The Gender Game

happiness.
Besides, even Matrian husbands were a headache with all the accompanying paperwork and responsibility they came with. These days I had a hard enough time being responsible for myself.
Josefine shuddered, horror swimming in her irises. "You don't know how bad it is in Patrus for us girls, Violet…"
From the few papers I'd managed to get a glimpse of in the communal areas of my last facility, the situation wasn't about to get any better. The newly ascended King Maxen was proving himself to be a more ruthless monarch than his recently deceased father. He was rumored to be pouring a staggering amount of resources into the development of a new pharmaceutical drug that anesthetized emotions while sharpening logic and intellect—hardly the makings of an empathetic people. Reporters feared this would make Matrus' dealings with the nation only more strained in the years to come. Patrus' emphasis on drug development worried them especially, as Matrus' thus-far unrivaled expertise in the fields of biology and medicine was the one thing Matrus truly had to offer Patrus in exchange for water and fresh crops from the verdant mountainous region. Matrus could survive without Patrus’ trade, but it would make life more austere for all of us.
Things hadn't always been this way.
According to our history books, centuries ago, Matrus and Patrus didn’t even exist. They were one group of people, one band of survivors of the Last War that toxified vast swathes of the great land once known as America. The troop discovered a small haven amidst the wasteland of Appalachia—a haven that was the stretch of mountainous land now occupied by Patrus. All the survivors used to live on that side of the river, men and women. It was only after they began the work of building a new civilization that political divide struck. It started with a party of women protesting against the colony’s quickly forming male-dominated leadership. The party believed that if men were allowed to prevail again, they were simply creating a replica of the former testosterone-driven regime that had led everything to ruin. They argued that if they were to learn anything from the past and stand a chance of building a better future, women must finally take the reins.
But the men in power refused. No satisfactory headway was made after countless meetings and protests. Thus, the female party had a choice: stay and essentially bite their tongues, or leave and put their beliefs into practice elsewhere. They opted for the latter after discovering that the land on the other side of the river, while not as conducive for living as their current side, was still habitable compared to everywhere else they had searched. And so began the split. It wasn't only women who chose to follow the female party in founding Matrus— a percentage of men agreed with their manifesto and followed them too. Similarly, a portion of women chose to remain under male rule. The most outspoken of the female party was put forward to lead Matrus as queen—Queen Daphne the First—and soon after, the first king was appointed in Patrus (whose name slipped my mind).
To say that both nations had come a long way since their founding must be an understatement. We had so many structures and amenities and rules and restrictions in place now (not to mention the increase in population) that I found it hard to imagine what it must have been like in those pioneering days, hundreds of years ago. Certainly there hadn't been as many rules so early on—though, if I remembered my history correctly, the screening of “violent” boys was instituted by Matrus’ politicians pretty quickly, as well as the building of aircraft that were used to discover the mines in the Deep North…
Josefine was quiet. Her expression had turned somber, distant.
I left the chair and sank into bed where I began rifling in my suitcase for my nightclothes.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked. An innocent change of subject.
My throat tightened. "No." I lied.
"Me neither," Josefine murmured.
I was glad that she didn't say anything more after that.
After changing into my pajamas, I rummaged in the side pocket of my suitcase until my fingers ran over a thin smooth square and my mini-flashlight. I dimmed the ceiling light before crawling beneath my blanket.
I switched on the flashlight, illuminating the most precious item I possessed: a faded photograph of a boy with eyes and hair like mine. My brother, at five years old, three years before he'd failed the screening. It was a picture of him on a swing, a broad grin splitting his chubby, mud-smeared face. A snapshot from a time when our life was happier.
The photo had a bit of tape still attached to the back from where I had fixed it against my bedpost in my previous room. I stuck it against the wall now, level with my pillow, and stared at it long into the night. Far past ten o'clock. I replayed the months, weeks and days before his capture over in my mind and wondered if there was anything I could have done differently.
I didn’t think so. My brother was what he was. A fault in Matrus’ system.
Surrounded by Josefine's snores, I switched off the flashlight.

2
I felt like death when a blaring alarm sounded the next morning at exactly four a.m. I'd have to face the consequences of falling asleep so late for the rest of the day.
Josefine leapt out of bed and I clambered groggily after her. Gathering up our clothing, we moved to the showers which, thankfully, were separated into stalls.
After washing and dressing, Josefine and I followed the crowd milling down the hallway, heading for the staircase. I spotted Vera up front, standing next to the largest girl among us. The girl’s hair was so short and her build so wide, one could have easily mistaken her for a man from behind.
I kept my eyes down, avoiding people's gazes, as we piled down the long staircase. On