The Handmaid's Short Story 'Rain'

Rain. The lands of Gilneas knew this weather all too well as it cascaded upon the rocky cliffs and rough landscape of the human-inhabited peninsula. The air was stale in the unrelenting downpour, the land's harsh landscape providing no relief from such. Even in the homes beyond the city, nearest the lands to the east they were battered by the storm. One home in particular, a small cottage for a small family in fact sat alone in the perpetual downpour; one story and sporting the 'homey' feel to it. The house of the Aleckson family.

Iron horseshoes collided against the muddy marshlands of the Gilnean lands towards the home in particular. The equine's rider seated astride it leaned forwards, his rain-splotched face hardened in an eternal scowl

Murmuring a few sincere apologies at rushing the horse, another fact caught the man's attention. Not only did the drops of rain stain the back of his neck, but a cold sweat washed over him. The door leading into his home had been forced open; a closer look leading him to spot the enlarged claw marks. Forceful entry by some sort of animal... is what any reasonable person would believe. The man's amber orbs widened to the size of plates, hastily reaching for the revolver at his hip and clicking it to the

His other hand found truth in retrieving a serrated combat knife from its holster at his thigh. The stench of wet dog only rose his suspicions of the intruder and what might be waiting for him. The same floorboards creaked under the weight of his boots, taking his time to balance his weight and make his way to the lone room with what little light still remained within the home. Broken glass cracking underneath while objects in disarray were moved out of the way. Strewn about were Chairs and desks in what seemed to be a scuffle, his gaze switching about the practically unrecognizable den. This was until his boot did not make impact with the floorboards nor any hard surface from before. Something soft. With a collective halt, his amber-colored gaze descended to the item as his boot switched from atop it.

He felt his breath catch, time seeming to stop before him as the item in question was surveyed upon. A ragged-looking, stuffed wolf plush. Having been in his daughter's possession since she was but a toddler, the toy had seen its better days. But that wasn't what caught his eye, but the liquid that coated the object. Ruby in color. The weapons in his hands groaned with the tightening of his grip, gulping down the welling lump in his