Chapter 1 - Reporting for Sentence

For the next 30 years 14 yr old Cassy will be a piece of cattle. Each year matched with the best candidate to ensure a diverse DNA pool and impregnated, never to hold any of her children.

On my knees I sat in silence, staring through the bars of the main building of the Sadea Prison for women. My father had just left with my sister, Stephie, after bringing me in to report for my birthing sentence. Sadea Prison was where the women of San Diego’s Area 4 had to report to once they experienced their first cycle. Unfortunately mine began last week. There was the usual Cycle celebration and I got to say my final goodbyes to all my friends, my father and my sister, but nothing they teach you in cycle class can ever prepare you for the sense of loss that you experience. I am being separated from my family, my friends and the life that I used to know. And why? All because society needs healthy women to produce a diverse population.

“This just isn’t fair,” I said in a shallow whisper, digging my fingers into the dry earth.

“You better watch what you say in here girl. They have camera’s everywhere.”

Turing to find a plum woman, probably in her early thirties staring down at me, I pulled my shoulders up in a shrug and turned back to stare through the black bars of my new home.

“It’s not like they can read lips,” I challenged her.

“No but where there is cameras there are microphones. Besides if I heard that pathetic little outburst don’t you think others can? Don’t be stupid. Learn the ways inside and you just might make it out to the world when your times up.”

I know she added the last bit about getting out just to comfort me but I knew the truth. My father had told me last year on my thirteenth birthday. The people who ran Area 4 kept women inside for life. We were used to care for each other until we were too weak to continue. Most women had been forced into having so many children that they hemorrhaged out on their last birth. Other’s died during complications of the birthing. Most of the time the midwives were more worried about the child that they neglected the mother and she would die from the complications. That was just the way it was in Area 4. We all had a duty to perform and if the human race was going to continue on this planet then we needed to produce enough children that could survive through the epidemics.

About every ten years or so the child taking epidemic runs through the child population so fast that a large amount die off. It was first seen over a hundred years ago and my father says that scientist were so confused by the disease that by the time they realized it only affected children under twelve over half of the worlds child population had died. And once the first strain had passed through the population ninety percent had died. I was one of the lucky few that had survived the last strain. I was already four by that time and my father had me fat and healthy and I was only ill for the next month.

“What will they do to me? It’s not like they’ll kill me. They need all the healthy women they can get,” I asked.

“Healthy yes, but broken bones doesn’t stop you from having a baby.”

I looked up and met the green eyes of the woman. She was serious and I began to tremble slightly. Fear beginning to break through the numbness. I turned from her gaze when I heard the sound of doors off in the distance. It was my father and sister. My father had an emotionless expression on his face as he held my sister’s hand and walked down the pathway leading from the building. Leading from me. I held my breath as they stopped in mid step. My father looking down at my sister who seemed to be staring at the floor. A small tinge of hope rose within me. Were they going to come back and get me? I buried the idea the moment it entered my head. There was no way my father could talk his way out of this. I watched as he reached down and picked up Stephie, holding her tight. A heavy feeling compressed inside my chest and I found it hard to breathe as I watched as my father walked away, my younger sister in his arms.

I watched and then there it was, the gentle lift of my sisters tear stained face as she looked back towards the facility for the last time. I raised my hand to wave my final good bye to her and sat on the cold ground as they turned around the front of the building and out of my sight. I knew I would probably never see her again. They would send her to the prison of another area to ensure the gene pool stays diverse. Lifting my knees from under the fold of my government issued brown cotton dress I turned to face my new world.

The woman was still standing there in front of me. I would need a friend here in this place and I have to ensure I make the right ones. I know that somewhere inside these prison walls is my mother but with all the red tape and the discrete baby exchange I will never know who she is. My father told once on my eighth birthday that my mother had the same red hair and freckles as I do but how he knew this I never will know.

I studied the face of the woman. She was darker in complexion than me with black hair that was such a mess it sat in knots at the very top of her head. She has pinned it in place with a light brown stick and a few strands escaped showing its natural curl. I think that is why her hair was so messy. Who would be able to tame curls in a place that saw beauty as something that got in the way of the mating rituals?

“My name is Cassy,” I said extending my hand towards the woman in a gesture of friendship. I might as well find some one in here to spend my time with.

“I’m Mae,” she said, not taking my hand. She looked me in the eye with what I felt was a look of suspicion, “Cassy is a pretty strange name for a child of the government.”

“It’s short for Cassandra,” I explained.

In order to keep the process simple and emotionless there was a list of names preselected for each baby born. They were kept simple and common and have been recycled for the last sixty or seventy years or so. There was two other Cassandra’s in my school so it was easier to go by Cassy. Not that the teachers allowed it but I did it anyways.

“Well, it’s time for assignments so you better come with me before you get something bad,” she said walking back towards the entrance to the building that would be my home for the next thirty to forty years. If I make it.

Author's Note

Still working on the title but mainly I am looking for thoughts on the story line.

Reviews

[Tsukin Archangel]

ooooo this sounds really REALLY interesting!!! And not only that there is so much potential in where it could go. This has the makings of being REALLY dark if you wanted to do it like that and is very unique. Well the whole woman into birthing sheep thing. You may want to try and come up with some other name besides "Area 4" just cause, and I'm not exempt from this, everyone and their mother has been using the whole, district, area, zone, Ward (me) thing and it's honestly getting a TAD spent. If they still have SD in your world there's no need to use Area 4 at all really. But yeah I'm intrigued and am looking forward to what you'll do!
KUDOS!

[K.M. Lucero]

Yeah, I am still working on the location and some of the name for procedures and such but I am really glad you liked the story so far! Thank you for taking the time to read it!

[Tsukin Archangel]

No problem! Saw it in the group and figured I should start reviewing some of the people who haven't entered the review forum post anyway :3 I'll read the next chapter later. Got more peeps to review

[Trey]

After reading the first paragraph, I am very intrigued by the premise. Looking forward to seeing where it goes.