her reading happy, considering the Law. Guardians didn't need special permission to come into the home. What if someone came over and saw her with it out? Sure, dad had worked hard to trade goods for those books, and we'd all known it was really for her and not him (because he hates reading), but did she have to do it so openly?

I hear the clock bells chime 3 o'clock. I don't have much time. Matt will be home in only two hours.

I get to work, chopping the chicken near haphazardly as I start the stovetop. While it is browning in the skillet I begin to put away the lunch dishes, wiping the counters and pulling out various ingredients from the cupboards and my shopping bags. Mother rises from her seat and floats over to help out, polishing the dining table with a wet cloth and putting on the rice. I learned everything I know about cooking from her. I'd like to say it was from Matt, who enjoys cooking way more than any of us but the truth is he never really taught me much, just did all the work himself.

My dad comes in around 4:30, looking at the small plate we'd set aside for him and mother. "Praised be," he says eyeballing it. He washes his hands quickly and disappears into their shared room with his plate. My mother nods to me and follows him with her book.

I have just lit the last candle when the door clicks, signifying a key in the lock. I stand with my hands behind my back, waiting patiently on the outside and distinctly buzzing at the same time.

Matt comes in the door, taking off his shoes first and setting them neatly on the shoe rack next to my boots. He next hangs his jacket next to my cloak, and fixes his hat overtop his jacket. He is still wearing his chef's shirt underneath. The umbrella goes into the umbrella stand where it will drip all of the rain collected on the walk back.

I pay more attention to him though. His sea green eyes that haven't yet noticed me waiting for him, the rain caught in his long curls of mousy brown hair. Mostly his beard, which is one of my favorite parts of him. It curls into ringlets against his face. A lot of men in today's age liked to keep their face clean-shaven, but not my Matthew. It is a symbol, I think, that society can't beat him down. A small act of social defiance that Matthew would have done even in the time of old. He has changed over the years, but not much.

Finally his eyes lift to where I am standing, waiting for him. He takes a deep breath and smells the hard work I've been doing for the last two hours. His smile blooms over his face, looking as pleased as ever as he can tell the effort I've put into this. Candles lit around the apartment, out of necessity because it is dark out but also for ambiance. Two still warm plates on the dining table, curry chicken in rice with steamed cinnamon apples. Didn't have the time to make a pie, though he might have liked that more. Baked potato slices with pepper on them more than made up for it though. It is an expensive meal. No doubt hard months of long hours went into getting the money for these tokens.

But by the look on his face it was all well worth it. "Hey baby," he says to me, looking at me. "What's all this?"

I smile back. I can't help it. His mere presence makes me do it. "Happy anniversary baby," I breathe.