Merry Meet

When I was 18, I loved a boy.
I give him my heart,
And he took it gladly.
Midnight was the best time,
He decided,
To tell me he didn't love me anymore.
And it was done.

When I was 19 I loved a man,
Whose fists were louder than his words.
He broke my house
And my heart.
My friends found out,
And it was done.

Soon after I loved a girl,
Who was loved by another.
We shared time,
And I loved when she didn't.
She had another,
And it was done.

When I lost her, I loved a man,
Who I thought was true.
Who I thought would love me.
Who would show me that people were better.
But I was sharing him.
He didn't care for me,
And it was done.

When I didn't want anyone,
I met a man.
I didn't trust that he would love me,
But he did.
He became my best friend and my partner.
And he showed me love I didn't know existed.
And it will never be done.







Beginning Of Conquers All...

Year 2896 – Massachusetts

        It took nine years of life to realize that I was not as perfect as my mother had raised me to be. The epiphany happened in the midst of a childrens game. A game of house orchestrated by my childhood friend, Maggie. “Now, come along, Samantha,” She trilled, “we want to play house in my new Dream Home.” The two boys, who had come from down the street especially to see Maggie, and I ogled her new play house.
         The outside was white wood, polished and perfect, with pink trim frothing around the door frame and the windows. I could not shake the thought it was going to be like playing house inside an absurd, prissy cake. I reached forward to lay a hand on the door frame, just to touch the  painted wood, but stopped short to study my own hand. The nails were bitten down to the quick and a small drip of blood was trembling on my finger tip, no doubt from biting without realizing. I dared a glance at Maggie and touched the door itself, leaving a small blemish of red on her perfectly painted fantasy, before she could look up and see.
         “Now we have to pair up,” declared Maggie, “as everyone does.” I looked across at the two boys, whose names I hadn't learned yet, and realized she meant Mated Pairs. “I don't know Maggie..” I began as she straightened a fake flower in her fake flower box of her fake house, “I'm not sure I want to play house.” Maggie turned to me and sniffed, “Don't be an idiot. Now, Jim and I are paired and Samantha, you and Max are paired.” I knew better than to attempt to argue with her again; we were going to play house and that was just that.
         “Why can't I be paired with Jim?” I questioned, looking at Max rather bemusedly. The three of them all turned to look at me. Maggie lowered her voice, “Because thats the way it should be.” Upon seeing me still blank faced, she elaborated, “I am blonde with blue eyes, and Jim is blonde with blue eyes. Everyone knows that Recessives are paired with Recessives.” I glanced at Max again, noting that our hair and eyes were both a disappointing shade of brown. “Yes, I know that is how it is done, Maggie, but why?” This time my questions cause frowns, as thought they had never thought the word why. “To make everyone pure, that's why.” Maggie said in a very angry, yet angelic, lilt. “And I think we should just play on our own, if you're going to be speaking this way.” The three turned their back on me and sat down together in the green grass to discuss how they would play with an extra boy.
         I turned away and walked across Maggies backyard toward her fence. An air raid siren rang out across the neighborhood as I closed the backyard fence behind me, and I dropped as we had been taught in school. My chin scrapped the ground as I held my hands behind my neck and my only thought was, Why are there pairs at all?














Year 2,905 – Massachusetts

         I hate the way bobby socks slip. Sitting on a bench in Babcock Park with my Mother is possibly the worst place in the world to adjust your socks. “Samantha I can not possibly deduce why you insist on picking at yourself in public.” Mother is having 'one of those days', which is code for 'Samantha is giving me gray hairs'. “I'm not picking, Mother.” I finish pulling my sock up and readjusting my beige slacks. Mother hates it when I wear dress slacks. Even at home she insists on dress's and skirt suits. My hands travel up my slacks, smoothing as I stand up. I let my hands rest on my hips, bunching my blue floral blouse and blow my bangs from my face.
         My hair is still the same muddy shade of brown it was when I was nine in Maggies yard and I realized life would be hard. Mother would dye it whether I wanted to or not if it wasn't so socially shunned. Mother has brown hair as well, of course, but hers is a waving auburn. I suppose I have my fathers hair, although I've never met him. Mother told me once when I was seven that he must have died in the MidWar because he left for it and never returned.
         The War has been going on since 2740. I know there have been other wars, because my Gammy mentioned one once, but we don't get taught about any war other than The War. Its almost the only thing we're taught period. The first day of school, which is the first Monday after your tenth birthday, boys and girls enter different classrooms. The first two years all you learn is about the danger and degradation of The PreWar. The PreWar was all violence, rape and crime. The text book has pictures of teenagers from back then to show how different we are now.
         The girl in the picture was a slut, or that is what the caption said at least. She was wearing pants so short I'm not sure they were really pants, and a tight shirt that showed off her breasts. Beside her was a girl with a mens hair cut and clothes. She was beautiful. That caption called the girl a faggot.
         “Samantha!” My mother snapped me out of my own head and in a rush I realized she'd been speaking the whole time. “Christ Mother. I can hear, you know.” I snapped at her turning to face her sitting on the bench only to catch the look of horror distorting her normally perfect features. Her knuckles were white, clutching at the crucifix at the hollow of her throat. “Oh Mother,” I began, “I was praying out loud for strength from Him and it only sounded like taking His name in vain.” I finished with what I hoped was a reassuring smile and she relaxed slightly, standing to finish our walk.
          I had turned eighteen last week and Mother had been busy negotiating with our Pairing Associate. Fatigue was heavy in her eyes and her shoulders. Apparently, finding a suitable Dominant gene-d male was treacherously taxing.
         “Now, I have found an M.P. for you,” Mother liked to use the abbreviation for Matched Pair around me as though it would warm me to the idea, “but you really must be on your most proper behavior when you meet him.” There was no desire in me at all to meet my Pair, but the government made it clear I had no choice. I had heard rumors that some people refused to be paired, but they were always told with a legend like quality so I am not sure they ever truly happened.
         My Pair and I would be married according to the law a week after our first meeting. From then, we would have a year to become pregnant. After a year, you had to go to fertility testing and in some cases receive a new Pair. If you were found infertile you were kept in a special housing unit on the military base in your respective town. Infertility has happened, but since the government began matching its people it has mostly become extinct. When I had first heard this, in my first year of school, I was immediately curious and had frightened the teachers with my questions. Despite being told it was for the betterment of the country I couldn't understand.
         Mother was still going on about my Pair, whose name was apparently Tribald. In all reality, because of the immediate draft, I wouldn't really be 'married' at all. After I become pregnant Tribald will be shipped out with all the other men. This is the way the World works now. Women don't fight because they raise babies. We are too 'valuable' to lose so women are forbidden on pain of death to fight. Men help women make babies, and then go to war to die. The women have the babies and the cycle restarts. Its the whole reason Matching Pairs began in the first place; to make more soldiers for The War.
         No one remembers why it started. The War began so long ago and so many books have been burned since that we are only taught about the present state of war. We just know it started, and it was fought here in North America for eighty-five years. Our crops were destroyed, our homes were decimated and the enemy burned our babies in their cribs. Of the six hundred million people the were living when The War reached our soil, only fourteen million remained. Starvation had murdered us just as well as the Europeans had.
         America proposed a fix. Now that the war was being fought across the sea, we could rebuild forces. In the beginning, people were encouraged to have children with rewards. More children, more food, water, supplies and money. When it was not enough the Government had to crack down. Punishments were given out to people with less than fifteen children by the age of forty five. By the end of the year 2830 our forces were stocked, the Mated Pairs system was in place and law required you to marry whomever they told you too.
         Mother was still talking but I had forgotten to nod politely and there was a rude pause as she waited for me to notice. “I'm sorry, mother, what did you say?” My attempt to save face was poor but she took it anyway and began one of her famous gossip tirades. “I said, that my sister, Anita, you remember Anita,” I did not. “saw a couple of queers down her street get executed on their lawn two mornings ago. Had no idea they were gay but there you go, they just slip among you. Dragging their dirty, filthy, slimy trails right on past you right under your nose.”
         I had heard her go off on this before, and knew her opinion quite well. Homosexuality was a sin. Not only that the Government has named it treason nearly a hundred years ago and had been eliminating them ever since. What was the point of having perfectly good genitals if you wouldn't use them to make soldiers? What was the point of contributing more dead men to a dead war? I flinched at the thought and scolded myself. There was no use fighting it, I would be a part of the system because I would die otherwise. Choices, choices.
         At least the day was beautiful. Not even mothers squawking could deaden the beauty of an April day. The most beautiful April day, when I met the most beautiful girl. When the World stopped spinning, and I flew straight off.





















Year 2,910 – Somewhere In Europe

         I'm being screamed at as though I'm incompetent instead of just quiet.
I have always been quiet but men are not quiet. They are raised to be loud, and so now I'm must be as well. “Sir, Yes Sir.” The shout echoes as we all scream it as one but the Sargent never pauses. The Sargent never breathes. I've decided he doesn't need air to yell, just sheer force of will.
         My breasts are bound, my head is shaved and for all the company knows, I'm one of the men.
If I wasn't and I had even attempted to join, I'd have been shot on sight. It is worth it, to help end this war. I must end this war so society can change. Nothing is more important than stopping the fear so things can change for the better.
         A phantom whiff of vanilla hits my nose and I can't hear the Sargent screaming about war anymore. I am back in the park with mother, wearing my flower print and strolling along talking about Tribald. I see her for the first time then. Her brunette hair was unruly and long, waving in the April wind. You could tell she had a battle with that hair every morning and she would for the rest of her life. The natural curl of it was intriguing, as it seemed to flounce all on its on. She wore a dress. A baby blue dress that had me jealous of her legs before I realized how smooth they could feel under my lips. Her eyes met mine and I realized they were blue. A striking, genetically rebellious blue. Most recessive genes had long been bred out of dominant gene-d families. Her eyes caught mine, she smiled and I could taste my pulse on my tongue like rock candy.

         Stars burst behind my eyes, the Sargent had been speaking to me and I had been dreaming again. I'm on one knee trying to regain vision when he hits me again across the back of my head.

         The stars fade out, and so does his screaming.