Once again, I have broken it into two posts because I’m wordy as fuck. This is part two. Read part one here. 

“Ralph, honey, dinner’s ready.”  Sarah poked her head into Ralph’s home office and flashed him a nervous smile.  “Come eat while it’s hot.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Sar.”  Ralph smiled fondly at his wife.  “I’m just finishing up the last of my paperwork.”  Sarah slipped out of the room and quietly shut the door.  Ralph returned to the papers in front of him and frowned.  He scribbled his signature three times in succession before stuffing the papers into his briefcase and snapping it shut.  He pushed his briefcase to the very edge of his desk and glared at it in distaste.  He closed his eyes for a minute before going into the dining room.

“Pass the salt, please.”  Ralph handed the shaker to Sarah so she could pass it to Leah, third of their five children.  The family ate in relative silence for several minutes, focusing on the stew and potatoes.  Sarah was watching the others eat more than she was eating herself, and when she saw Junior reach the end of his bowl, she poured half of her stew into his empty bowl.

“Ma, I’m fine,” Junior said automatically, though he began eating his extra serving even before Sarah was done pouring.  He was the starting quarterback for the Jericho Horns, and he never felt like he had enough to eat.  He didn’t complain about it, of course, because he knew that his parents did the best they could.  Still, there wasn’t a night in which he didn’t go to bed with a twinge in his gut.

“You’re a growing boy,” Sarah said firmly, her cornflower blue eyes flashing indignantly.  “You need it more than I do.”  She scraped out the last bit of beef from her bowl into Junior’s and placed the last piece of bread onto his plate as well.  The other four children studiously ate the food on their own plates and didn’t seem to notice the interplay between mother and oldest brother.

“How’s school, Christopher?”  Ralph asked his second oldest child who was in seventh grade.

“It sucks,” Christopher said emphatically, causing his mother to shoot an icy glance his way.  “Not good,” Christopher amended himself.  “We’re doing Noah’s ark in creationism class.”

“Again?  That’s the third time this year.”  Ralph set his spoon down in concern.  He was glad his kids were studying the Bible, but this was ridiculous.

“New teacher.  Miss Gravestone was fired for moral turpitude last week.  This is Miss Stevenson’s first job.”  Christopher peeled a banana and ate half of it in one bite.

“I’ll call the principal in the morning,” Sarah said with a small sigh.  Ralph knew she hated making a fuss, but she would do it for their children.  “This is really unacceptable.”

After dinner, Ralph went back to his home office to unwind.  He didn’t ask for much, but he demanded one hour of alone time after supper – it was sacrosanct.  He liked to joke that if someone wasn’t dying and bothered him during that hour, he would remedy the former in a heartbeat to make it a true emergency.  Therefore, he was unhappy when there was a knock on his door less than half an hour after he had entered his office.  Before he could say anything, Sarah opened the door and slipped inside.  She stood submissively before Ralph, her head bowed.

“I’m sorry, honey.  I know how much you hate being bothered during your downtime hour, but we have to talk.”  Sarah tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and sat down on the couch.  She fastened her eyes on the floor and waited for Ralph to speak.

“It’s OK, Sarah.  Let’s talk.”  Ralph was concerned because while Sarah was a mild-mannered girl for the most part, she wasn’t usually this timid.  Ralph sat next to his wife and put his arm around her shoulders.  He tried to pull her into a hug, but she resisted.  She turned her body slightly so she was facing Ralph.  She took a couple of deep breaths and then blurted out the news.

“I’m pregnant.”  Sarah went rigid in Ralph’s arms as if she were waiting for physical blows.  Ralph had never even thought about hitting his wife, but he had to admit that his first reaction was one of sheer dismay.

“How did this happen, Sarah?”

“I don’t know, Ralph!  I’ve been so careful in my counting – you know I’m very regular.  Maybe I miscounted.  I must have missed a day.  I don’t think I did, but….I really don’t know how I could have let this happen.”  Sarah burst into tears, her thin body shaking in Ralph’s arms.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.  I wasn’t blaming you.  Really, I wasn’t.”  Ralph pulled Sarah to his chest, and stroked her hair.  He tried to think of something positive to say, but he couldn’t.  He loved his children, but he was barely scraping by as it was.  Feeding seven mouths on his salary was nearly impossible, and while it wasn’t against the law for Sarah to work, it might as well be.  She had her hands full with the five kids, and there was a law mandating that no one other than the mother could care for her children – unless she was dead, in jail, or otherwise incapacitated.

Ralph had been wholeheartedly for the law abolishing most abortions as he believed that life began at conception.  However, he hadn’t been as easy with the subsequent laws passed, such as the banning of contraceptives.  He really didn’t like the law that got rid of all daycare centers; he had even wrote a letter to his senators and representative, not that it made a difference.  The law passed in the senate 99 – 1, with the one nay voter receiving death threats from outraged citizens.

As Ralph continued to soothe Sarah, he fleetingly wished that she would miscarry the baby.  Then he felt ashamed of himself for having such a ghastly thought and asked God to forgive him.  He loved his children; he really did.  He simply could not imagine feeding another mouth.  He ran through his options in his head and reluctantly settled on the one that made more sense.

“I’ll see if I can take on any more shifts at work,” Ralph said to Sarah.  He already worked sixty hours a week, but he would do what he had to do.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Sarah said, rising from the couch and hastily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.  She pasted on a smile before opening the door and disappearing into the hallway.

“Damn.”  Ralph uttered the curse word as soon as Sarah had shut the door.  Swearing wasn’t allowed in the house, but he figured he was owed one.  He would never say this to Sarah, but he really wish she would get her tubes tied.  They had the requisite two kids, so she could legally have the procedure done.  The one time he had broached the subject with her after kid number three, however, she had gone into hysterics and accused him of having an affair.  It took him an hour to get her to explain that she thought he was trying to tell her that he had no further use of her as a woman, that he was putting her out to the pasture, so to speak.  Ralph had been so horrified by making her feel that way, he had immediately dropped the subject.

Ralph pushed the thought to the back of his mind and tried to enjoy the rest of his alone time.  It didn’t work, however, so he gave up and brooded.  As much as he loved his kids, he just didn’t know if he could handle having another.  He tried to remember the last time he’d been happy to receive the news that he was going to be a father – it was when Sarah had told him she was pregnant the second time – three children and nearly fifteen years ago.  With each successive kid, he had been less excited and more concerned, even though he wouldn’t trade Leah, Esther, and William for anything in the world.

“I’ll love this new baby, too.  I will.”  Ralph nodded his head and headed upstairs.  He noticed that Sarah was already in bed, even though it was only nine.  She had her back to the door, but he knew she was crying, and his heart ached for her.  He put on his pajamas and slid into bed next to her.  “It’ll be OK, baby.  It will.”  Ralph spooned Sarah from behind, desperately wanting to comfort her.  At first, he thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but when she did, it was in such a soft whisper, Ralph had to strain to hear her.

“I hope it’s not a girl.”

——————————————

“Do you have any extra shifts for me, boss?”  Ralph was in Mr. Ziegler’s office bright and early the next morning, hat figuratively in hand.  Just two weeks ago, Ralph had turned down extra shifts because he wanted to have some life outside of work; now, he had to swallow his pride and ask for the extra hours.

“I still have the Last Supper shift three times a week.  It’s yours for the taking.”  Mr. Ziegler fiddled with the Star of David pin on his lapel; a nervous tic of his.  “Jefferson couldn’t hack it, you know, but I think you have what it takes.”

Ralph grimaced – he had never been on the Last Supper shift; indeed, he had gone out of his way to avoid it for the eleven years he’d worked for the State, but he was desperate for money, and the Last Supper shift paid double what an ordinary shift did.

“I’ll take it,” Ralph said reluctantly.  He turned to leave, but was stopped by a question from Mr. Ziegler.

“What made you change your mind, Stiller?  You were adamant about not working any more hours the last time I asked you.”

“Sarah’s pregnant again,” Ralph said, turning back to his boss.  He didn’t miss the wince that crossed Mr. Ziegler’s face at the announcement.

“I’m sorry.”  That’s all Mr. Ziegler said.  Ralph nodded his head once then left to do his rounds.

———————————————

“Now, remember, despite what you see, it doesn’t hurt them at all.”  Gordon Winters, the manager of the Last Supper shift, counseled Ralph on his first day.  “Studies have shown that death by medication is by far the most painless way to die.”

“Except naturally.”  The thought rose unbidden into Ralph’s head, and he sternly squashed it before he actually voiced it.  Ralph had never been in the Last Supper area before; indeed, he had gone out of his way to avoid it.  Now, he would be taking his place alongside the four other men who were strong enough to do this job.  Gordon Winters had been on the Last Supper shift since day one, and he had seen a couple dozen men who couldn’t hack it come and go.

“Dinah Fredericks is having contractions right now.  She’s nearly there.”  That’s all Winters said, but Ralph could fill in the blanks in his mind.  After Dinah had her baby, she would be given one last meal of her choice and then a lethal dose of barbiturates would be injected into her, and she would pass away.  Dinah had been in Isolation since she was admitted, so Ralph didn’t know her at all.  “Ready to observe?”  Winters caught Ralph off-guard with his comment, and Ralph couldn’t hide his dismay.

“I thought I would be starting at the beginning of a labor?”

“I find it better to throw newbies in with the lions, so to speak.  It’s easier to separate the chaff from the wheat that way.”  Winters’ pale blue eyes stared coldly at Ralph until the latter looked away.  “This isn’t a job for the weak, Stiller.  You either have what it takes, or you don’t.  I need to know that upfront.”  Without further ado, Winters opened the door to Dinah’s cell and strode inside.  A slight, haggard-looking brunette with a swollen belly was strapped down to a gurney, her legs spread as far apart as possible.  She had bruises of varying colors covering her thighs and breasts.  Her stringy hair was plastered to her forehead as she strained against her bonds.  Her lips were pressed so tightly together, they were white.  Half of the baby was already outside her vagina.  A doctor was between Dinah’s leg, but looked towards the door to nod at Winters and Ralph.

“Push, Dinah, push!  You’re almost there!”  A tiny blonde nurse chirped, her voice artificially bright.  Dinah turned her head slowly towards the nurse and stared hard at the girl barely half her age.  The latter squirmed under the scrutiny and fell silent.  Seemingly satisfied, Dinah glanced at the newcomers, her hazel eyes latching on to Ralph – who was shrinking behind Winters.

“You’re doing fine, Dinah,” Winters said briskly, donning latex gloves.  “Soon, your son will be born, and you’ll be able to eat.  Have you changed your mind about dinner?”  He paused, but Dinah didn’t respond.  She kept staring at Ralph, who was looking at anything but her.  He glanced in her direction once, but what he saw in her eyes compelled him to quickly look away.  “Dinah has refused her last meal,” Winters explained to Ralph.

“What?  Why?”  Ralph found himself sneaking peeks at Dinah, only to be disconcerted to see her staring back at him.  She hadn’t taken her eyes off him once since he walked in with Winters.

“Let me amend that.  Dinah hasn’t spoken in the three months since she’s been here.  When we asked what she wanted for her last meal, she didn’t answer.  Therefore, she forgoes her right for a last meal.  After her son is born, we will administer the barbs.”

“Jeez, Winters, do you have to be so blunt about it?”  Ralph thought, but he didn’t say it out loud since he didn’t want to show up Winters in front of an inmate.

“One more push, Dinah!  You can do it!”  The nurse was chirping at Dinah again, but the latter was too focused on Ralph to pay attention.  Ralph didn’t understand why Dinah was so fascinated by him, but it was making him uncomfortable.  He also didn’t like what was going on between Dinah’s legs as blood made him queasy.  Ralph hadn’t been present for the birth of any of his children, so this was an unpleasant experience all around.  He tried to think about Sarah and the kids, but that just made him think about the baby on the way and why he was in this room in the first place.

Sarah had cried herself to sleep every night ever since she told Ralph about the latest pregnancy, and nothing he did or said comforted her.  He would hold her, massage her shoulders, and tell her everything was going to be all right, but to no avail.  She would only sob harder, curl into a ball, and refuse solace.  On a purely selfish note, they hadn’t made love since that fateful announcement a week ago, either.  Ralph was used to getting it twice a week, if not three times, so he found the current situation almost unbearable.  While Ralph felt bad for Sarah, he couldn’t help thinking about how he was the one working overtime to support the family.  He didn’t ask much of Sarah, and he couldn’t help resenting the fact that she had cut him off.  The one time he had approached her about the topic, she had burst into tears and locked herself in the bedroom.

“You did it, Dinah!”  The nurse squeaked, clapping her hands together.  “You now have a healthy baby boy!”  Dinah didn’t say anything as she continued to stare at Ralph, who was wincing at the nurse’s cheerleader attitude.  Who the hell decided she would be a good nurse for the Last Supper unit?  Ralph thought it was probably Winters, but for what reason, he couldn’t fathom.

“Well, that’s done,” Winters said briskly, rubbing his hands together.  “You change your mind about that last meal, Dinah?”  No reply.  Dinah kept her eyes focused on Ralph, and he was beginning to sweat despite the air conditioning.  He felt that Dinah was trying to tell him something, but he had no idea what it was.  “Last chance, Dinah.  If you don’t answer me in two minutes, I’m going to take it as a no.”

The next two minutes were the longest of Ralph’s life.  He felt compelled, for whatever reason, to hold Dinah’s stare as the seconds ticked away. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know what.  The darkness in her eyes warned him to hold his tongue, and besides, he didn’t want to appear weak in front of Winters.

“Time’s up.” Winters nodded at the three men who suddenly appeared next to him.  Ralph jumped as he hadn’t heard the men enter the cell.  Two men stood and watched as the third approached the gurney.  He hooked Dinah up with an IV, injected a series of syringes into the IV, and then stepped back.  Ralph couldn’t keep his eyes off Dinah – who was still watching him intently – as he waited for something to happen.  He wasn’t sure exactly what, but he braced himself for it, regardless.  Dinah didn’t blink as she stared at Ralph through hooded lids.  With Ralph watching, Dinah’s eyes started glazing over.  She tried to maintain eye contact with Ralph, but she gave up the fight several minutes after she had been injected with the barbs.  A minute later, her eyelids fluttered shut.  The man who had injected the syringes into the IV checked her pulse, then nodded at Winters.

“We’re done here, folks,” Winters announced.

“That’s it?”  Ralph asked, his eyes still on Dinah.  Irrationally, he hoped to see her wink at him, to let him know that she was just pretending.

“Yup.”  Winters took the baby from the nurse and cradled him in his arms.  “Welcome to the Last Supper, Stiller.  Next up is training to inject the barbs.  We rotate every time.  Then you’ll truly be one of us.”

Ralph raced from the cell as his stomach started to churn.  He barely made it to the restroom before unloading the contents of his lunch – gumbo, two biscuits, and collard greens – into the toilet.  Once he was through, he reached up to flush before hugging the toilet bowl.  He couldn’t get Dinah’s eyes out of his mind.  One minute, she was alert and staring at him intensely; the next minute, her eyes had gone flat as she died.  She was dead, and her son would grow up without a mother.  She was dead, and her husband would have to raise his son and who knows how many other kids alone?  There was a law that mandated that the husband of a three-striker couldn’t remarry for two years and his mate had to be chosen by the state.  Dinah was dead because of a law that declared a fetus to be more important than—Ralph shook his head to rid himself of his treacherous ideas, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the sheer futility of what he had just witnessed.

Ralph stood up unsteadily, his legs shaky beneath him.  He closed his eyes briefly to say a prayer, but he couldn’t feel God’s presence at all.  He left the stall, washed his hands, and exited the restroom.  Instead of going to his office or to Winters’ office to receive his training, however, he headed for Eve’s cell – that’s where he really needed to be.

Editor’s Note: This is a story set in my dystopian world that has banned abortion and contraception. It’s a really long story, so I broke it into two parts.  This is part two. Read part one here.

Maddie turned her face away from Mrs. Frazier and stared at the wall. Maddie wasn’t really looking at anything, but she couldn’t bear looking at that bitch for one second more.  How dare Mrs. Frazier tell Maddie what the fuck was for her own good?  Maddie was a grown-ass woman who could make her own decisions.  Maddie felt the being kick in her womb, and she fought to keep down the rising panic.  She didn’t want this thing inside her, damn it, and it pissed her the fuck off that she couldn’t get rid of it. She remembered an ex-friend of hers admonishing her for complaining, saying it was her duty as a woman to have children and that said children were gifts from God.  Maddie had stared at Sally, her friend, as if the latter had spoken in tongues.  Never before had Sally espoused such beliefs, and Maddie couldn’t believe she had the fucking nerve to say it to her face.  Maddie had cut off the friendship with no remorse, refusing to accept any calls from Sally after that.

That ill-fated decision had started Maddie’s downfall.  Not two weeks after Maddie had cut off all ties with Sally did she get hauled into the nearest cop shop for thought interrogation.  She had been kept for hours and was asked the same questions over and over again.  Was she pregnant?  Why wasn’t she happy about being pregnant?  How did her husband feel about her being pregnant?  What did she plan to do about it?  She had answered their questions as honestly as she could – only lying about how her Darrell felt about her being pregnant.  She told them that he was ecstatic about becoming a father and that he already had names picked out.  She made a mental note to make sure Darrell knew this so he could answer similarly when he was questioned, if he was questioned at all.  The cops rarely bothered to interrogate the husband in a case like this – they just assumed that the husband wanted the kid and it was the bitch wife who was trying to get rid of it.

The cops hadn’t hit her because it was law that no pregnant woman could be struck while in captivity, but they did everything else they could to make the experience as uncomfortable as possible.  They did the good cop/bad cop thing, turned the heat up until Maddie was sweating profusely – she considered telling them that intense heat was bad for the baby, but she didn’t want to push her luck – and refused to give her anything to drink when she asked.  She didn’t bother demanding an attorney because that right had been taken away in 2021, and she knew that asking would only make her more suspect in their eyes.

“Mrs. Macintosh, you have been overheard several times talking about not wanting to be pregnant.  You know this is against the law, and no decent woman would feel that way in the first place.  What do you have to say for yourself?”  This was the white cop, the designated bad cop, asking her the same damn question for the fifth time.  Maddie hated repeating herself, but she knew better than to protest.  She also knew better than to correct him on her name.  Though she was officially Mrs. Macintosh, she preferred to be called Ms. Wong.

“I never said I didn’t want to be pregnant,” Maddie said wearily, rubbing her belly for emphasis.  “I had concerns that I wasn’t ready to be a mother, but there’s no law against that.”  And there wasn’t.  Maddie was an expert as to what was within the law and what was outside it when it came to her body and what she could say about it/do with it.  She glared at the white cop, daring him to make an issue of it.  The black cop, the good cop took over the questioning instead after exchanging glances with his partner.

“Now, Mrs. Macintosh, we know it’s difficult for some young women to come to terms with the fact that they’re about to become mothers.  We’re not here to judge you on your misgivings about your impending motherhood.  However—”

“Bullshit.”  Maddie dearly wished she could snatch back the word as soon as it left her mouth, but her anger wouldn’t let her keep quiet.  “How can either of you know what it’s like to be pregnant?  You’re men.”  Oh fuck.  She’d done it now.  It was not against the law to point out gender differences, but it was heavily frowned upon.  She could tell by the scowls on both the cops’ faces that she had put herself in a very tenuous situation.  She swallowed her ire and her pride before backpedaling as best she could.  “I’m very sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I know that both of you are good men who only care about what’s best for society.  It’s just, you know, I’m so scared.”  Maddie had burst into loud, fakey sobs as she buried her face in her hands to cover up the fact that she wasn’t actually crying.  A quick peek through her fingers showed her that not only had the cops bought what she’d said, they were looking at her in concern.  Men were so stupid when it came to women and crying.

“Please don’t cry, Mrs. Macintosh.”  The black cop reached over and patted Maddie on the shoulder.  She involuntarily twitched said shoulder, but the cop didn’t seem to notice.  “We know it’s hard, but just think how happy your husband will be when you bear him a child.”  Maddie swallowed her retort that her husband was only happy when she was happy because she sensed she was close to getting out of dodge, and she didn’t want to fuck it up.

“You’re right, Officer,” Maddie said, her voice muffled by her hands, which were still covering her face.  “I have been  selfish only thinking about myself.  I know Darryl is so looking forward to the birth of our child – that makes me feel so much better.”  Maddie took another quick look, fearing she had laid it on too thick.  To her relief, mixed with a healthy dose of disgust, both cops accepted her statement at face value.

“You just keep thinking about your husband, Mrs. Macintosh,” the white cop said, nodding his head in emphasis.  Maddie hadn’t caught either of their names, nor did she care.  She just wanted to get the fuck out of there before she got herself in deeper shit.  “Right.  We have to put this on your record, but if you can make it through the rest of your pregnancy without another incident, it’ll be expunged.”

“Thank you, Officers.  I really appreciate it.”  Maddie felt as if she had shoved a hot poker in her gut as she spoke, but she accepted it as it got her out of the cop shop.  The minute she got home, she had told Darryl where she had been and what had happened.  He was outraged on her behalf, and he fumed helplessly about what he should have done.

“Fuck, babe.  I wish I’d known.  I should have been there with you!  I would have –”

“Done nothing.”  Maddie snapped at Darryl, her nerves completely shot.  “You know it would have been worse if you’d stormed Gitmo and stood up for me.  You would have been seen as betraying the brotherhood.”  To betray the brotherhood was the worst sins any man could commit.  Maddie couldn’t bear to think about how Darryl would be treated if he was seen as a feminist-sympathizer.

“I don’t care, Maddie.  I would do anything for you – you know that!”  Darryl’s emerald green eyes sparkled with rage as he stared defiantly at Maddie.  She stared at him, her heart full of love.  No man had ever cherished her as much as her Darryl did, and she was thankful to whomever that she was lucky enough to be his wife.

“Let’s not argue, hon,” Maddie said huskily, reaching her hand out to Darryl.  “The one good thing about me being pregnant is that we can have sex whenever we want.  I want.”  Darryl grabbed Maddie’s hand and pulled her to him, crushing her lips with his.  Without saying another word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her up to bed.  They spent the next several hours enjoying connubial bliss.  Both of them were utterly spent by the time they were done – Maddie had lost count of her orgasms after seven.

“Hon, it wouldn’t be terrible if we had a kid,” Darryl said softly, his hands playing with Maddie’s sweaty hair that was flopping over her breast.  “I think we would be good parents.”

“I don’t want to be a mother,” Maddie said flatly, pushing Darryl’s hand away.  “I thought we settled this before we got married.”  Maddie rolled away from Darryl, her eyes filling with tears.  He had been so understanding when she had poured out her heart as to why she hadn’t wanted to be a mother – had it all been a ruse to get in her pants?

“Maddie, look at me.”  Darryl rolled Maddie back so she was facing him.  She refused to look him in the eyes, however, as he kept talking.  “I know you never wanted kids.  I’m ambivalent about it myself, but what other option do we have at this point?”  Maddie wanted to hold on to her mad, but she knew Darryl was only speaking the truth.  With a sigh, she looked up at her husband, only to find him staring back at her in concern.  She tried to think of something to say that would placate him, but she couldn’t stem the panic that was suffocating her enough to explain.

“I can’t, Darryl.  I just can’t.”  It was all Maddie could say without falling apart.

“OK, hon.  Then we’ll have to find a way out of it.”  Darryl gathered Maddie to him and hugged her tightly.  Maddie wept in relief that she had at least one ally upon whom she could count without reservation.

“Let’s read more from the Bible, shall we?”  Mrs. Frazier’s voice brought Maddie back to the present once again.  Maddie restrained herself from sighing, but just barely.  She nodded with what she hoped was an appropriately acquiescent look on her face.  Mrs. Frazier flipped to Proverbs 31: 10 and began reading about how to be a virtuous woman.  Maddie zoned out knowing she’d be able to pass a pop quiz on this particular passage with her eyes closed.

She glanced down at her body tethered to her own damn bed, spread-eagle, and for the first time in her life, she was glad her mother had died last year.  It would have broken Mrs. Wong’s heart to see Maddie trussed up like this –or worse, it would have driven Mrs. Wong to do something drastic.  Speaking of drastic, Maddie wondered what Darryl was doing right now.  She knew the cops had probably questioned him after they had broken into the house and found her body – she still didn’t know how they had known, nor did she particularly care; she was just damn glad she had planned it for when Darryl was out of the house so he’d had plausible deniability – but she was pretty sure they wouldn’t have kept him in lockup overnight.  Darryl knew the drill when it came to being questioned by the police; he had probably spent the night at his parents’ house, sleepless and out of his mind with worry for her.

Maddie’s brain churned as she thought about her predicament.  If she were going to do something about her situation, she had to be untethered, obviously.  She had a hunch that getting Mrs. Frazier to untie her would be nearly impossible, so her only hope was to convince Mrs. Frazier to let her see Darryl for their requisite hour and to leave them alone.  Oh, sure, that should be a snap, Maddie thought sarcastically.  Mrs. Frazier had no reason to trust her, so Maddie would have to find a way to connect with her on a woman-to-woman basis.  Maddie thought about the interactions she’d had with Mrs. Frazier up until this point as well as what they had said to each other this…morning?  Afternoon?  This day.  Maddie thought about the verses Mrs. Frazier had chosen and about the very reason the two of them were stuck together in the first place.  With a slight nod, Maddie chose her method of attack.  She waited until Mrs. Frazier had finished reading the damned Bible passage before lobbing her opening salvo.

“That passage always hits me hard,” Maddie said, her voice studied.  “It reminds me that no matter how hard I try, I can never be a truly virtuous woman.”

“It can be hard to face one’s shortcomings, indeed, Magdalene.  The only thing I can say in comfort is that if you apply yourself, you can be more and more like the truly virtuous woman with each effort.”  Mrs. Frazier nodded wisely at Maddie, who managed to keep her face neutral.  “I, myself, struggle with my temper from time to time.  It’s only with the grace of God that I have been able to mostly tame it.”

“My favorite verses are eleven and twelve.  ‘The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.  She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.’.”  Maddie paused to gauge the effect she was having on her audience – from the way Mrs. Frazier was nodding in approval, Maddie was pretty certain she had chosen the right path.  She softened her voice as she added, “I really miss my husband.  He is my anchor and my rock.  I feel so lost without him.”

“I know how you feel, dear.”  Mrs. Frazier patted Maddie’s hand, her face a picture of sympathy.  “When I have to be separated from my Joshua for any length of time, I always feel so weak and helpless.”

“I’m having such trouble accepting this pregnancy.  It would really help to see Darryl for our hour.”  Maddie knew it was a calculated risk to bring up her pregnancy, but it was a risk she had to take.  There was no other reason strong enough for her to be asking for Darryl, and she highly doubted Mrs. Frazier would approve if Maddie said she needed to see her husband so she could fuck him silly.

“I don’t know, Magdalene,” Mrs. Frazier said, her voice stiffening slightly.  “It’s my duty to watch over you, and I take it very seriously.”

“Please, Mrs. Frazier.  I need my Darryl.  One hour.  Pretty please?”  Maddie was not above groveling if it would get her what she wanted – what she needed.  She made her face as penitent and frightened as possible, and she must have done a good job because after a long pause, Mrs. Frazier nodded her head once.

“I will call Mr. Macintosh and let him know that he can have his hour with you.”  Mrs. Frazier stood up, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.  Before leaving, however, she paused, turned, and said in a hard voice, “This is the second strike against you.  Remember what happens if you get a third.”

“I remember,” Maddie said in a small voice.  Mrs. Frazier stared at Maddie before exiting the room.  Maddie thought about what would happen if she received her third strike – she would be confined to an 8’ by 8’ cell, tied to the bed and not set free until after she gave birth.  Once she had expelled her spawn, she would be fed one last meal and then injected with a lethal amount of horse barbiturates until her heart exploded.  This law had been enacted by President Christie in 2028 when he was accused by the Theocrati of not being zealot enough in his persecution of harlots, trollops, and whores – otherwise known as women who didn’t want to procreate.

Maddie exhaled, her mind racing.  She had an idea of what she could do, and she had to make sure her plan was airtight before Darryl came to visit her.  According to law, she was allowed one hour with Darryl with no one in the house.  One hour.  Would it be enough time?  It would have to be.  She heard a rustling outside her door and arranged her face quickly into a bland visage.

“I reached your husband, and he’s looking forward to seeing you.”  Mrs. Frazier smiled benevolently down at Maddie and stopped, clearly waiting for a reply.  Maddie bit back a sarcastic retort and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Frazier.  I really appreciate you calling Darryl for me.  I miss him so much.”  A sob caught in Maddie’s throat, and she didn’t even have to fake it; she missed Darryl with a ferocity that frightened her.

“Why don’t we read more of the Bible while we wait for him, Magdalene?”  Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Frazier sat in the chair by the bed, opened her Bible and began to read Deuteronomy 17.  This was another familiar passage to Maddie, so she allowed her brain to return to her plan.  She poked at it from every angle, seeing if she could find any holes in it.  To her satisfaction, she found none.  She snapped back to the present when she heard Mrs. Frazier raise her voice.  “…verse 12?”

“It talks about the importance of following God’s law and saying that anyone who doesn’t shall be put to death.”  Maggie didn’t need to hear the question to know what she’d been asked.  She refrained from rolling her eyes, but just barely – talk about your obvious choice of Bible verses.  Why was it that any time the Ameritaliban wanted to make a point, they chose the same damn passages time and time again?

“I’ll go see if Mr. Macintosh is here yet.”  Mrs. Frazier rose from her chair, her mouth pursed in disapproval.  Maddie had no idea why Mrs. Frazier was upset with her, but she had a hunch it was because she had been able to answer Mrs. Frazier’s question, thus depriving Mrs. Frazier the joy of feeling superior to Maddie.

Maddie closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.  It seemed as if she’d been looking over her shoulder all her life, always fearing that one day, she would be deemed not salvageable and tossed in Permanent Isolation.  She was so fucking tired of being afraid and enraged all the time.  Tears leaked out from under her eyelids as she thought about all the times she’d been hauled into the police for infractions big and small, the countless hours she had wasted covering her tracks whenever she researched a forbidden topic, or how hard she had tried to get rid of the alien thing growing inside her – to no avail.  She opened her eyes when she heard the thud of the door opening.

“Maddie!  Oh my god.  What the fuck have they done to you?”  Darryl rushed into the arm, tears streaming down his cheeks.  He stopped and stared at Maddie in horror, unable to grasp what he was seeing.

“I’m OK, Darryl.  Really, baby.  Sh, sh, sh, don’t cry.”  Maddie tried to smile at her husband, but her smile crumbled at the corners.  “You know they had to tie me down after what I did to myself.  It’s the law.”

“Fuck the law!”  Darryl ran to the bed and started fumbling with the restraints.  “They have no fucking right to tie you up as if you were a feral animal.”

“They have every right, and you know it, Darryl.”  Maddie’s voice was quiet as she watched Darryl struggle with the buckles on her wrist restraints.

“Once I untie you, we’re going to get the hell out of here where no one can find us!”  Darryl was still crying, which was impeding his ability to untie Maddie, and she loved him even more for it.  She didn’t bother reminding him that there was nowhere for them to go because she needed him to set her free if she were to set her plan in motion.  She smiled fondly at Darryl as he continued talking about the life they would have together, just the two of them, once they fled to Canada or Mexico.  Her heart filled with tenderness for the man who was willing to throw away everything he had in order to be with her.  He finally managed to untie her wrists and tackled her ankle restraints.  Maddie glanced at the clock on the bedside table and saw that only five minutes had passed.  She sighed in relief because she had been sure she’d already lost at least ten minutes of her precious hour.

“Maybe I’ll be a Mounted Police.  I know how to ride a horse, and I look pretty damn good in a uniform, if I do say so myself.”  Darryl continued spinning his fantasy of their future as he released first one ankle then the other.  Five more precious minutes lost.  Maddie took a deep breath and put her plan into motion.

“Darryl, I need to pee before we leave, but I’m too weak to walk.  Carry me?”  Maddie held out her arms, and Darryl went to the head of the bed and hugged her as best he could.

“Of course, honey.”  Darryl kissed Maddie hard on the lip before swinging her into his arms.  As Darryl was lifting her to his chest, Maddie reached over and grabbed the lamp that was sitting on the nightstand.  She grasped it with both hands and brought it down on Darryl’s head almost as hard as she could.  He dropped like a brick, and fortunately for Maddie, she landed on the bed with a thump.  She scrambled off the bed, ignoring the pain between her legs the best she could, and kissed Darryl on the lips.  One tenet of the Three Strike Law was that any accomplice caught was also summarily executed, and there was no way in hell Maddie would allow that to happen to Darryl.  Without her, he could find a woman who wanted kids, settle down, and live a normal life.

“I love you, Darryl.”  Maddie kissed him again before limping to the window near the bed, nearly falling as her legs wobbled beneath her.  She opened the window as wide as possible before going into her bathroom.  She grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet and hurried downstairs as fast as her aching thighs would allow.  She went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and a roll of duct tape before making her way to the garage.  She glanced at the clock in the front hallway on her way out – 15 minutes gone.

Once in the garage, Maddie attached the hose to her tailpipe, taping it in place, and snaked it through the front window of her Prius.  She started the car and rolled up the window as far as she could.  She downed a handful of the pills along with three gulps of water before attacking the problem of sealing the windows shut – more duct tape.  Once she finished, she slumped down in the driver’s seat, every ounce of energy spent.  She closed her eyes as the pills started to kick in.  With a slight smile on her face, she fell into her final sleep.

Tad Collins cut his London broil, rare, into small pieces as he studiously ignored the reporters clustered around him. Any time one of them crossed an invisible line, the bodyguards surrounding Tad would make it clear that said reporter had better back off – or else. As Tad ate his steak, his cell phone rang suddenly. He pulled it out of his pocket, frowning as he noted the number.

“Stay here,” he ordered his bodyguards in a quiet, forceful voice. “Make sure no one follows me.” Without waiting for an answer, he stood up from the table and exited the restaurant. He had hired an excellent bodyguard corps, and not one reporter dared to follow him. The second Tad was out of view, his entire manner changed from a confident swagger to subtle supplication. His cell was still ringing, and finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Robbie, I told you that you can’t call me now. It’s too dangerous.” He couldn’t hide the longing in his voice, no matter how he strove to keep his tone even. He was about to add something when he felt a pain in his neck, and then – nothing.

“Wake up, Tad. You don’t want to be late to your own funeral.” A low, husky voice reached Tad’s ears through the fog that engulfed him. He shook his head, certain that he was dreaming. He felt three rapid stings on his cheek, and he reluctantly opened his eyes. “So nice of you to join us, Tad. I hope you’re comfortable.” A voluptuous Asian woman with jet-black waves down to her ass and Chinese letters in flames tattooed up and down her arms smiled slowly with brilliant scarlet lips at Tad as he tried to focus – it wasn’t a pleasant smile. Tad struggled to move, but he was tied to a chair, and his hands were handcuffed in front of him. He looked down and noticed that he was only wearing his boxers.

“Who are you? Have we met?” Tad coughed hoarsely, his voice strangely raw. He stared at hard at the woman – wondering who the hell she was and what the hell she wanted with him.

“No, we haven’t met,” the woman replied, a hint of an accent apparent in her voice. She was wearing a little maroon dress – despite the sub-freezing temperatures – that clung to every curve. Her obsidian eyes were staring impassively into Tad’s, and despite the fact that he couldn’t read anything in them, he shivered. The woman was smoking an unfiltered cigarette, held in her left hand, and she stared silently at Tad for a long minute before answering his first question. “I’m A. This is B, and this is C.” She gestured with a gloved hand to two figures behind her who were standing so still, Tad had mistaken them for statues. Both of them had ski masks on, and neither moved a muscle. C held some kind of rifle case in his hands – and Tad was sure it was a man, something about the way he stood with his shoulders straight back and his entire body coiled – whereas B had nothing in her hands. Her? Was Tad sure B was a woman? Yes, he was. He could see a hint of breast under her fitted black shirt, and she definitely had hips underneath her camo pants. Both B and C were wearing shit-kicker boots.

“What the hell do you want with me?” Tad stared defiantly at A, but he couldn’t quite keep the tremor out of his voice. “You know, this is kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment. My lawyer –” A’s hand moved so quickly, Tad didn’t see it coming until he felt the flesh on his right cheek burn. Shit! The bitch had ground out her cigarette on his cheekbone! “You fucking bitch. What the fuck –” Tad gagged as A slid her fingers into his throat and lifted up his thyroid. It was the weirdest feeling, and it hurt.

“Shut the fuck up, Tad. I didn’t say you could speak.” A removed her fingers and languorously relit her cigarette. She inhaled deeply on it, held it for several seconds, then blew the smoke into Tad’s eyes. He started coughing and tears welled up in his eyes and she did. “You’re allergic to smoke.” A stated it matter-of-factly, her tone even. “That’s good to know.”

“You want money? I have plenty of money. I –” Tad let out a yelp as A put out her cigarette on his forehead this time.

“You’re a slow learner, Tad. When I say shut the fuck up, I mean it. I’m in charge here, not you.” A hadn’t raised her voice once, which disturbed Tad more than he thought possible. “And, since that’s the case, I get to ask the questions. How many boys did you rape, Tad?” Even though Tad had expected this, he flinched. He opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Was it a trick question? Would she burn him again if he answered. A noticed his indecision and her lips curved into a genuine smile as she pulled out a razor blade from the hefty black purse she had incongruously slung over one shoulder. Tad’s eyes widened at the sight, and he started breathing a bit harder as A grabbed his bound hands and delicately sliced through the webbing between the thumb and first finger of his right hand.

“You fucking cunt!” Tad bellowed, his entire body going rigid.

“That’s for not answering my question, Tad,” A said quietly, reaching down and fishing Tad’s cock out of his boxers. He was limp, of course, but that didn’t seem to bother A. “This is for calling me a cunt.” A swiftly moved the razor blade down the shaft of Tad’s cock, causing him to howl out in agony. “And you still haven’t answered my question. How many boys have you raped?”

“You cut my cock, you crazy bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you? When my lawyer gets through with you – you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail! You hear me?” Tad looked down and saw the blood pooling on the chair, staining his white boxers a deep cherry red. A didn’t say anything as she reached into her purse and pulled out a small cattle prod. Tad couldn’t stop the whimpers that escaped his mouth at the sight of the prod. A fiddled with it before touching the tip to one of Tad’s exposed nipples. Pain exploded in the area; she held it firmly in place as he writhed. She withdrew it before she repeated her question.

“I said, Tad, how many little boys have you raped?” A thin line of anger crept into A’s voice, and there was a tightness to her lips that hadn’t been there before. “I found thirteen, but I bet the number is triple that, if not more.”

“Anything I say will not be admissible in court, bitch.” Tad’s teeth were chattering and his words were slurred, but he was still defiant. He glanced to B and C, his eyes pleading for help; all he received in return were two impassive stares. A’s eyes blazed in dark fury as she jammed the prod into Tad’s nut sack – hard. She removed it quickly, but it didn’t stop Tad’s body from going into convulsions. A leaned so close to Tad’s ear, he could feel her breath ruffle his hair.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a fucking court of law, asshole.” A pulled back and looked straight into Tad’s eyes. He shrank back as best he could at the cold, endless emptiness he saw there. A stepped back, turned, and nodded at B. B moved forward gracefully, her steps slow and assured. She walked until she was three feet in front of Tad, then stopped. Tad trembled as he waited for – what – he didn’t know. While he waited, B took a pair of brass knuckles out of her pockets and slipped them on over her gloved hands. A nodded at C who set the case at his feet and opened it. He withdrew the pieces of a rifle and started assembling them with his gloved hands. Tad’s eyes bulged at the sight, but he didn’t say anything – he had learned that particular lesson very well.

“I’m giving you one last chance, Tad. Give me the names of all the boys you’ve raped, and we’re done here.” A couldn’t hide the slight trembling in her voice, and she lit up a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and blew it in Tad’s eyes once again. He coughed and choked, his eyes starting to swell shut.

“You can go fuck yourself, you cunt. I don’t have to tell you anything!” Tad cried out loud as B turned her waist and her arms in one smooth motion and hit him square in the ribs with her fists. Once, twice, three times, then she stopped. She held her hands loosely at her side, and there was an unmistakable menace about her that almost caused Tad to void his bowels. “You broke my fucking ribs, you bitch. I’ll sue you!” B swung from the waist again and hammered Tad in the crotch, nearly causing him to pass out. C stopped to watch B in action for a minute before returning to his rifle. It took him another fifteen seconds to assemble it. Once he was through, he settled it on his shoulder, pointed it at Tad, and looked through the scope. Far from being tense, C relaxed as he hoisted the rifle on his shoulder; he looked as if he were made to hold it.

“You still don’t get it, Tad.” A grabbed Tad by the hair and yanked his head back so the cords on his neck were straining. She held the lit cigarette to Tad’s jugular and grunted in satisfaction as Tad screamed in pain. “I don’t give a fuck what you think you will or won’t do to me. I just want those names.” A pulled an iPad out of her purse and turned it on. “Now.” She stared at Tad without blinking, her lips pressed tightly together. She was holding herself very still as well, and there was something about her stance that bothered Tad more than the abuse he was enduring.

“Go to hell, you stupid bitch.” A’s nostrils flared at Tad’s words and she motioned with her hand as B had been about to start punching Tad again. B stopped and waited. A grabbed Tad’s right hand and pushed in the knuckle of his middle finger. Tad couldn’t believe how much it hurt, and she kept pushing until there was a snap. She didn’t say a word as she grabbed his index finger and did the same thing. As she reached for his ring finger, Tad began to struggle – but he was no match for her. She snapped that finger as well. “What the fuck, you crazy cunt?” A stopped, stepped back, and took a few slow, smooth breaths. Her voice was flat and inflectionless when she finally did speak.

“You can call me crazy. You can call me ugly, fat, a bitch, or even a cunt. But you do not call me stupid. Understood?” A nodded at B who again did the waist turn thing and delivered five blows to Tad’s chest. He felt as if each one punctured a hole in him, and he was surprised that he was still breathing. “The names, Tad. Give me the fucking names.”

“OK,” Tad whispered, every ounce of fight beaten out of him. He took a deep breath and started reciting. A began typing rapidly, her eyes fixed on Tad’s broken figure. A nodded  tersely at B, who returned to her place next to C. B slipped off the brass knuckles and shoved them into her pocket as C cocked the trigger and waited. Tad didn’t even notice this activity as he had his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. He kept talking, naming boy after boy. A’s face whitened with each name, and she gripped her iPad tighter as she typed, but otherwise, she showed no reaction. It seemed to Tad like he’d been talking for hours because he would have to backtrack when he forgot a name, but really, it was only about fifteen minutes from start to finish. Once he was done, he shut his mouth and sat there in dumb agony, waiting to hear his verdict.

A said nothing as she turned off her iPad and stuffed it back in her purse. She withdrew a key from the same purse and unlocked Tad’s hands. He couldn’t move them, though, so they flopped helplessly to his side. A walked heavily until she was in line with B and C. She placed one gloved hand on C’s shoulder – the one sans rifle – and rested it there. Without hesitation, he exhaled and squeezed the trigger once. Pain exploded in Tad’s gut as the bullet ripped through his innards and shredded them to pieces. He could feel the burn everywhere the bullet touched before it whistled out his back.

“Why?” Tad managed to croak. “I gave you what you wanted.” That was all he could say before he slumped over in excruciating pain.

A nodded once at B and C. C quickly disassembled his rifle and stowed it in the case. The three silently left the building and climbed into an idling car; C was careful not to squeal the tires as he drove into the night.

There was a bite to the air, as there often was late at night. The area was desolate, as if mourning the gloomy weather. The waves lapping against the shore were the only sound to be heard, other than an occasional rumble in the distance. There were faint streaks of cerise cutting through the swaths of blackness in the night sky, but they were nearly impossible to spot with the naked eye. The moon glimmered from behind a small cluster of clouds, affording minimal light to anyone intrepid enough to venture out. The beach was deserted, properly so, as it would be unwise for anyone to stumble upon the sands in the dead of night.

There was one brave soul, looking impossibly small as she stood on the cliff high above the ocean. Even though the night was chilly, she was wearing only a thin carnelian dress that could more rightfully be labeled a slip. She didn’t seem to be affected by the cold as she twirled in the dark, her hands extended exultantly to the sky. Her burgundy-painted lips stretched into a generous smile as she soaked up the frigid atmosphere. There was condensation in the air—signaling an imminent rainfall. She squared her shoulder and straightened her spine as she took her first step forward.

—————–

San Francisco. She looked around her tiny crackerjack box studio in Bernal Heights. She thought her studio in Minneapolis had been small; it was palatial compared to this prison cell. She could stretch out her arms and touch the wall on either side of her. Slight exaggeration, but not much of one—and the place cost her twice what her studio in Minneapolis had. The walls were an ugly salmon pink, and the paint was crumbling in the corners. She hated pink. She hated crumbling paint. She hated corners. She hated hills. She flopped down on the futon and stared at the stucco ceiling instead so she wouldn’t have to deal with the glaring defects of her new home.

The next few weeks passed in a haze. No job, no school, no friends, no life, no prospects. Each day bled into the next. She’d wake up and lie on her futon, staring at the ceiling for hours. Many minutes would pass before she’d remember to blink. By then, her eyes would be dried out, and shutting them would literally hurt. The stucco swirled before her eyes as she stared and stared. Like a Dali painting, shapes began to emerge when she softened her gaze but didn’t actually close her eyes. Voluptuous nude female figures recumbent, standing erect, doubled over, flirting, making love with each other. When she’d found the last hidden figure for the day, only then would she drag herself out of bed and throw herself into the shower in order to eat up some of the interminable time that suffocated her days. Sure, she could have done something useful like paint the walls a different color – a bright coral would have been nice – but that would have taken energy she just couldn’t spare.

After the shower, she’d fly out the door like she had something to do, somewhere pressing to be. I am important, her attitude shouted to an uncaring world. I have no time to dawdle. No matter if she was only going to the coffee shop down the street for the third time that day or to the grocery store on the corner. Heaven forbid she looked like she had time on her hands, that she wasn’t one of the people on the move. She never walked when she could jog, and once in awhile, she would break out in a quick sprint to demonstrate just how strapped for time she was.

She became obsessed with the color red. The woman with a crimson scarf wrapped stylishly around her neck. The flaming hair of the Irish boy licking a melting strawberry ice cream cone as he stood underneath the weak afternoon sun. The winking ruby, set garishly, on the thin finger of an emaciated model-type. The maroon fire truck blaring its siren as it rushed down the street, presumably towards a cherry blaze. The magenta ribbons of the sunset, and the scarlet slashes of the sunrise. She even followed one guy for three blocks because of his carmine sweater—only to stop suddenly when she ran into his back. She stuttered an apology before running away. Her face still burned in shame when she thought of it, and yet, she marked her time in red. Sometimes, she took the Richmond to Daly City/Colma train back and forth and back again just because of that little square of red on the side of the train.

After a full day of chasing red, she returned to her bare apartment. Nothing unpacked, nothing to unpack. She hadn’t shipped anything from home, wanting the proverbial “fresh start”. She hadn’t even brought any clothes with her; she just picked up desultory pieces from local consignment shops. Late in the evening, she would eat her one daily meal consisting of rice and scrambled eggs with a can of generic cola to wash it down, then she’d stare at the ceiling for a couple more hours until she drifted off to sleep. Her mind would be blank except for the snapshots of all the different reds she had seen that day; she needed the reds to help her fall asleep.

Deep, laborious sleep. Heavy, dreamless, weighty. Slowly, wisps and fragments of smoky dreams filtered into her numbed brain. Fast-forwarded film playing over and over again. The laughing lips bathed in vermilion, hovered over her face, daring her to kiss them, to claim them as her own. Luscious lips, swollen with promise. Taste me, they said, all your dreams will be fulfilled. Treacherous lips, how dare they make such promises?

Things were supposed to be magically different because of San Francisco, the enchanted land. The people more diverse, the arts more intense, the souls more tortured. A way to step out of her skin and become the other, the one she envied so. To be someone who counted, someone who was going somewhere, someone moving up in the world. Tired, so tired. Hours of staring at the ceiling sapped her. Eyelids struggling to stay open. Languor creeping into her soul. Each step, a monumental effort of lifting and placing the foot just so. Each smile sparingly given to unsuspecting strangers on the street, but only to the ones with a touch of red; she wouldn’t waste her time on any other color.

—————

How many sob stories and broken hearts exist in the city of glitter and the Golden Gate Bridge? How many shattered dreams litter the sidewalks of downtown San Francisco like the homeless, thrown out like trash? How much bitterness can a city swallow before it slowly, completely sours? How many people can be chewed up, spit out and dropped into the middle of the Pacific Ocean? A million? A thousand? Too many? Not enough? She laughs, does the city of San Francisco. Not cruelly, not with vindictiveness, but without mercy. Not entirely without compassion, but with a fierce tenacity. No support for the malcontent, the disenfranchised, the overlooked, and the forgotten. She looks away from the many nobodies who crowd her overflowing parks. She may ache somewhere deep inside her heart, but wisely doesn’t let her pain show. Instead, she remains silent as the troubled continue to weep anonymously in the big city. They call out for someone, anyone to care.

—————–

Weeks dragged into months. She could have looked for a job, any job, even a temp job or a barista in a grubby coffee shop, but then she’d have to stop staring at her ceiling for hours a day. Then she couldn’t chase after reds any more—chase them until she literally dropped from exhaustion. One time, a man had given her a quarter as she lay in a crumpled heap on the side of the street because he had mistaken her for a homeless person. She had thanked him politely before struggling to her feet again to continue her pursuit. She had to chase the reds until they consumed her soul. Until she was able to block out every other thought that entered her mind. Until the terrible, peaceful calm stole over her, drugging her into believing that all was right in her world. The heaviness of all that red weighted down her shoulders until she screamed in pain. Stopped in the middle of yet another street, opened her mouth, and screamed. Nobody gave her a second glance, sealing her in her isolation. She shut her mouth and trudged home.

Flopping onto the futon, which night was this? Sixty-seven? Sixty-eight? How many nude women had she espied in that magical ceiling? I could die, she thought to herself. I could die and no one in this city would know. Or care. The thought circled her mind in repetition until she clamped her hands over her ears to block out the voice. Useless, really, when the voice came from within. No one would know. No one would care. No one would know. No one would care. Like a mantra, like a drum beat, it wouldn’t leave her alone. Her pillow over her head could not block out the insinuation. Her fist stuffed in her mouth did not satiate the nebulous hunger in her soul. It’s not enough; it’s never enough. Different thoughts, same thread. Mindless hammering at her fragile inner balance.

Each day, it became increasingly difficult to get up and leave her apartment. The urge to remain supine in bed and watch the picture show on her ceiling grew by quantum leaps. Even the lure of counting how many different shades of red she could chase that day paled. Even the fireball sun glowing high in the sky did little to mitigate the hollow in her chest, the one which expanded daily. Even the anticipation of her solitary meal in the evening couldn’t draw her into the new day. The hustle of the streets no longer appealed to her.

She stayed in bed for longer each day. From two hours to five to seven to ten. It reached the point where even when she did get out of bed, she ventured no further than her kitchen. Days went by, weeks, when she wouldn’t step foot outside of her apartment. Nobody came to check up on her, to drag her ass out of bed, because nobody knew she was there. She was just another anonymous person in the city who wouldn’t be missed if she were gone, anyway. She was allowed to pass her life dreaming up shadows on her stucco ceiling while outside her window, day turned into night turned into day and back into night again. No longer did it matter what time she got up or went to sleep as she had nowhere to go and no one to be.

One night, maybe her hundredth – she had lost count some time ago – she hauled herself out of bed after a mere hour of watching the ceiling. One look outside told her it was night. For the first time in two weeks, she stepped in the shower and washed her matted hair. Afterwards, she sat in front of the bathroom mirror and applied her lipstick with extra care. Blooming Burgundy, it was called. She threw on a dress a couple of shades lighter than her lipstick and was out the door, purse in hand. She left without regret.

——————

She doesn’t do it on purpose. San Francisco, that is. It’s not like she wants to maim her children – no mother really wants that. However, like any other mother, her mothering is not without flaw. She is of the “You’re old enough to take care of yourself” school. No warm sympathy or kissing of bloodied wounds or mollycoddling from her. She knows if you want to survive, you have to develop the skills to do it yourself. Survival of the fittest, baby; that’s how it works in the real world.

———–

She was radiant in her wild beauty. Black tresses tumbling down her back, laughter pouring out of her opaque eyes. Her serenity—loud, exuberant, joyful. The ocean, her spiritual home, sang its siren song. For too long, she’d been resisting the lure. For too long, she’d been fighting the good fight. For too long, she’d been trying desperately to forget from whence she came. She was like a modern-day Aphrodite as she had sprung up from the briny foams. For too long, she’d turn her back on her heritage. No more. Her soul danced in an almost manic glee as she moved purposefully along the cliff, creeping nearer and nearer to the epitome of annihilation. She seemed to grow in stature as she stopped for a minute, contemplating the abyss below her. She stood still for a long minute, letting the emerging moon swaddle her with its expansive beauty. She hugs the warmth close to her heart, and, still smiling her bright lipstick smile, she stepped off the edge into nothingness.

As her body hurtled towards the water, her soul flew to the moon. No longer bound by the parameters of the world, it soared. Unfettered and unchained, echoing Martin Luther King Jr., it was free at last, free at last, and finally at peace. Free from the dead weight of her own mind. Free from being chained to watching the ceiling. Free from the emptiness that had invaded her soul, rendering movement impossible. Free from the unrelenting desire that consumed her daily. Free from chasing reds.

Editor’s Note:  This is a story I wrote before I started writing a series of short stories set in a dystopian world that has made abortion and contraception illegal.  It fits the theme, though, so I’m retconning it to fit in the world.

“Am I going to be all right?”  The frail, big-eyed teenager asked Mahlea, her thin frame shivering out of either fear or fever.  There was a puddle of blood spreading on the bed between her legs, but the teenager didn’t seem to notice.

“Of course, you are, baby,” Mahlea said with a smile as she held back her tears.  She shook her thick black hair to hide her face as she patted the girl’s translucent hand; Mahlea had always been a terrible liar.  “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I’m tired.  I think I’ll sleep now.”  The girl closed her cerulean eyes with a small sigh, her hand clutching a worn-out teddy bear.  Even though she was fifteen, she didn’t look a day over ten.  Mahlea fought the urge to punch the wall next to her as she wiped the sweat from the girl’s brow.  Mahlea stared at the girl as the latter slept, willing her to keep on breathing.  She was startled out of her brooding by the shrill sounds of her phone.  “Bitch in Your Face” by Sharia’s Laws was playing – which meant Tyri with some bad news.  Mahlea frowned.  She didn’t like Tyri very much and usually let a call by Tyri roll over to her VM.  Mahlea didn’t have the option this time, though, so she reluctantly answered.

“Mahlea.  Speak.”

“Tyri.  Law 23, No Woman Left Behind, has passed.  Amendment 34 was rejected, but Amendment 87 passed with a veto-proof majority.”  Tyr’s voice thinned out at the end of her report, as was her wont.  It made her sound as if she were whining, a trait Mahlea despised.

“I have another one.  She’ll be gone in less than fifteen minutes, I’m afraid.”  Mahlea kept her tone brusque so she it wouldn’t quiver as she delivered the announcement.  You would think she would be used to it by now, but it still hit her in the gut when it was a child.

“Gaaaaawd, Mahlea, I’m soooo tired of this.  I don’t know if I can do it any longer.”  This had become Tyri’s constant refrain in the past two months, and Mahlea was sick of it.

“You know what happens if you leave,” Mahlea said, her voice hard.  “You become persona non grata in the circle.  Not just in this city, but around the country.  If you ever need help—”

“Gawd, Mahlea, I know the drill as well as you do.  You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”  Now Tyri’s voice was sulky, and it took all of Mahlea’s willpower not to throw her cellphone across the wall in frustration.  Yes, Tyri was fifteen years younger than her own forty-five, but still.  She dressed and acted as if she were fifteen.  If she weren’t so good at the political shit, she would have been kicked out a long time ago.

“I gotta go.”  Mahlea abruptly hung up on Tyri, suddenly fed  up with the latter’s puerile behavior.  Yes, their work was hard, damn it, but if they didn’t do it, who would?

Mahlea pulled out her micro internet access device (MIAD) and plugged into the matrix.  Her eyes rapidly scanned the information she needed, and she groaned as she read the details.  No Woman Left Behind was a bullshit way of saying no fetus was to be spared, of course.  Any woman who dared break that dictum was now hit with a felony that was punishable up to life in prison.  In special cases, the death penalty could be sought if the woman was found to have had the abortion ‘with malicious intent’.  Mahlea didn’t even know what the fuck that meant, really.  To the crazy forced-birthers, every woman who had an abortion did it with malicious intent.  They considered it a major concession to have misdemeanor abortions at all, and they were reserved for women who were raped or pregnant as a result of incest.

Mahlea punched at the keys of her MIAD, growing angrier each second.  She glanced over at the teenage girl lying on the bed.  The girl was asleep, tears still dampening her cheeks.  She reminded Mahlea of a sparrow with a broken wing, except, there would be no healing this particular damage.  The girl hadn’t done her homework before having the procedure done, most likely because she had been out of her mind with fear.  If her father wasn’t the one who had impregnated her, he certainly would have beaten her when he found out she was pregnant.  That was the standard acceptable practice these days, as long as the father was careful not to induce a miscarriage, of course.  If a mother dared to protest the beating, she would receive an equal or greater beating for her troubles.  Mahlea wasn’t making this shit up; it was actually the law.

“Fuck.”  Mahlea rapidly scanned all the new laws into her retinal memory so she wouldn’t have to save it on her MIAD.  She read several articles about what impact these new laws would have on society, but she didn’t dare save those to either the MIAD or her retinal memory.  If such info was found on her, it would mean an automatic twenty years in prison.  Fortunately, Mahlea had an eidetic memory, so she could recall the posts to her mind when need be.  Unfortunately, her talent was wearing down with repeated use and age, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to count on it for very much longer.

She closed her eyes and thought about life as it was when she was a child, before Abortion Prohibition, as it was known in her circle.  She vaguely remembered how women could have careers and children when they were able to choose how many children they had and when they had them.  Now, women pretty much had to choose one or the other because once a woman married and started breeding, that was pretty much all she was allowed to do.  Single women were viewed as suspicious, of course, but as long as they had a veneer of asexuality, they were grudgingly accepted.

Mahlea snorted as she remembered trying to explain to her much-younger lover, Lawrence, why they couldn’t get married.  He had been a starry-eyed idealist who proclaimed that he wanted an egalitarian marriage.  She could keep her last name, and they didn’t have to have children.  They would run off to Canada and live off the land.  She had laughed in his face at his naiveté.

“Do you actually think we would be allowed to live like that?”  Mahlea hadn’t meant to hurt Lawrence’s feelings by laughing at him, but she couldn’t help herself.  “It’s time you fucking woke up and joined the real world, Lawrence.  If I married you, I would have to take your last name, as decreed by law, and I wouldn’t be allowed to use contraception, also as decreed by law.”

“I don’t care what the law says, Melanie!  I love you and want to make you my wife!”  She used to love it when Lawrence called her by her real name because, sometimes, she was in danger of forgetting she was more than her mission, but in that moment, Mahlea had hated Lawrence.  She hated him for his unwitting cruelty in envisioning a future they couldn’t have.  She hated him for his privilege in thinking that nothing had to change once they married; they could just keep on keeping on with the added benefit of playing house  She especially hated him because he reminded her of all the limitations placed upon her by her country, restrictions she fought against every goddamn day of her life.  She had broken up with him that night, despite loving him for three years, and now, she stuck to one-night stands as they were much easier to control.

“Water.”  The teen’s voice came out in a strangled croak.  Mahlea rushed over to help the girl sip from a glass, and she was struck anew at how fragile the girl’s body was in her arms.  She glanced down and saw that the bleeding hadn’t stopped; indeed, if anything, it had increased.  Sorrow washed over her in waves because she had done everything she could for the girl, and it hadn’t been nearly enough  The girl stopped drinking, closed her eyes, and quietly died.  Mahlea was watching her face, and she could see the exact moment life exited the girl.

“Please,” Mahlea whispered, to whom, she did not know.  For what, she knew even less.  Please spare this child’s life?  Too late for that  Mahlea gathered the girl’s body and hugged her hard.  With a start, Mahlea realized that she was weeping and that her tears were falling on the dead girl’s face.  She tried to stem the tide, but doing so only made her cry harder.

Protocol dictated that she called her sisters-in-arm so they could plan an elaborate scene with this young girl’s body as the centerpiece of the tableau.  Mahlea had done it countless times before without a qualm, but this time, she simply couldn’t.  She cursed herself as she remembered she had told Tyri that this child would be a goner in fifteen minutes or less; Mahlea had to buy herself some time.  She texted Ragnhild and said that the child had temporarily recovered, but probably wouldn’t make it through the night.  Mahlea knew it sounded thin, but it was the best she could do under the circumstance.

Still weeping, Mahlea grabbed a shovel and a pail of quicklime, scooped up the child, and went out to her car.  Year of carrying dead bodies made her current task effortless– and as she always wore black, she didn’t need to change clothes first.  She drove to the woods, her mind numb.  Her phone blew up with text messages; she ignored everything but the road ahead of her.  She had shitty night vision, and it was all she could do to keep on the road, especially given her state of mind.

Mahlea screeched to an abrupt halt when she reached her destination.  She opened her glove box and grabbed her gloves and goggles; she was already wearing her boots.  She carried the girl, the shovel, and the pail of quicklime to an appropriate spot and began digging.  She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept drifting back to the first body she had buried – her sister’s.  It had been twenty-five years ago this week, and not a day went by when Mahlea didn’t think of her.  Connie had been four years younger than Mahlea and in her junior year of high school.  Mahlea had just finished her second year at college where she had been studying home ec.  She had wanted to major in microbiology, but that was strongly discouraged for women.  Mahlea had audited the classes when a professor would let her, but that ended when she dropped out of college right after her sister’s death.

Connie hadn’t cared about politics at all – she just wanted to have fun at school.  She was a decent, if not brilliant student, which caused the elderly Tsais a considerable amount of grief.  They would lecture her on how important it was for her to receive an exemplary education, and she would laugh and say, “Why?  I plan on getting married once I graduate from high school and having a bunch of kids!”  She was simply parroting the prevalent societal sentiment on the issue, so her parents really couldn’t say anything in response.  That didn’t stop them from nagging her to study, of course, but they made little headway with their younger daughter.

Connie had several boyfriends, but none of them were serious.  She was intent on remaining abstinent until she married, but she liked the attention she received from the boys at school – and from  more than a few men as well.  One of the men paying attention to her was her World Geography teacher, Mr. Andersen, and he spent several evenings tutoring her in his home after cheerleading practice.  At least, that’s what Connie told her parents.  It wasn’t until Mahlea received a hysterical call from her younger sister, two months later, that the truth was revealed – Connie had been having sex with Mr. Andersen, and she was pregnant.  “We’re in love,” Connie tearfully told Mahlea.  Mahlea, of course, immediately knew that was bullshit, which Connie reinforced when she added that Mr. Andersen had urged her to ‘get rid of’ the baby because it would put his career in jeopardy.

“Don’t do it, Connie,” Mahlea had warned her sister.  While teenage pregnancy was heavily frowned upon, it was legal – abortions weren’t.  Connie would face ridicule and shame if she kept the baby, but she would face imprisonment if she aborted.

“I have to, Melanie,” Connie solemnly replied.  “I have to do it for Jimmy.”  That was the second-to-last conversation Mahlea ever had with her sister.  The last had been when Connie showed up at her apartment, heavily bleeding between the legs.  Mahlea had done what she could for Connie, but as always, it had been too little, too late.

“Fuck.”  Mahlea slowly exhaled as she dug deeper into the unforgiving earth.  How many times had she done this?  Too many fucking times; she had stopped counting after fifty because it just depressed her – and that had been over fifteen years ago.  She dug in silence for another twenty minutes, grunting occasionally when her shovel hit a rock.  Once she deemed the hole deep enough, she donned her gloves and goggles and started spreading the quicklime.  Then, she tenderly placed the child in the grave and covered her with another layer of quicklime before filling in the hole with dirt.  Once that was done, Mahlea plucked a scraggly lilac from a nearby bush and placed it on the makeshift grave, said a quick prayer, and left without looking back.  She returned home just as the sun was rising on another bleak day.

::looks around::

It’s kind of strange.  For years, this has been the home of my personal blog, which has now been moved to theminna.com.  I ranted and I railed about whatever popped in my mind.  Then, I closed the curtains on my blog and moved on to other adventures.  My fiction site was one reason I closed down my blog, and now, roughly a year later*, I am ready to make magic happen.

Since it’s November, that means NaNoWriMo.  I’ve already met the goal – 56,142 and counting – which isn’t surprising for me.  If you’ve ever read anything I’ve written, you know I have no trouble spewing a bunch of words at a time.  In the past couple years, I’ve set my own goals for NaNoWriMo, and this year, I have three.  One is to get this website up and running – as define by me.  The second is to write a mystery novel, and I’m about a third down with that.

The third goal is, well, a bit more complicated.  As a political writer, on of my main focuses is on so-called women’s issues**.  I have covered so many anti-choice bills/laws/comments, it’s been enraging, disheartening, and heartbreaking.  It was also all-consuming, so I decided to write a short story set in a dystopian world that has banned abortion and contraception.  Then I wrote another one.  And another.  The frightening thing is that it doesn’t seem that far off, really.  Anyway, I decided to write an anthology of these stories, so my third goal for NaNoWriMo is to do just that.  To that end, I’ve written two more short stories set in my dystopian world.  I’m aiming to write at least half a dozen more.

I will try to keep y’all updated as to how NaNoWriMo goes.  I’ll be out of town for a week-and-a-half, so it might go off the rails completely.  Anyway, pull up a seat, grab your favorite beverage, and welcome!

I blog politically at Angry Black Lady Chronicles under the ‘nym, asiangrrlMN.  Imani Gandy is my Angry Black Overlady, and she’s the reason I have any cache in the political realm at all.  I write zombie short stories for Dead Shuffle under my real name.  I call my stories the Zombiepocalypse:  Minneapolis Invasion, and this is my latest episode.  You can buy a collection of stand-alones from Dead Shuffle, two by the awesome creator of the blog, Bon Tindle, and one by me here.

*I’m running on Asian time – it’s in my genes.

**Human issues, but that’s another post for another time.

Once again, I have broken it into two posts because I’m wordy as fuck. This is part one.  

“We have two newbies.  Number two is one hot piece of ass.”  Ralph ignored Bill Benson, that fat fuck, who was leering over him as he dropped the paperwork on Ralph’s desk.  “Seriously, man.  She’s got tits out to here.”  Bill held his hand a foot away from his chest and continued to snigger to himself.  “The only problem is, she knows she’s hot shit.  I hate girls like that.”  Ralph knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Shut up, Benson.  I’m sick of your crap.  If you have nothing else for me, get out of my office.”

“Chill, Stiller.  What the fuck is wrong with you?  What guy doesn’t like fresh pussy?  If you weren’t married, I’d swear you were a limp-wrister.”  As Bill talked, his eyes issued a challenge to Ralph.

“Don’t make me have to write you up, Benson.  It’ll be your second write-up this month, and you know what that means.”  Ralph stared hard at Bill, showing the latter who was alpha.  After several seconds of silence, Bill stomped out of Ralph’s office, allowing Ralph to slump in his chair.  He sighed, then picked up the papers Bill had dropped off and read them thoroughly before doing his rounds.  Per usual, he started with the new inmates.  The first was Deborah Strauss, thirty-nine years old.  A mother of five, her husband had just died in the Iran war.  Ralph’s shoulders slumped; he hated these cases most of all.

“Get me the fuck out of here.”  Deborah wasted no time laying into Ralph as soon as he stepped into her cell.  “This is some serious bullshit, and you know it.”  Ralph swallowed hard at Deborah’s blackened eyes because he knew that meant she had not gone quietly with the Brothers who had arrested her.  It was against the law to hit a pregnant woman – unless it was a three-striker and she was resisting arrest.  Ralph put aside his personal repugnance and began his spiel.

“Good morning, Deborah.  I am Ralph Still—.”

“That’s Mrs. Strauss to you, asshole.  And I don’t give a good goddamn who you are.”  Deborah’s eyes were burning with hatred, and Ralph was thankful she was tied down.

“Ralph Stiller, the warden of Maternity Ward.  You will be fed three—”

“Maternity Ward?  You have got to be fucking kidding me.  This is Death Row, dickwad.  Don’t make it something it’s not.”

“Three times a day at 6 a.m., 12 p.m., and 6 p.m.  You will be released so you can eliminate your—”

“Eliminate.  What an apt word.”  Deborah’s voice dropped, and her whole body sagged against her bonds.  All the fight leaked out of her as the reality of her situation hit her hard.

“Twice a day at 10 a.m. and 10 p.m.  If you have an accident, you will be fastened to the bars as your bed is cleaned.”

“Like a caged animal,” Deborah said, more to herself than to Ralph.

“I will return in an hour in case you have any questions.”  Ralph might as well have been talking to the walls for all the attention Deborah paid him.  He checked her restraints to make sure they were fastened properly before leaving her cell.  He heaved a small sigh as he locked the door behind him.  As he made his way to the second newbie, he couldn’t get Bill’s words out of his mind.

“A hot piece of ass.”  “Tits out to here.”  “Fresh pussy.”  “Hot shit.”

Ralph pushed all that to the back of his mind.  He loved his wife, and he had never cheated on her, though he had had plenty of opportunity.  He knew that many of the guys he worked with indulged themselves with the inmates, whether the latter were willing or not, but the thought repelled Ralph on so many levels.  He paused before entering the second new inmate’s cell and recalled what he had read about her.  Eve Masters, nineteen years old.  Not married, no serious boyfriend.  That in itself was against the law – having sex outside a marriage – but one that wasn’t strictly enforced.  There wasn’t money for that kind of policing, and, privately, Ralph thought it a good thing.  He would never dare say it out loud, of course, especially as he was an officer of the state.

Being pregnant outside a marriage, however, was against the law and enforced.  Any single woman who gave birth had to pay a sizeable fine, was given a permanent strike on her record, and had a “W” for whore branded on her inner thigh.  If she weren’t married within a year of giving birth, her child was taken from her, and she was sentenced to an automatic ten years in jail.

Ralph shook his head again.  He didn’t like to think about all the laws that he had to uphold; he preferred to just keep his mind on his job.  He took a deep breath, exhaled, and opened the door to Eve’s cell.  He literally stopped in his tracks when he saw her.  She was a mixture of American Indian and black, with a hint of Oriental.  Her skin was a warm mahogany with tinges of rosiness.  Her almond shaped brown eyes tilted slightly at the corners, giving her an undeniably exotic look.  Her kinky black hair fluffed around her face in a beguiling fashion, softly framing her chiseled cheekbones.  Her full lips were curved in a lazy smile, and yes, she, indeed, had ‘tits out to here’ that stood up proudly on their own.

“Hey, stranger, got a cigarette?”  Eve’s voice was husky and raw, and Ralph felt his penis stir at her words.  Ralph opened his mouth to give his standard spiel, but found himself replying instead.

“There’s no smoking in the cells, Eve.  Sorry.”  Ralph wished he could take back the apology as soon as he said it because it made him look weak.  The unwritten rule around the cells was that you never, ever gave an inch to an inmate because she would then take the proverbial mile.

“Too bad.  I would have made it worth your while.”  Eve winked at Ralph, and he immediately hardened.  He couldn’t help but notice that on Eve, the standard regs clung to every curve, causing her nipples to poke out through the cheap fabric, even though she was wearing a bra.  For a brief moment, he thought about his mouth on those luscious breasts.  Guiltily, he turned his thoughts back to his Sarah, but her memory seemed strangely muted in the presence of Eve.

“Good morning, Eve.  I’m Ralph Stiller, and I’ll be taking care of you during your stay in the Maternity Ward.  You—”

“Maternity Ward?  Is that what you call this place?”  Eve’s voice was a cross between amusement and disgust.  “How so very polite of you.”

“You will be fed three times at 6 a.m., 12 p.m., and 6 p.m.  You will be freed twice a day at 10 a.m. and 10 p.m. for elimination purposes.  If you cannot wait until then and void yourself, anyway, you will be fastened—”

“I’m not going to shit myself, Ralph.  I have better control than that.”  Ralph winced at Eve’s choice of words and was about to tell her it was unseemly for a young lady to curse, but just then, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and eyed Ralph salaciously, causing him to almost ejaculate in his pants.  “I’ll be back in an hour to see if you have any questions.”  In his eagerness to get out of the cell, Ralph forwent his usual routine.  The minute he was out of Eve’s presence, he readjusted his crotch and finished his rounds.

—————————–

In the next week, four inmates from the Maternity Ward were moved to the Last Supper shift, which was never easy for Ralph.  Although he tried to remain detached from the inmates, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge when one of them ended her time in the Maternity Ward.  He was the one who took care of them for up to nine months, and he cared about the women, despite his best intentions.  One of his favorites was recently transferred, and Ralph had had an especially difficult time not visualizing what would happen to her once she had her baby.

Perhaps in response to the upheaval on the ward, Ralph found himself inexplicably drawn to Eve’s cell.  He would make excuses to visit her, and while he never did anything inappropriate, he was always painfully aware of how hard his penis was whenever he was in her presence.  Actually, he didn’t have to be around Eve to be affected by her; he only had to think of her breasts, and he was instantly hard.  One night as he was making love to Sarah, he thought of Eve in her place, and even though it made him feel incredibly guilty, it also gave him a fantastic orgasm.

He started bending the rules for Eve – not very far, but bending them, nonetheless.  He brought her a cigarette once, and she told him he could feel her breast (she said tit) as payment.  He didn’t bother pointing out that he could touch her any time he wanted because he wasn’t that kind of guy, and he didn’t take her up on her offer, but for the rest of the day, he couldn’t stop imagining what her breast would feel like.  Maybe he could ‘accidentally’ brush against it one day as he tucked her in for the night.  Ralph immediately flushed for even thinking such a sinful thought.  He said a quick prayer and pushed the temptation out of his mind as best he could.

The one time he accidentally touched her thigh while adjusting her blanket – he could feel the branded W, which was strangely arousing – it had caused his penis to go rigid.  He tried to discreetly adjust himself so it wasn’t noticeable, but Eve had instantly spotted Ralph’s erection.

“Hey, I’ll blow you if you let me sit up for two minutes.”  Eve’s mouth curved into a smile as she batted her eyelashes at Ralph.

“None of that, Eve,” Ralph said, his voice trembling as he said her name.  “You know better than—”

“Who’s going to know, Ralph?  Just turn off the lights and let me make you feel really good.”  Eve ran her tongue slowly over her top lip, and it was all Ralph could do not to rip off his pants and jam his penis in her mouth.

“I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.”  Ralph quickly exited Eve’s cell before he did something he would regret.  He could hear her laughter all the way back to his office.

————————

“One newbie today.  Nervous bitch.  She nearly screamed bloody murder as I tied her down.  Handle her with care, Stiller.”  Bill slapped a thick sheaf of papers on Ralph’s desk, an unappealing grin spreading across his face.  “Still, she’s not bad-looking, even if she’s on the skinny side.  She’s chickenmeat, too, which means nice and tender.  I might have to give her a poke if nothing better comes along.”

“If I ever catch you touching any of the inmates, I will rip your hand off myself,” Ralph said evenly, giving away nothing with his demeanor.  Only the darkening of his eyes indicated that he was close to losing his temper.  “Then, I will throw your ass in jail so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”  It was against the law for a man to force himself upon a woman, but the law wasn’t enforced.  Plus, there were countermanding laws that made it unpleasant for a woman to report a rape.  Nonetheless, Ralph was willing to throw the book at Bill if need be, and he had the clout to back up his punch.

“Hey, man, I’m just shooting the shit.  I got plenty of girls giving me their pussy for free; I don’t need to take one.”  Bill spread his fingers on both hands out in the universal ‘no harm, no foul’ gesture, flashed Ralph as sincere a smile as he could manage, and sauntered out of the room.  Ralph silently scolded himself for taking the bait, but he didn’t approve of a man treating women like that.  Women were to be treasured and cherished, not treated roughly and degraded.  He picked up the papers Bill had left him and began reading.

Mary Rodriquez, twelve, pregnant as a result of rape – by her father.  Ralph dropped the papers and shut his eyes.  He had two daughters himself, and while he was a Godly man, he would kill anyone who hurt either of his daughters.  How could any father do that to his own daughter?  Ralph couldn’t fathom it, but he had the urge to seek out Mr. Rodriguez and shoot him dead.

Ralph remembered the vitriolic debates surrounding the bill to outlaw all abortions, including those that would be as a result of rape and/or incest, had come up in 2020, and while he had been careful never to voice his opinion, he had thought it cruel to remove those two provisions.  The bill had passed by one vote, and with that, all abortion became illegal.  Ralph had been a beat cop in those days, but he had been promoted to the Maternity Ward as soon as it was established.  Ralph slowly rose from his desk and made his way to Mary’s cell.  He paused outside, reluctant to enter.  He mentally shook himself before walking into the cell.  Upon seeing him, Mary started to whimper.  She was maybe five feet if she stretched and probably didn’t weigh a hundred pounds.  She was thin, except for her belly which was distended to an awkward degree.  Her enormous brown eyes were sparkling in fear.

“Don’t touch me, Mister.  Please don’t touch me.  I don’t want you to touch me, Mister.  Please don’t touch me.”  Mary’s hands clutched and unclutched as she chanted her mantra.

“Hello, Mary.  My name is Ralph.  I’m going to take care of you while you’re here.”

“Where’s my mom?  I want my mom!”  Mary burst into tears, her distress palpable.  “I don’t want you to touch me, Mister.  Please don’t touch me!”  She continued to sob, causing Ralph to swallow hard.  There were no women on the Maternity Ward because women were too emotional to tend to the inmates.  A woman was more likely to be swayed by a sob story than was a man, so women were forbidden from working on the Maternity Ward.

“You will be fed three times—”

“I’m scared, Mister!  The bad men hurt Mommy when they took me away from her.  I want to go home!”  Mary continued to sob as Ralph forced out his spiel.  He wanted to comfort the frightened child, but what could he say that would alleviate her fears?  He managed to finish his set piece before fleeing to his office.

Ralph had other duties to do, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl whose cell he had just left.  She was just seven when her father started visiting her room at night.  When she complained, he told her he would go to her baby sister instead, and Mary stopped fighting him off after that.  He stuck to oral sex until Mary got her period at age eleven; then he raped her.  He impregnated her a month before her twelfth birthday, and then he moved onto her younger sister.  Mary attacked her father with a butcher’s knife when she caught him leaving her sister’s bedroom.  Afterwards, she turned the cleaver to her own stomach.  That was only her first strike, but it was enough to land her in the Maternity Ward.

“It’s just not right,” Ralph thought to himself.  He had a hard time believing that God would want this poor child to be hurt any more than she had already been; on the other hand, Mary clearly had broken the law and should be punished for it.  On the third hand, sometimes, the punishment did not fit the crime.  Ralph stopped his line of thinking because no good could come from it.  He had a job to do, and as painful as it was sometimes, he took pride in doing it well.  He pushed himself out of his chair and went on his rounds.

End of Part One

“Ohhhhhhh….”  Maddie shook her head slowly from side to side as she awoke, her temples throbbing with every motion.  “What happened?”  She didn’t know if she asked the question out loud or in her head – either way, she didn’t receive an answer.

Her mind was fuzzy, but she remembered…blood.  So much blood, and it had been everywhere.  Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told her how much blood there would be?  She hated the sight of blood, especially her own, and yet, she had been desperate enough to make her blood stream everywhere.  She tried to move and groaned as the soreness between her legs reminded her why she was so fuzzed out in the first place.

She remembered when she found out she was pregnant – she was as regular as the sun, so when she had been a week late, she knew. Oh, sure, some of her friends said it was because of the stress – only face to face and in whispered tones.  You had to be so careful of what you said these days, and you definitely didn’t want to put anything risky in writing – but Maddie had known.  She  couldn’t take a test because they had been banned, of course, but she could feel the alien being taking seed in her body as surely as if the little line had turned pink.

Maddie frowned.  Was the line pink?  Was it purple?  She didn’t know for sure because hadn’t actually ever seen a pregnancy test – they had been outlawed when she was not seven or eight – but she had heard older women, friends of her mother, talk about sex when they didn’t know she was around.  Even as a little girl, Maddie had been able to make herself invisible to the adults around her – a useful talent to have when she wanted to find out how life was in the old days.  She couldn’t remember how many times she’d sat right outside the living entrance when Mrs. Wong had her friends over, and they would talk about how wonderful life had been before the Abortion Abolition Act of 2020.

“I used to buy a six pack of condoms before hitting the bars Friday night – I would have to buy more the next morning.”  Karen Billings, a feisty redhead, would say with a giggle tinged with melancholy.  Her green eyes hooded as she went deep into herself, but they would brighten again as she added, “Then, I would have to buy another six-pack Sunday morning!”  All the women would laugh, but there was always a wistfulness to the laughter that was evident, even to a child like Maddie.

After Maddie had her fill of adult women talk, she would creep away and hurry to her computer so she could look up words she didn’t understand, like condom.  “A condom is a barrier device used during sexual intercourse to reduce the probability of pregnancy.”  Maddie frowned as she read the definition three times in succession.   A precocious child, she knew the meaning of every word, but she couldn’t imagine what they meant in this particular context.  She had been taught in school that sex was solely for procreation, so why would there be a device to prevent this from occurring?  Maddie looked at the accompanying pictures and still didn’t quite understand how it worked.  She knew what a penis was because she had looked it up after a prior gabfest of Mrs. Wong and her girlfriends, though, so she could almost picture in her mind how a condom would fit on it.

“You’re up, Magdalene, dear.  Would you like a glass of water?”  A kindly, elderly female face appeared before Maddie’s face, and Maddie’s throat constricted in fear.

“No, I would not.  And, it’s Maddie.”  The last was said in a half-whisper, as if Maddie hoped to slide it into the conversation unnoticed.  The older woman’s lips tightened, and she didn’t seem quite so kindly any more.

“Your conversion name is Magdalene– therefore, that I what you are to be called.  You’re not a little girl, Magdalene;  you should know that by now.”  Mrs. Frazier’s voice was reproachful as she reached for a well-worn pamphlet and rifled through it.  She pushed her glasses firmly up her nose as she began to read.  “Any girl born before April 7, 2020 shall be renamed in the name of our Lord.  If any girl is not so renamed, she will be renamed by the state.”  Mrs. Frazier stopped reading and looked sternly at Maddie.  “Your mother was remiss in changing your name, and you somehow managed to escape detection for many years.  Therefore, it is up to the state to rechristen you, and it chose Magdalene.  It’s similar enough to your given name that you should have adapted to it by now.”

Maddie closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Mrs. Frazier staring down at her in disapproval.  She felt the being in her stomach kick, and she winced – though not from pain.  She hated the idea of an alien taking up residence in her body and not having any say in the matter.  She had never wanted to have kids – ever.  She had supposed she would have them because every woman did, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why a woman would want to spawn.  She had a hard enough time with bleeding once a month and the accompanying cramps and mood swings – the idea of having a baby made her physically ill.  She had wanted to have her tubes tied as soon as she started menstruating – and, yes, she had looked up that procedure on her computer as well once she learned the facts of life from her mother – but no doctor would perform the operation on a woman in her breeding years for a non-medical emergency reason.  Maddie had scraped together enough money to visit a quack who only did business after the sun had set, but he had demanded more than just her money – and Maddie hadn’t been willing to let him fuck her.

Maddie discovered sex while a first year student at St. Reagan’s University, and she had loved it from the first time a cock entered her pussy.  There was a law against premarital sex, but it was one of the few laws that wasn’t strictly enforced.  She had been taught in state-mandated church that sex was sinful and dirty and something a good girl didn’t do – until she was married, and then it was holy and beautiful and pure – but only if it were for procreation.  She had also been taught that premarital sex was a mortal sin.  Maddie had known from listening to Mrs. Wong and her girlfriends talk that sex could be fun, playful, and hot outside of marriage, but it wasn’t until she had an actual cock in her that she realized how full of shit religion was.  This?  This was what was going to send her to hell?  Something that felt this good and didn’t hurt anyone was what was going to cause the eternal damnation of her soul?  It was the best feeling in the world, and Maddie was furious that she had been lied to for most of her life.

Maddie had never really believed in the Christian doctrine, but having sex for the first time put the nail in her religious coffin.  Of all the things to send her to hell for eternity, Maddie was sure that sex shouldn’t be on the list, let alone at the top.  She continued to go to church because she would have drawn attention to herself had she not, but she didn’t even bother mouthing the catechisms or singing any of the hymns.  Mrs. Wong had noticed the change in Maddie but hadn’t said anything about it.  Mrs. Wong had been raised Buddhist, so she didn’t really set much stock in Christianity, anyway.

“Have you been doing your daily Bible reading, Magdalene?”  Mrs. Frazier’s voice cut through Maddie’s hazy recollections like a razor through Maddie’s skin.  Maddie didn’t reply because she didn’t want to give Mrs. Frazier the satisfaction at hearing her say no.  She also knew it would be useless to say that she practically had the damn book memorized from reading it so many times.  “That’s what I thought.”  Mrs. Frazier glared at Maddie before reaching for her King James Bible.  “Today’s reading is 1 Timothy 2.”  She cleared her throat portentously as she prepared to read.

Maddie groaned inwardly because she knew this passage very well – her pastor used to read it to her whenever she questioned his edicts on marriage, motherhood, pregnancy, or anything that had anything to do with women, actually.  She tried to block out Mrs. Frazier’s nasally drone and wondered where Darrell was.  She hadn’t seen her husband in days, and she knew that he had to fight like hell with Mrs. Frazier to get even fifteen minutes with her.  There was a law that every husband and wife must be given at least an hour of alone time a day, but it was one of those laws that was used as a threat against any wife – and, yes, it was always the wife – who was deemed as stepping out of line.  Maddie and Darrell had been forced to spend a week apart once because Maddie had been caught researching the history of Planned Parenthood, no matter how much she had protested it was for her doctoral thesis – which was rejected by her advisor, anyway.

“Numbers 5: 16 – 28,” Maddie said suddenly, then immediately wished she hadn’t.

“What was that?”  Mrs. Frazier stopped her dull recitation and stared at Maddie over her glasses.

“Nothing,” Maddie mumbled, shrinking into herself.  Her hair itched, but she couldn’t lift her hand to scratch it.  When was the last time she washed it?  She couldn’t remember, nor did she particularly care.

“You quoted a verse,” Mrs. Frazier said coldly.  “Repeat it.”

“Numbers 5: 16 – 28.”  Maddie stopped and watched Mrs. Frazier closely.  Maddie didn’t miss the quick look of confusion on Mrs. Frazier’s face.  Pausing for a millisecond, Maddie began to speak.  “The passage is talking about a priest performing a special ceremony on a woman suspected of cheating on her husband.  Verse 27: When she is made to drink the water that brings a curse and causes bitter suffering, it will enter her, her abdomen will swell and her womb will miscarry, and she will become a curse.”  Mrs. Frazier’s face suffused with apoplexy as she shoved it in Maddie’s face.

“Even the Devil can quote Scripture for his own purposes.”  Spittle flecks sprayed Maddie’s face as Mrs. Frazier hissed at her.  Maddie turned her face, but she couldn’t escape the spray. She bit her tongue, knowing she should stop while she was only slightly behind, but it was as if, indeed, a demon had gotten a hold of her and wouldn’t let go.

“That’s Shakespeare, not the Bible.”  Maddie tensed, and she wasn’t disappointed.  Her face stung as Mrs. Frazier quickly backhanded her.

“You filthy whore.  You think that just because you went to college, you’re better than me, don’t you?”  Mrs. Frazier lifted her hand again, but she stayed it with great difficulty.  “No,  I will not allow you to deliver me into temptation.”  Maddie kept her mouth shut, but thought, “I will deliver you to evil, you bitch.”  She knew, though, that she was running out of time, and if she was going to have any chance to do something about her situation, she had to suck up to this bitch.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Frazier,” Maddie said, forcing her tone to be as conciliatory as she could make it.  “I know you’re just doing your job.  I shouldn’t make it so hard on you.”  Mrs. Frazier stared at Maddie without saying anything for a long minute.  Maddie kept her face open as she spoke, willing herself not to sneer.  Mrs. Frazier’s own face softened as she settled back into her chair and regained her grandmotherly image.

“That’s all right, Magdalene.  I know that you are under tremendous stress.  But, just think of the wonderful joy of a baby you will have at the end of the pregnancy!”  Mrs. Frazier beamed down at Maddie who managed to muster a smile in return.  She did not retort, “I don’t fucking want the baby which is why I’m in this mess in the first goddamn place!”

When Maddie met Darrell, she had made it clear to him that she hadn’t wanted children.  She told him in no uncertain terms that if he had any desire for heirs, he would have to go elsewhere.  He had told her he only wanted her and nothing else mattered.  She hadn’t taken him at his word, but she had grudgingly gone out with him.  She hadn’t given him an ounce, testing him every step of the way.  He had passed each test easily, and within a year, they were married.  When Maddie had announced her engagement to her mother, Mrs. Wong had drawn her aside to have a little talk with her.

“Maddie, I know you don’t want to have children,” Mrs. Wong began, her eyes staring into Maddie’s.  Maddie winced and looked away because she had never said anything to her mother about not wanting to procreate.  “I won’t talk about that further – I just want to say, there are ways to avoid having children.  Even without condoms or the pill.”  Mrs. Wong smiled slightly, and that was the first time Maddie had an inkling that her mother had known all along that Maddie had been listening in on those discussions Mrs. Wong had had with her girlfriends about contraception and other various aspects of sex.

Mrs. Wong broke off what she was saying and went over to the open window and closed it.  Maddie distinctly remembered that moment because it was what Mrs. Wong did every time right before she and her girlfriends would begin to reminisce about the old days.  Maddie had been twenty-three at the time of her engagement, and this was the first time her mother had closed the window before talking with her.

“I was still fertile after I had you and after the Abortion Abolition Act of 2020 was enacted,” Mrs. Wong said rapidly, her words fairly tumbling out of her mouth.  “Do you remember John Lee?”  Maddie nodded.  Her mother had dated Mr. Lee for three years before they broke up.  Maddie hadn’t really cared for Mr. Lee, though she had nothing specific against him – she had been glad when Mrs. Wong had informed her that the relationship was over.  “We were celibate for the first two years we were together, but then he started to make noises about wanting to have babies because he didn’t have any. I didn’t want another child, but I did have needs.”  Mrs. Wong paused, her eyes still boring into Maddie’s.  “John was an ignorant man when it came to how a woman’s body worked.  He didn’t know anything about cycles or when was the best time to get pregnant.  I did.  I made sure we only had sex when I wasn’t ovulating.  You understand, don’t you, Maddie?”  Maddie nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.  Ever since the time she got caught looking up abortifacient at school when she was twelve, she took great pains to cover up her search history, but she never stopped researching taboo topics.

“I don’t know how, but he figured out what I was doing.  My guess is, he complained to his friends about me not getting pregnant, and they had told him the ways a woman could circumvent pregnancy.”  Up until this point, Mrs. Wong’s voice had been matter-of-fact.  Now, however, it faltered.  She took a moment to compose herself before continuing.  “He came to see me, Maddie, and he was so mad!  He tied me to the bed and raped me several times over the next twenty-four hours.  By the time he was done, I was bleeding from my vagina, and I wanted to die.”

“Where was I when this happened?  How come I didn’t know?”  Maddie was devastated to hear her mother had gone through such a traumatic and horrific experience.

“You were at summer camp.”  Mrs. Wong placed her hand on Maddie’s, squeezing it once.  They stood silently for several minutes before Mrs. Wong continued with her story.  “I thought he was going to kill me – I really did.  I resigned myself to dying, either from him raping me or from him killing me afterward.  Instead, he finally let me free, warned me not to tell anyone, and left.  I never saw him again after that.”

“You didn’t go to the cops.”  Maddie said it as a statement not a question because she knew what the answer would be.

“No.” There was no need for Mrs. Wong to elaborate any further.  Had she gone to the cops, she would have had to tell them that she had been having premarital sex.  Not only that, she had been actively trying to not conceive as she had said premarital sex.  The cops would have thrown her in jail for a mandatory 30 day sentence,  and it would have went on her permanent record as her first strike – if she didn’t already have any other marks on her record, of course.  “I cleaned up best I could, spent a week at Karen’s house letting her take care of me while I healed, and then went on with my life.  I never saw John after that.”

“I’ll kill him,” Maddie said softly, her eyes like obsidian disks.  “I will hunt the bastard down and cut his heart out.”

“My warrior woman,” Mrs. Wong said, smiling tremulously, her eyes filling with tears.  “You’ve always been so protective of me.”  She paused, and her eyes iced over before she continued, “There is no need for you to do anything about it, Maddie.  Rachel took care of it.”

Maddie shuddered.  She hadn’t heard that name in years, but she remembered the slight, petite, brunette woman who had ties with the local Hell’s Angels.  Rachel never said much, but when she did, everyone listened.  During one gabfest, the girlfriends had been talking about the mistakes they’d made with men and how it had affected them.  Most of it was in the vein of staying with a man too long or cheating on him or accepting that he cheated on you.  Rachel had listened to the entire discussion without saying anything, then, after nearly a half hour of discussion, she opened her mouth.

“I dated a guy who hit me once.  Once.  He never ever made that fucking mistake again.”  She stopped, her eyes devoid of any warmth.  The other women glanced at each other before continuing the exchange of stories.  Maddie had left her listening perch shortly after that as she was too freaked out by Rachel’s story to listen to anything else.

“I did what I had to do, Maddie,” Mrs. Wong said, her eyes flashing.  “He would never have left me alone, otherwise.”

“I’m not judging you, A-bu,” Maddie said softly.  “I’m glad the fucker got what he deserved.”

“So am I.”  Mrs. Wong smiled, though without any warmth.  “Anyway, I have a reason for telling you the story.  We were talking about ways to—”

“Gua zai, A-bu,” Maddie said, neatly cutting off her mother.  “I love you.”  They hugged, then Mrs. Wong went over to the window to open it again.  They never spoke of it again.

The wedding had taken place in the church, of course, but Maddie had managed to keep it simple.  Darrell had agreed to a small wedding in part because he had a small family – parents, still married, and an older sister – but mostly because he would have agreed to anything to get Maddie to marry him.  She wore a simple red dress she had bought from Macy’s for seventy bucks, a dress she would actually wear again, and Darrell wore a green tweed suit that nicely complemented his auburn hair.  Maddie’s heart had thumped wildly as she had walked down the aisle with her mother by her side at the sight of her handsome groom.  She hated to admit it, but his strong resemblance to a young, non-skanky Jonathan Rhys Meyers – he was so hot in the classic, Velvet Goldmine – was one reason she gave him a chance.

They had been so careful about when they had sex.  For the first three years of their marriage, they abstained from intercourse whenever Maddie was ovulating.  It had been difficult because they were so hot for each other, but they managed to satisfy each other in different ways when they couldn’t actually fuck.  Fortunately, there was no law yet mandating children for married couples – though there was a bill making its way through Congress – so the worst was that Maddie and Darrell had to suffer the nasty gossip behind their backs in church as to why they didn’t have children yet.  Maddie was almost militant about scheduling their sex, but one night, she had slipped.  Darrell had just come home from his corporate job excited because he had gotten a big raise, and they went out to celebrate the added responsibilities and income.  Several bottles of wine had been consumed, and they had raced home, barely able to keep their hands off each other.  Maddie had been in the first hours of ovulation, so she had decided to risk it just once.  Darrell had withdrawn before cumming, but damn it, the one slip-up had been enough to make Maddie pregnant.

“Do you think you could untie my hands, Mrs. Frazier?”  Maddie asked In a little girl voice.  “I’d like to rub my wrists to restore the circulation.”  Mrs. Frazier’s hands hovered over Maddie’s restraints before she pulled them back.

“I don’t think so, dear.  It’s for your best interest, you know.  After what you did to yourself, well, we have to do everything we can to keep you from hurting yourself further.”  Mrs. Frazier glanced between Maddie’s tethered legs before looking away.  She patted Maddie’s hand several times, and it took every ounce of will Maddie possessed not to try to snatch her hand away.

End of Part One