The Handmaid's Tale: A Short Story

There’s the sound of marching feet and indistinctive angered shouts. It’s October 5, 1789, I open the door of my home and see them, thousands of angry women with pitchforks, knifes, pikes, and muskets, chanting,“ Bread! Bread!” to the beat of the drums. I turn my back from them before any of the women noticed and swallowed, leaving the lingering taste of bread and butter still in my mouth.

I felt guilty that I was able to afford food and other, like the woman before me, were not. I was not exactly rich, but I was not poor either. So, I did had enough money to live comfortably, unlike these women, whom marched from Paris to Versailles in the rain, probably had not had a meal for a while, and somehow there they were full spirited, their strength

I here chatter about how they gave their demands to the king and it has been awhile since they heard a response. I see the agitated looks they have on their faces, their anger boiling over. I start to here whispers amongst the crowd. They say they discovered an unguarded gate and they were going to look for Queen Antoinette’s bedchamber. As they people charged inside the killing the guards standing in there way and putting some of there heads on spikes. Screaming and shouting though the palace they searched for the queen. I was shocked! Although their actions may have been justifiable because we did try to have the king and queen see the pain of the hungry people and we tried to make a change at the General of Estates, but he still refused to listen and the result was violence and to me, it did not feel right. At this point there goal was not to have cheaper bread, it was for blood, they wanted to kill the queen. I left as fast as I could I did not believe in this and wanted no part of these unnecessary viscous actions. Later, I found out that the mob forced the king and queen to live in

I did not, and the other Moderates of France did not, want the king to be replaced or for that matter killed, we just would of liked for him to rule us with our console. However the Jacobins wanted something else, Maximilien Robespierre wanted something else. They promoted freedom, equality, and fraternity, but it seemed like you did not have any of these rights. I look around me and see some, not many, of the royal soldiers with their backs turned, or looking at the floor, while others looked with pained faces. As I turn back towards the Guillotine and close my eyes just long enough for the swish of the blade and a thump of his head to past. I hear cheers and smell blood mixed the smells of rubbished. When I open my eyes again the executioner holds the kings head high with an expression of triumph.

With the king gone the Jacobins had an even stronger hold on the country. If you showed doubt in how they were ruling, you would be executed. I lived and fear and so did everyone else. Anyone who spoke up saying, “Maybe we should stop killing everyone,” they would be beheaded. It was people like Murat and Robespierre that had us living in fear, in terror. Noble, clergymen, peasants, the guilty, and event the innocent were “charged” and sent to death. This was the Reign of