Lately, I feel really at odds with my body. Mainly, my boobs. I hate them. I wish they didn’t exist. I’m tired of bras. I’m tired of women’s clothes that look terrible on me because I have no idea how to wear them, weird as that may sound. I’m okay with my vagina, but I wish I didn’t have ovaries.
I dream of someday being able to run and jump without having to worry about it hurting because my breasts are bouncing. I don’t want periods. I don’t want the ability to have children. I’m tired of being told that I’ll change my mind and that I’m a woman and women have breasts.
I don’t fucking want breasts. I hate them. They don’t feel natural on me. I don’t know how to dress them, I don’t know how to dress myself with them.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me.
-The 23rd Psalm, KJV
The mournful notes of a violin rose and fell across the dusty wasteland of what was once the middle part of the United States, if the United States had still existed. Unfortunately, it had stopped existing well into the Second Great War, or World War Three, when home-grown terrorists from the newly-risen United Confederacy launched coordinated attacks that had been successful in taking out the entire United States government and throwing it into total chaos. Those who had said that the South would rise again had been correct, it had just taken longer than they had hoped for, and the United Confederacy became all that was left of the United States, consisting of the original eleven states from the Confederacy of the Civil War plus Kentucky and West Virginia. Even within the United Confederacy, states no longer existed; the territory was simply the United Confederacy.
Beyond the borders of the United Confederacy lay wastelands, torn apart by war, anarchy, and disease. The United Confederacy never seemed to care much for what lay beyond their borders; they seemed content with their land, as long as no one from the outside tried to enter. They had erected a wall, much like the Berlin Wall of ages ago, a barrier of concrete and barbed wire that stretched from the Gulf of Mexico to the North Atlantic Ocean, dividing them from what had become known as The Barrens or Badlands. Guarded by watchtowers every fifty feet, the United Confederacy employed a shoot on sight policy to anyone not approaching one of the five gates.
Life in The Barrens was rough. Law no longer survived; it had descended into every man for himself, and resources were scarce, reduced to only what could be traded for from the Merchants who came from the United Confederacy, what could be stolen, or what could be created. The climate had shifted, leaving the western hemisphere of the world stuck in two seasons: dry, hot summer and bitterly cold winter. Many cities had been decimated; the few that remained were walled off and did not take kindly to strangers. Many humans who survived in The Barrens became Drifters, wandering from place to place and eking out a meager living. Technology fell by the wayside; with no gasoline, cars would not run any longer, and the infrastructure of the United States dissolved away completely, leaving only scattered radio towers that still functioned off of either solar, hydro, or wind power. Any cities that still had electricity guarded it well.
The Drifters were hardy people, accustomed to the hard life they lived. They traveled where they would, often in large caravans for safety, and faced many things, from the harsh climate to marauders to wild and feral animals. Sometimes, they settled down in one place; these became known as Settlements. Much of what they needed came from Merchants and the land, and primarily, Drifters were peaceful and always willing to look out for each other. They lived in fear of Marauders, who lived outside of any law that might have existed.
Marauders were sometimes known as Outlaws. Living outside of the law, they traveled the land stealing what they wanted and murdering whomever they wanted. Many of them belonged to one of five clans: Black Dragon, the Sidoron family, Graywing, Iron Claw, and the Rogue family. The Sidoron family, while the smallest, was undoubtedly the most powerful, having gained control of the entire city of Las Vegas, which had remained mostly untouched by the lawlessness of the land due to being protected by the surrounding mountains. The most ruthless was the Rogue family; few survived their attacks, and they were particularly known for kidnapping young women and girls for their pleasure. Their stronghold was in what was once known as Reno, Nevada. The two families constantly warred as mortal enemies. The remaining three clans were scattered about across the former United States, and there were countless more Marauders not involved in any clans.
Harry was not a Drifter, Merchant, or Marauder. He was what was called a Stray, someone who wandered aimlessly with no real purpose. He traveled alone with his young niece, Amelia. Sometimes, they joined caravans of Drifters or Merchants, serving as protection against Marauders. Sometimes, they joined a settlement for a brief time, taking odd jobs here and there, or worked as bounty hunters for whomever had the money. Their loyalties lay with no one but each other and whoever held the purse strings. It was not that they did not have a home—their home was in the state once known as West Virginia, where they raised horses—they simply found that the wandering life suited them best, returning home every so often to be sure that everything was still running fine. He was an ex soldier who had fought in the Second Great War; he had raised his niece from a baby after her mother had fallen ill during a disease that had swept across the world. Once upon a time, he had been one of the best marksmen in the German army before he had fallen into alcoholism and been demoted to little more than a delivery man, shuttling troops and supplies to the front lines and, eventually, had fled the war entirely for the United States. He had managed to gain a few years—ten years, to be exact—of peace with his younger sister, Sara, during which time she had married. The peace didn’t last, of course; a disease swept across the United States soon after the government collapsed, and only two weeks after Amelia’s birth, Sara succumbed, and her police man husband was killed while trying to apprehend looters, leaving Harry to raise Amelia. He raised her to be a survivor, like him, and once she was old enough, they became Strays, wandering aimlessly.
“One does not simply stop and take a piss in the middle of the Civil War.”
Love me as I am.
And then I feel bad for thinking that my ‘friends’ are friends and for complaining that my life sucks.
Hmmm.
I feel like taking Harry’s story in a different direction.
idk idk idk
I’ve been seeing this a lot lately…
Look. Vegans.
It’s cool that you’re vegans. I’m not gonna preach at you for not eating meat or for choosing not to use any animal products. It’s your choice. Cool beans.
I respect that.
I don’t respect you getting all preachy. I choose to eat meat. I choose to use animal products when I do.
Respect my choice.
Fuck my life.
