The Shortening

My mother told me stories when I was a child about how many women, long ago, lived in fear of men in some form or another. She told me how men were violent, greedy, and sexist to their female counterparts. She threw around the word “rape” and “harassment” often. It seemed as though she didn’t have a single positive thing to say about them. These are the stories told to us in our history. And yet, men are so precious to us now. They serve a vital role in our communities. Without them we cannot survive. This is what they teach us in school. The teachers tell us that men are necessary to sustain life on Earth and that they have a unique gift that women need in order to bare children. This is why they live at the special centers all across the country. Academies built and run by some of our most powerful and strongest female leaders. It is for their protection. It is for the value they bring to our community. It is for their essence. It is for the greater good. These are all lies.

I grew up on the stories my grandmother told me in secret when my mother was not around. She imparted her wisdom to me that her grandmother had passed down to her. The wisdom that seemed to skip my mother’s stubborn self, and passed right along to me. Even my great-great-grandmother did not live through what is now considered “The Shortening”. But she lived through most of the aftermath that occurred in the wake of The Shortening and what it did to the world. It started a few hundred years or so ago. I’m not particularly good with dates. But it all began when scientists in the early 2000’s discovered that they believed the Y-chromosome that determines the genetic sex of a baby, was shrinking. Many scientists believed it would be a slow process if it was even true at all and didn’t even consider it to be an immediate concern. They didn’t consider that spontaneous genetic mutation would start pulling that reality closer and closer than anyone initially realized. No one even noticed until birth rates started to go down. Women weren’t suddenly infertile. Men had not lost their potency. But men had lost their potency in a different way. There were just less and less males born over time. Fewer and fewer boys were born and when they grew up, they most likely would get married to one woman, have a few daughters, maybe one son if they were fortunate, grow old, and then die.

I watched a really old movie with my grandmother once. It was deemed a timeless classic by movie-buffs “from back in the day” as my grandmother liked to say. I don’t even remember the title, but it was a movie about a man who recreates dinosaurs that inevitably escape their captivity and try to eat everyone. I do remember in the beginning though, two of the characters are exchanging dialogue about how God had created and killed the dinosaurs and then created man who ultimately creates dinosaurs again. The female character looks to him and says “Dinosaurs eat man. Woman inherits the Earth.” Men didn’t exactly get eaten, but now woman has indeed inherited the Earth. In school we’ve been taught about all the good our female leadership has done for us. How we no longer have wars. Politics are simple and straight forward. Pollution rates are down and indications of global warming are far behind us. Violent crime is virtually nonexistent. We have created a safer, greener, and more peaceful Earth. Everything in our textbooks says we are running this planet like a well-oiled machine compared to our predecessors. They say that all that we are currently doing for our future societies is in everyone’s best interests. But like I said, those are lies.

“Alpha-male” is a term I frequently reference in the back of my mind. Thinking about how males were once perceived as strong, dominant, and possessive in the animal kingdom. Any one of these normal girls from school would think those thoughts are outlandish and crazy. But they don’t have a grandmother like mine with such an independent, free-thinking mind, and absolutely no filter whatsoever. They also don’t carry love in their hearts for a man the way I do. Romantic heterosexual relationships are strictly prohibited. Romantic heterosexual relationships promote monogamy and monogamy doesn’t benefit the greater good if one woman is keeping one man’s essence all to herself. Women can engage in romantic relationships with other women, they just can’t entertain the same man for too long.

Each community is assigned to a district and that district has one academy where all the district’s men that are 11 and older are housed. 11 years old is the age they take you if you are a boy. They come and take you from your mother and your childhood home to live with all the other males in the community. They finish growing up there and learn about our history, our biology, and our principles. They are taught not to be violent and how to channel their anger into meaningful contributions to the community. Manners and social skills are taught and reiterated daily. They learn skilled labor that allows them to be helpful in the community. And most important of all, they are taught about sex and consent. Once a boy turns 18 and becomes a man, he is allowed to reenter the community he grew up in and become a contributing member of society. They come into town during the day and perform various tasks and manual labor jobs where they are available. They are encouraged to interact with as many women as they can to attract attention from female suitors. At 5pm every day, the men go back to the academy for dinner. On Tuesday’s, Thursday’s, and Saturday’s though, after dinner is over, the men are expected to get washed up and ready for the evening. Ladies in the community who are fertile and ready to have a child make calls throughout the week to the academy to request a slot of time with a male of her choosing that she wants to father her child. Grandma once referred to this as “window shopping for a baby daddy”.

Men have every right to say “no” to whomever they don’t want to have sexual relations with. However, there are consequences for trying to get away with what is considered immoral behavior in our community. Men cannot exclusively accept appointments with one female suitor only. Appointments can be no longer than an hour maximum of time. Women can report the male for any wrong-doings or failing to climax to achieve pregnancy. There can be no actions taken that are a clear indicator of a declaration of feelings and/or love. Most cruel of all, is that if a man refuses completely not to see any women, he is cut off and banned from civil society where he must make donations of his essence for women who prefer to be artificially inseminated instead of doing things “the old fashioned way”. As far as I know, there are not many men who take this route. Some, however, don’t have a choice in the matter. If you commit a crime and you break any of the rules of the community, this is a man’s fate. Solitary confinement and making a deposit into the community sperm bank. After about five years, many of the active and involved men of the community are sent to new districts to prevent prolonged attachments and create new potential matches with female suitors ready to have a child. It makes me sick to think Micah could be gone one day.

Micah had been our neighbor’s son when we were kids. My mother always spoke about the day he was born so highly. It was “such a blessing” she would say. I secretly knew she resented me deep down for being a girl. Having a boy is so rare that it attracts praise and attention from everyone in town. There are so many stigmas when it comes to having children. No woman is forced to have a child. It is always her choice. But to choose not to, always comes with those concerning looks and glances from other women in the community that burn you with disapproval. When we were growing up, Micah and I were always close. Micah would come over and my mother would coddle him and treat him like he was a fragile and delicate thing made of glass. But I knew better. Micah was not fragile. I tackled him through the mud behind our houses enough to prove he wasn’t capable of shattering into a million pieces. But he was capable of shattering me. Before I even knew it. The day of his 11th birthday came and we had to say goodbye. I cried and screamed as our mother’s had to nearly pry us apart as we clung to each other desperate to not be separated. But nevertheless he was taken and I didn’t see him for 7 years.

Six months shy of my 18th birthday I came home from school to my mother’s shop in town to help out like I always do. She owned a small pottery shop in town with many of her handcrafted pieces she worked on. When I walked into the backroom, I was greeted by a man in the corner welding a metal pipe that had cracked. He heard me approach and put down the torch he was holding as he lifted his protective mask. I would know his eyes anywhere. A liquid, chocolate brown that melted me where I stood. Micah set his gear aside immediately to run and sweep me up into a hug.

“Sylvia!” he yelled. Just the way he said my name made me feel like the glass that I was, and he was not. He could shatter me. And I had no idea why. My reaction to seeing him was invigorating. His strong arms around me were so inviting. I never wanted to leave them. We sat in that back room of my mother’s shop talking for what seemed like forever, until he had to go for 5pm dinner. He told me he would be around town helping with various welding projects and that we’d talk more.

We did talk more. Our friendship picked right back up where we left off and we didn’t skip a beat. On my 18th birthday, Micah met me in the back of my mother’s shop again. It was one of our favorite spots. He handed me a box with a small bow on it. He warned me not to tell anyone where it came from, for fear of anyone identifying its meaning as a declaration of feelings. When I opened the box, it was a heart shaped locket. The jewelry was made of metal and inscribed with the letters “M” and “S” on the inside. He told me he inscribed the initials on the inside so I could wear it and no one would notice the deeper meaning behind it.

Two years since my 18th birthday have passed. I lay awake at night thinking about the women who try to schedule appointments to see Micah. Knowing he can’t refuse entirely to not “contribute” to society. One day in the coming years he could be ripped from me entirely. I roll over in bed and look at the locket. The locket he made with his two hands and the love he has for me. I have never made an appointment to see him intimately. I don’t know how to be with him in this way. We need to get out of here. We can’t stay here. The longer I stay and do nothing, the sicker in my heart and mind I’ll become. I have to get out. We have to get out.