The Handmaid's Tale: A Short Story

The cold hit him straight way, and he turned to the see the appealing glow of the gas lamp that cast silhouettes on the walls, the shadows dancing with each flicker of the small flame. The wind blew quiet but harsh and found its way through the gaps in his woollen overcoat. He turned up the collar and regretted that there was no button to keep it in place. He scurried down the well-trodden path, passing withering plants and whatever else lay in the darkness. Without warning, the headlights of an approaching illuminated him against the darkness of the forest; he threw himself to the hard ground, scurrying towards the relative safety of the undergrowth.

He didn’t dare to move, terrified that any shuffle or scratching might give away his