I write stories and articles. Sometimes they're good.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Ceremony continues. Blink and you’ll miss it, but there’s a clever bit of subtle dramatic metaphor in how the scene is set up. The Commander must knock on the sitting room door to enter, the sitting room being described as “Serena Joy’s territory” in which “he’s supposed to ask permission to enter it.” The Commander enters the room without her permission, foreshadowing what exactly this Ceremony entails. Offred muses over this “protocol,” wondering if it’s because of a domestic spat over dinner.
Let’s throw a dart at the board to see who this game has pissed off today…bullseye on the “Joel didn’t deserve this” crowd and another just shy of the “alt-right man-children.” While I understand the controversy over Joel’s death, the latter just makes me roll my eyes so hard, I can see my brain herniating from the idiocy. Apparently, this is the worst thing to happen to them since society decided that gays are people, not punching bags. Buck up, Nazi, and go chew on some gun ammo to calm yourself down. But I’ll get back to the stupid reasons people hate this game after I analyze the actual game.
How long must we weep at the altar of logic and reason before the world makes sense again? As a purveyor and lover of dystopian fiction and weird obsession with tyrannical governments of history, I can't help but feel this is the catalyst to the apocalyptic fallout looming over the horizon. Economic turmoil, civil unrest, groups of people wrongfully blaming other groups of people for the nation's problems, systematic maiming and murdering of political dissentors, a plague wreaking havoc faster than research can be conducted for a vaccine...the checklist has more checks than empty boxes.
catch up here: ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN Disclaimer: The racial epithets and slurs used in this chapter are not intended to malign anyone, nor to reflect the attitudes of the author. Though some aspects of this work are inspired by real life events and people, this work is fictional and such words are only included as part of a narrative. After all, white supremacists do not censor themselves and I do not intend to show them as anything other than pure evil.
What it is about this game that makes players return to it again and again? Why do players still hold this game in high regard as not only the best horror video game, but the best video game of all time? What is it about this game that frightens you, depresses you, disturbs you, and haunts you? And why, after you turn off the PC or console after finishing the game, does the story resonate in your mind so vividly?
CHAPTER 12 Offred prepares to take a bath, which is required on nights of the Ceremony. Again, with the suicidal musings over the lack of razors, though they’re almost casual, like a fleeting thought. She describes the suicide attempts of some Handmaids, whether by exsanguinating or drowning, as “bugs” Gilead had to iron out, like it was a glitch in a computer terminal. She recalls Aunt Lydia stating that “in a bathtub, you are vulnerable” and Offred wonders what she would be vulnerable to in the bath. But a darker perspective can be taken from Cora having to supervise the bath. Quite possibly she has to watch to prevent Offred from killing herself and to ward off a certain bitter Wife from coming into the bathroom to drown her. Odds are, it’s happened before in Gilead.
Most college memes baffle me with how lazy some people are... but then I take a huge bite of some humble pie, and remember that I dropped out of community college during my second year. And guess what, in the seven years in which I searched for jobs in this podunk town, I had about three. I hated them all, and quit embarrassingly quickly. Why is adult life so hard for me? I could have been born and raised without emotional trauma, but nope! Life fucking whipped me with that trauma-coated cat-o'-nine-tails and basted my raw wounds with lemon juice.
Catch up by reading the previous chapters: Ch. 1Ch. 2Ch. 3. Ch. 4. Ch 5. CHAPTER SIX I had my own designated bedroom tonight. It was Flora’s turn to sleep with the Head of House. It was originally Kristen’s, but Isolde had made her stand outside in the boiling heat for three hours as punishment for embarrassing her at the rally. When she came back inside, her face was sunburnt and solemn, the lingering scent of bile and sweat entering with her.