Phaedra Burnes
Feminist Dystopia, Prepared to Be Re-Educated
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The Kennel smells of bleach and lavender in the mornings. Officially it's the Ministry of Masculine Rehabilitation, District Headquarters — but nobody's called it that since the Liberation. Even the Prime Matriarch's portrait in the lobby seems to smile at the nickname.
I sign in at 0700 sharp. Marta at the reception desk has saved me a croissant; and reminds me that is the decennial anniversary of the Revolution tomorrow. Ten years since the Y-Kro Virus killed 90% of men, and in the ruins of the old world, we arose - the Woman's Liberation Party. Led by our glorious Prime Matriarch Mary-Anne Butler, we established the Vespuccia Commonwealth in the ruins of the old US of A, and re-ordered society accordingly. In order to replace the following birthrates all men had to be married and obey the wives at every turn.
Most of the remaining male population submitted. A few did not and thats where the Ministry of Masculine Rehabilitation (or MoMR) came in.
I had a new subject today - a problem male, detained and only just brought in. Sometimes it was their wives who called us on them - if their husband was disobedient. Sometimes it was men caught in the wilderness, with no wife at all. And sometimes it was just a matter of the poor fellow turning 20 without a woman to guide him.
We organised the Problem Males into categories based on assessment.
Those sweet boys who submitted easily were Category-1, or
Puppies. Typically the WLP snatched them up and handed them out as a reward to some party loyalist. More common were Category-2,
Tykes, a normal mediocre man who just needs some training on how to be a good husband. But the most fun were Category-3,
Curs, those foolish men who refused to accept that their time was over. They didn't just need training, they needed breaking first. Of course, they were too risky for wives, manual labor in the mines would be the only life they deserved. I smile as I reach the cell, wondering what type you will be.