Predator and Prey

Predator – Bill

After the Reconstruction was completed, every bureau had received a beautiful stamp. The stamp was embellished with golden lapels and frills. A funny excess to the Reconstructionist masculinity.

The stamp was used for everything under the sun. From marriage license approvals to business closures to tax evasion paperwork.

Bill loved his stamp. He especially loved what he got to do with it on Wednesdays. Post Reconstruction, Wednesdays were dedicated to the young men. The disenfranchised. The ones who had been denied so much before the Reconstruction came.

So many young men’s lives could have been saved if the Reconstruction had come sooner.

Today his appointment was with a twenty two year old man named Jackson. Jackson needed his help direly. He was short and skinny. Acne scars pocked his cheeks. He wore his government mandated cross, a second tier, which meant that he had spent a good amount of time in church. Good boy. He was obviously still in college, based on the community college embroidery on his shirt.

Community College meant that in the pre-Reconstructivist era, he would have struggled a lot.

All in all, he looked pathetic.

And he needed this stamp to set him right.

Bill sat down, barely fitting inside of his chair. He turned on his computer, clicking through the various trainings that were due by the end of this month.

‘Why Eugenics isn’t a Bad Word’

‘Subversion and Submission’

He snoozed to them. Jackson was more important. He was part of a program by the Miller Institute. One of the most important pieces of Reconstructionist policy. Reclaiming the youth. It was a program only for men of course. Women were not the target, but the product.

“Hello Jackson,” Bill said. “Are you ready to start?”

“I am,” He said, nervously.

“Good,” Bill said. “I have just the girl for you. Just sign here.”

“What am I signing?”

“Just sign it,” Bill raised his brow. “It will allow you into the Meat Locker.”

Jackson seemed to flinch at that word.

“Relax,” Bill said, and went to print the report he had on Jackson. It took minutes to get everything together and print it in color.

Jackson gulped.

Bill withdrew the warm papers from the printer, and placed them in front of Jackson.

“This is your rating,” He explained. You’re low on the extroversion and dominance scale, so you will need a younger woman. Congratulations! She’ll be in her most fertile stages. She’s recently turned thirteen.”

Bill pointed to another note on the paper.

“Your genetics are not so good, you have increased recessive gene markers, but thankfully no dominant disease traits” he said. “All the girls have been tested, so we’ve made sure that she doesn’t put your children at risk. Now, if you’re still worried, you can choose to perform a vasectomy. Of course, as a white male, you’re not required to do so. It’s your choice.”

Jackson nodded, carefully looking over the papers.

“I don’t think I’ll do the vasectomy,” Jackson said. “I thought about it. I think it’s important to pass down the family line.”

“It is,” Bill smiled, then stood up and slapped him on the back. Well? All you have to do is sign! Congratulations! We hope the wait wasn’t too long.”

“It wasn’t,” Jackson gave out a nervous smile, then breathed in and out excitedly. “Only six months. This is awesome.”

“Just sign here, she’s waiting for you.”

As Jackson put his name into the paper, Bill did his favorite thing. He dipped the stamp into ink, and stamped it.

Prey – They aren’t allowed names

In the Reconstructionist era, if you’re a woman, they’re coming for you.

And if you think your life was something worth living, just wait until they stick you in the Meat Locker.

It was a lovely little moniker for the place that was officially called Miller FSF (Female Storage Facility). It had come from the men, actually. She had heard it. She had thought about it. She had understood it. It took a lot to understand.

Most of the women didn’t live in the Meat Locker. This is where they stuck the troublesome ones. Outside, the Predators could hunt their Prey all they wanted. Here, in the Meat Locker, the girls were different. It was artificial. Like buying meat from the grocery store.

Thus the Meat Locker.

It was cool in her room. Too cool. Her dress was simple linen, pink, modest. She had exactly one book, and it was an annotated dumbed down version of the Bible with pictures. The bathroom was the only room with a window, and she would spend hours there, watching the outside world.

Watching the Predators. Most of the Prey wasn’t outside anymore.

Today things were different. She knew they were, because they had given her that dress. Normally, it was something more like a burlap sack combined with a sterile drape.

She had been careful for the past few months. This was a place for troubled girls. The Miller Institute matched weak men to girls they worked hard to break in, but she was different. She knew she was. They had taken everything, even her name, but she had been good the past few months. She had learned. She had watched and waited.

Today she would meet her Predator.

And today she would kill him. Or he would kill the rest of what was inside of her.

She could hear the footsteps getting nearer now.

She could hear the keys jingling.

She could hear that fat man, Bill, talking about his stupid stamp.

She was ready.

But for what? Who would win?

Would she be the predator? Or would she be the prey?