Prison of Beauty

The Gen

Raven's POV

I look at the gray stone wall through my dirty plastic window, a wall heated to levels that would make anyone's skin melt right off if they dared touch it. This wall keeps whatever has killed us out. These walls protect us. Or so the majority of the villagers of Gen say.

But what if they don't protect us, but keep us trapped? For in my opinion, the only beings we must be protected of are the very ones who put those walls up. Which is why I don't feel safe and secure; I feel like a hen stuck in one of those places where they used to be mass-produced. I've seen pictures of these places, the chickens just being fattened up with unnatural substances and trapped without a choice. The justification for this is that the chickens wouldn't exist without the owner, and they are protected from the brutality in the wild. Damn, this synonym is more accurate than I thought!

The only difference being that we're humans, just like the people who put us here. And we aren't kept in crammed homes and lacking proper natural food to be killed and consumed, we're expected to reproduce. Yeah, that's (unfortunately) right; we're kept here with minimal food and not nearly enough space just to make kids. The only chance for that to change is to get pregnant; then the mother can get medicine, and the father is beloved since he is proven fertile. If the baby is a girl, she is allowed to live, or get the closest thing to a life you can have here. If it is a boy, he is tested for fertility and strength. If he is especially fertile and strong, he will make his rounds at each home and impregnate women for a bit of food. If he is strong and shows potential in work, he will go to do whatever it is the government needs all these people for.

But I won't be so selfish. I won't condemn my children to misery just because I want to survive. And I won't allow myself to be used just to breed children like they're objects, tools--

"Raven!" Mother calls. Well, it's more of a shout, really; the way she says my name, I realize this wasn't her first attempt to snap me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I ask, trying not to sound whiny or dismal. I know the reason my mother is talking to me would have to be that she thought somebody suitable to father my son was making his rounds.

"Somebody would like to meet you, and don't forget what an honor it would be to be the mother of a child that will help keep the Gen going. 'Gen' isn't short for 'genorousity' for no reason, Raven. We were struggling to survive and our government was contemplating taking out the useless to help the strong survive. But instead, they found a way to make it work and to use the population to their advantage. They gave us a purpose, Raven. We now . . ." I stop listening at this point. This speech has been repeating like a broken record for what seems like ever. I stifle a yawn as I climb down from the loft. For some reason I always feel like the rickety latter is going to collapse, but my father then tells me how it's metal not old fashioned wood, how rust was better than mold, and all that good stuff. Whenever my mother or father make their speeches, I want to shout, "But mom, where is our choice? What if I don't want to be a whore and what if I don't want to be used to breed my children as if they were objects, just so they can be used as tools in one big giant machine with "WRONG" written all over it? And dad, what the fucking hell happened to nature? Nature is perfectly balanced, nature is right! Yes, nature is harsh, but it is harsh for the greater good!" And I have. Well not whored myself out, I mean I have said those things. Which is why my father threatened to disown me. I am very lucky to know my father, as I am reminded often. Most children don't even know which of the rounders he is. But my mother and father had something beyond breeding. One might even call it love . . .

No. There is no place for love in this world. Love would be too painful. In this world, everyone suffers. I would rather suffer on my own than see somebody I love suffer. And I don't want to hurt whoever would be idiotic enough to love me by them having to see my pain and me not wanting to ahem well go beyond a peck on the lips and risk children. You might be thinking of birth control but seriously, why would we have birth control if our job was to breed a labor force or whatever it is they're calling it?

Looking at the rickety latter makes me snap back to my original line of thought. So . . . my father wanted to disown me, and my mother, so grateful to be recognized as more than a source of food and honor, would never dare go against my father. He treats her like more than a notch on his belt, more than insurance. However, I doubt she fucking wanted to. But my sister, who still lived in our house too and mother of 12 baby boys (though I guess not all of them would be babies anymore, since it's been years since the government collected the first little bundle, tearing him away from a shrieking and sobbing mother) that she doesn't know, stood up for me and said that even if I (like me, not her) was forced to live on my own and would die if I didn't do what they believed was right, I would still just let myself die since that's what I wanted. I honestly doubted my parents would've minded killing me if their soul purpose hadn't been to raise our population.

"Raven!" My mother shouts angrily. I realize I'm standing on the middle of the ladder, my body ready to burst with the unfairness of it all. "Get down right now, and wipe that look off your face! This is an opportunity, not some terrible punishment!" Yeah the rapist needs the parents' permission to reproduce with us, and the only reason my parents aren't giving it blindly is because they know what love feels like, and they want me to have a tiny chance at it.

"Coming," I sigh, putting a smile on that slightly shows my teeth. I know my parents will give me more freedom if I pretend like I'm actually giving this a chance, like I actually want this.

Once I get down the latter, I glance around our tiny metal home. My mother hands me a dress, if you can even call it that. It's a silky green, barely covering my ass when I slip it on. It's strapless (of course) and has lace on the sides that shows the stomach I keep as muscled as possible in case I can ever escape this hellhole. My parents of course think I'm doing this to be ready for love when I see it, and I let them think so. My mother hands me matching green sandals that snake their way up to right above my knee and have ridiculously high platform heels. I let my hair down from my right bun and let it fall loosely around my shoulders, like I knew my mother would want me to. Before she can pull the dress thing down to show so much cleavage that the top would barely cover my nipples, I open the door. I hate dressing like this for someone I've never even met before.

As the door opens, I hear a gasp and keep the smile plastered on my face while I inwardly roll my eyes. This is always they're reaction, to any woman, beautiful or not. But really, who can blame them? Survival might just override their instinct to protect their young from this abhorrent and uncertainty future. Well, it would certainly be dismal. I hate to say, but my mother cuts our rations short for nothing; they care about the food, not the heels or skimpy dress.

I'm dragged out of my thoughts as I take in the sight before me. Usually the strong ones are sent to work, but this guy, with his jawline, abs visible through a tightly clinging T-shirt, and steamy green eyes looks too perfect to be real. Oh, and did I mention the amazing jawline? Or the smile of pure admiration? Well, now I have. Anyways, I want to turn him down as soon as I can. He looks too kind for his job, and good looks undermine character. However, the way he looks at the soft waves of my waist-length dark hair and admires the view from my eyes to my waist tells me it's not gonna be easy to get rid of this one.