CHAPTER ONE: Not a Normal Wedding by Tina Semanas Standing in front of a silver gilded long length mirror, Beck took one final look at the finished product of her bridal masquerade. Her reflection said it all, “Let’s get this ruse over with.” After uncoupling with Lacy, her long-time ex-lover, Beck was finished with the drama and Lacy’s constant need to compete for attention. And she hated fighting the daily fem-power struggle for control. Enough was enough. Beck wanted money and freedom, and Athan was the surest path to ease and riches. All it took to get her hands on his cash was walking through the outdated motions of the primitive marriage rite. Athan was a sucker for cosmetic enhancements and platinum blond implants; and she knew his silly ideal of romantic love blinded him to the legal disadvantage cisgendered men were subject to. Once Athan said “I do”, he was trapped. All powers and privileges were ceded over to the woman as controlling partner of the contract. If he ever raised his voice to her, his hand or the living room heartbeat monitor registered increased palpitations, she could sue for all his monies based on the old 2054 D.A.P. (Domestic Abuse Prevention) Policy that clearly stated: “Any sign of cis-male on female, trans-male, or non-binary aggression; be it word, deed, cardio escalation, body temperature increase, or unacceptable hand gesture, allows for the threatened party to preemptively curtail the spousal threat of violence. Notification of local NWP agents and use of household stun sticks are recommended and non-prosecutable in civil court. All monies, properties, financial holdings, and securities are immediately forfeited and to be handed over to the offended partner to pay for damages and personal use.” Beck silently whispered smirking to herself, “Gullible sap! I will give the marriage two-weeks, please him in bed for a couple nights, and then cry abuse. Men, so easy, so disposable. And Athan, oh, so rich.” Soon Beck was being escorted down the aisle by her Aunt Ina, the famous cellular architect, who was wearing her signature long black lace dress with pink combat boots. Beck herself chose the audacious choice of a simple white A-line wedding gown, knowing it would help Athan fall deeper into believing her false show of devotion and loyalty. She knew what to do to excite his want. “Do you promise to join into an asset sharing agreement, respecting each other’s equality, and being available for each other? Do you agree to share your space for the purpose of wellness? Do you want to express before this community quorum the bond of a serious companionship? To form this union say, ‘I do!’” Athan and Beck both replied as expected. After exchanging necklaces and signing papers, they sealed the agreement with a kiss. Smiling, the trans-minister declared, “Here we have Beck and Athan, friends, partners, for now!” Arm in arm the new couple lighted down the steps, past the crowd of well wishers, and out the doors of the makeshift chapel. Beck quickly threw her corsage of fresh cut roses into a nearby recycling vent, “I hate flowers,” she murmured, “symbols of feminine weakness.” Athan not even noticing her small flex of power, looked lustfully at his newly bought prize, “Get in, let's get out of here.” She slid into seat of the glider, content for the moment. Smiling, she knew she just secured her fortune. --------------------------------------------------- Drew walked confidently in the back door, and immediately bounded downstairs hoping to avoid another lecture from Dia, his adult-caretaker. Secretly, she was also his true birth-parent. He heard loud talking upstairs, feet shuffling, and sure enough, soft padding started coming down the staircase in his direction. “Drew Topher Dias, I was talking to your sister, and she followed you. I know everything...” “That snitch! I want to strangle Ara right now - - where is she?” Drew fumed. Dia with arms crossed, sternly addressed her charge, “Drew, you have to be so careful! Equality codes have already deemed you to have an unfair advantage on three counts, and two more means reparation camp is your only option.” Drew slunk down in his chair. “You know what happened to Red’s dad...ahem...I mean home-mentor? The camp tried the regression apps on him and they didn’t work, he somehow learned to mentally override the behavior algorithm, so he was exiled! If that ever happened to you, I couldn’t live.” Drew stood up, “But Dia, it was only one stinkin’ game of an obsolete sport called football! One game? I read about it in Phen’s stash of papers hidden in the upstairs attic. That’s also where I found the ball. It sounded fun, we were careful.” “That’s just it,” Dia snapped, “The Neighborhood Watch Patrol would love nothing more than catch groups of rogue civilians violating community rules. It boosts their equality allowance.” A small tear rolled down Dia’s cheek, “And besides, one game of physical force, football as you call it, is an immediate three count. You know that!” Drew hung his head, “How can a few hours of messing around trying to learn a extinct tribal game, played by innocent kids, be so dangerous, so criminal?” “Drew, we have been over this a hundred times -- The Sisters determined any physical competition that results in inequity, a winner and loser, violates the compassion requirement. Any chance of expressed violence and injury resulting from it could threaten a community's reputation. It’s been hammered it in our heads that those who have higher counts of testosterone levels can't help but excel in such primitive barbarism. Therefore, even your silly game of football, is an activity that needs to be sanctioned and punished.” “But Dia,” Drew insisted, “women compete in selfie wars on ‘Vanity Night’, our own fine arts school rewards the clearest alto and soprano with crowns and national tours - - both are competitions aren’t they? Don't you see the hypocrisy?” “Shut your mouth, now! Never cast doubt on the wisdom of The Sisters. They determine status, placement and reward. If they ever found out through gossip chains you disparaged their judgment they will wash you. I’ve witnessed the cleansing firsthand of Phen. You have seen pictures of your original home-mentor, now he is a mindless laborer standing on-line installing glider parts. I do not want that for you. I can’t even think it!” Dia broke down, and collapsed on a cushioned pot-chair next to Drew. “Dia, I promise you, I will be careful,” he earnestly pleaded. “No, you will be done!” She stood up and gave one final pleading look at Drew before she padded back up the staircase. “O.K., O.K, I’m done.” Upstairs, Ara was listening through the heating ducts. She heard the whole discourse. She wondered, “Washed? Cleansing? Was Drew really a criminal for wanting to simply throw an old, worn out play ball with his friends?” She knew she had to keep her thoughts to herself. She dreaded the next day of school...moving up to ‘Colleen Camp.’
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