Long Live Feminna!
Clark adjusted his necktie before entering the black cubicle under the watchful eye of the campus security. He wore his nervousness like a poor man’s second skin. It was his first time.
The new voting system had come into effect five years prior, but he was too young at the time to be given the right. With twenty-five years now under his belt, his civic duty could finally come to fruition. All family members were glad… and relieved.
The moment he stepped inside the small booth, the curtain behind him disappeared, becoming a solid and smooth surface instead. Twenty-first century minds would have called that “magic” but in the year 3019, molecular reconstruction bio-organic materials were everywhere, including his clothes. Broken and shredded things had long ceased to exist.
“Please identify yourself,” hummed a striking female voice from a speaker perfectly integrated with the wall in front of him.
“Clark Matthews, resident of District B78, male number 22567334.”
“Verifying records, please hold…”
The voice faded into a whirr; the whirr melted into a low-frequency buzz. His ears immediately perked up, and the once restless pupils froze in attention.
“Identity confirmed. Welcome, Clark. Since this is your first time, do you understand what you’re required to do?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied.
“And are you ready to do it?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I wish nothing more than to give my contribution to the society. It is an honor to be here today.”
“A perfect answer. I’m sure your decision will be perfect, too. Please direct your eyes to the screen to your right.”
Emerging from the blackness, the small horizontal rectangle glowed with the colors of the flag of Feminna twice before the question he was to vote on appeared in capital letters.
SHOULD MEN CONTINUE TO BE USED AS SLAVES BY WOMEN? Yes or No?
Clark’s right index finger touched the screen, a small electric jolt piercing his skin like an invisible needle. A single drop of blood bathed the one and only correct answer.
“Always,” Clark muttered, vitreous eyes drifting into a trance.
“Thank you for your participation. Democracy wins again,” the disembodied voice concluded.
“A pleasure to serve,” he bowed and then crawled out of the cubicle.
Just like him, hundreds of other men did the same, overwhelmed by the pride of submission. From a safe distance, reporters from all over the world told their stories about another Referendum Day while Universal United Nations delegates scrambled their heads trying to prove that “Tyranny” was the best word to describe the island’s regime.
“Nonsense!” Clark would respond anytime he heard the charges. “We have the right to choose and we choose to submit because that’s who we are. Women are Alpha, men are not, and never will be. Feminna is a Democracy. Long live Feminna! Long live Feminna! Long live Feminna!”
From atop the crystal towers of the government palace, the leaders of the brainwashed world smiled.
