on triumphant returns: story fragment
I haven't written in this journal for weeks. The Twitter updates don't count. And now that I'm back, I think I'm going to start using it as it was intended to be: an outlet for my creative writing.
I don't know where this came from. It comes from a larger idea I'm working on--a story about the ultimate battle of the sexes. I'm working in fragments, and I guess I'll see what happens next when it happens.
Untitled
Word count: 963
My name is Kira. I am a daughter of the Northern Court. This I have always known. It was taught to me from birth, and I will remember it until death. It is foremost in my thoughts, utmost in my actions. Try as I may, I will never be allowed to forget it, and I have tried countless times to do so. Perhaps it is remiss of me to voice such blatant hostility, as though my lot were an unhappy one. I am sure my sisters would be aghast at my indiscretion-but of course they cannot fathom that any woman would not sanction the laws that govern our land.
Just yesterday Evane spoke rather harsh words to me before the noon meal. She heard me thanking the stable boy for grooming my horse, and it appalled her. He is a sweet lad, eager to please and conscientious in his work; and yet he is a charming rogue too, skirting the edge of flippancy more often than not. I indulge this behavior because he amuses me, and because I see no harm in doing so-and also because I find no pleasure in the absolute, inflexible deference that my sisters demand from the servants. There is nothing commendable about breaking a person’s will, and I enjoy the stable boy’s spirited nature. He is a child yet, full of the cheek and energy of children, and as I have said, there is no harm in such things. It is, at least, a refreshing change from the mindless obedience displayed by the majority of our men.
Here in the North women are deified, worshipped, coddled and pampered and satisfied in whatever pleases them. Men are inferior by default, little more than objects by definition, and the women take great pains to keep it so. Girl children are favored above boys; matrons rule families with iron fists. I have heard it said (often by my sisters, though they are hardly alone in the opinion) that if men were not vital to the production of children, they would be banished from the North altogether, and a perfect society would result from such a “cleansing” of the Court. I have a suspicion that “cleansing” is really a delicate euphemism for “senseless genocide.” For how else would they rid the land of men? By sending them to another Court? A laughable idea, to be sure, for along with the supremacist attitudes of Northern women regarding the sexes is included a fierce nationalism. In our country men are seen as inferior to women, but they are still men of the North, which places them higher in value than anyone from the other, lesser Courts.
In this light, faced with the prospects of either eternal servitude or death, I suppose I am quite fortunate that I was born a girl. Still, I am not so taken with this fortune that I would condemn the whole of the other sex to misery.
Speaking of misery, I am afraid that after incurring Evane’s wrath I am going to lose my stable boy to her ruthless sense of propriety. She is eldest, after all, and may arrange the domestic staff as she pleases; I hold no doubts that she will now assign him to a position that allows her to-oh, how did she say it? “Correct his insolence before it becomes sheer insubordination.” That a young boy will learn such cruelty-I am not a fool; I am aware of what methods my sister uses to “correct” servants’ behavior-outrages me. Evane believes that, like dogs, the sooner we train the servants to do our bidding without question, the more loyal to us they become, and if it takes a few beatings to reinforce the lessons, so be it. I have often argued against this; I say that such practices are unethical, inhumane, and the longer we continue the barbaric tradition of isolating our newborn boys, subjugating them, and forcing them to serve us all their lives, the higher the chances of a coup or rebellion amongst their ranks. Little surprise that my protests fall on deaf ears-that is, I know the women aren’t listening to a word of it. Sometimes, though, I feel as if the servants are watching me. They hear my warnings, but they do not dare confirm any of it or agree with me. And well do they to keep silent, whether or not they truly are planning something. But the sidelong glances when I pass, the quick and fleeting smiles when I take the time to thank a boy who does a good job, leave me almost certain of this: if-when-the revolution comes, they will not forget who I am.
Such irony, for nor can I.
My sisters rail at me when I venture to speak these opinions aloud, asking if I would have the situation reversed-would I prefer the men to take dominance while the women slave and suffer? No, I say to them, though for all the good it does I might as well say not a word.
I am not sure, to be honest, what I would have in place of this egregious segregation. Perhaps a society of equals? Pleasure and toil distributed without discrimination? (Some of these women could do with a bit of menial labor, I think!) A lofty wish, yes, and one nigh impossible. I may even be wishing for the utter collapse of our society before it can be reconstructed more equitably. But even the struggle towards such a goal, and the inevitable conflict that would come with it, is preferable to this endless tension I can sense rising. Something will happen; I know not what. I hope-I fear-my wish will come true after all.
I don't know where this came from. It comes from a larger idea I'm working on--a story about the ultimate battle of the sexes. I'm working in fragments, and I guess I'll see what happens next when it happens.
Untitled
Word count: 963
My name is Kira. I am a daughter of the Northern Court. This I have always known. It was taught to me from birth, and I will remember it until death. It is foremost in my thoughts, utmost in my actions. Try as I may, I will never be allowed to forget it, and I have tried countless times to do so. Perhaps it is remiss of me to voice such blatant hostility, as though my lot were an unhappy one. I am sure my sisters would be aghast at my indiscretion-but of course they cannot fathom that any woman would not sanction the laws that govern our land.
Just yesterday Evane spoke rather harsh words to me before the noon meal. She heard me thanking the stable boy for grooming my horse, and it appalled her. He is a sweet lad, eager to please and conscientious in his work; and yet he is a charming rogue too, skirting the edge of flippancy more often than not. I indulge this behavior because he amuses me, and because I see no harm in doing so-and also because I find no pleasure in the absolute, inflexible deference that my sisters demand from the servants. There is nothing commendable about breaking a person’s will, and I enjoy the stable boy’s spirited nature. He is a child yet, full of the cheek and energy of children, and as I have said, there is no harm in such things. It is, at least, a refreshing change from the mindless obedience displayed by the majority of our men.
Here in the North women are deified, worshipped, coddled and pampered and satisfied in whatever pleases them. Men are inferior by default, little more than objects by definition, and the women take great pains to keep it so. Girl children are favored above boys; matrons rule families with iron fists. I have heard it said (often by my sisters, though they are hardly alone in the opinion) that if men were not vital to the production of children, they would be banished from the North altogether, and a perfect society would result from such a “cleansing” of the Court. I have a suspicion that “cleansing” is really a delicate euphemism for “senseless genocide.” For how else would they rid the land of men? By sending them to another Court? A laughable idea, to be sure, for along with the supremacist attitudes of Northern women regarding the sexes is included a fierce nationalism. In our country men are seen as inferior to women, but they are still men of the North, which places them higher in value than anyone from the other, lesser Courts.
In this light, faced with the prospects of either eternal servitude or death, I suppose I am quite fortunate that I was born a girl. Still, I am not so taken with this fortune that I would condemn the whole of the other sex to misery.
Speaking of misery, I am afraid that after incurring Evane’s wrath I am going to lose my stable boy to her ruthless sense of propriety. She is eldest, after all, and may arrange the domestic staff as she pleases; I hold no doubts that she will now assign him to a position that allows her to-oh, how did she say it? “Correct his insolence before it becomes sheer insubordination.” That a young boy will learn such cruelty-I am not a fool; I am aware of what methods my sister uses to “correct” servants’ behavior-outrages me. Evane believes that, like dogs, the sooner we train the servants to do our bidding without question, the more loyal to us they become, and if it takes a few beatings to reinforce the lessons, so be it. I have often argued against this; I say that such practices are unethical, inhumane, and the longer we continue the barbaric tradition of isolating our newborn boys, subjugating them, and forcing them to serve us all their lives, the higher the chances of a coup or rebellion amongst their ranks. Little surprise that my protests fall on deaf ears-that is, I know the women aren’t listening to a word of it. Sometimes, though, I feel as if the servants are watching me. They hear my warnings, but they do not dare confirm any of it or agree with me. And well do they to keep silent, whether or not they truly are planning something. But the sidelong glances when I pass, the quick and fleeting smiles when I take the time to thank a boy who does a good job, leave me almost certain of this: if-when-the revolution comes, they will not forget who I am.
Such irony, for nor can I.
My sisters rail at me when I venture to speak these opinions aloud, asking if I would have the situation reversed-would I prefer the men to take dominance while the women slave and suffer? No, I say to them, though for all the good it does I might as well say not a word.
I am not sure, to be honest, what I would have in place of this egregious segregation. Perhaps a society of equals? Pleasure and toil distributed without discrimination? (Some of these women could do with a bit of menial labor, I think!) A lofty wish, yes, and one nigh impossible. I may even be wishing for the utter collapse of our society before it can be reconstructed more equitably. But even the struggle towards such a goal, and the inevitable conflict that would come with it, is preferable to this endless tension I can sense rising. Something will happen; I know not what. I hope-I fear-my wish will come true after all.