Blueprints for Being a Girl

[A] cure for wellness

There were beautiful girls, speckled over the room. There hair spread on pillow-less beds, tossing and turning to get to that one comfortable spot that would ensure a decent night's sleep. 

The new girl caught my eye. She was oh so beautiful with her pixie cut hair and her mask of freckles, her high cheekbones and her curious green eyes. She was otherworldly and I would always catch myself staring at her during clean up, or lunch or on our walks- twice daily, no talking, just simply admiring the greenery around this prison.

It was my third year here at Camp Buxton. I'd grown accustomed to the way things were. The 'manlier' girls were sent off to etiquette lessons, their minds indoctrinated with frills and curls and pretty pink things. Those who were deemed as being more feminine were retaught the Regime's philosophy:

'In order for us to be strong our women must be our strength- all the incongruities must be chiselled away in order to make Britannica great again'.

The Matron on duty walked up and down the corridor, her proper black shoes; clickety clicking with each step. The matrons weren't the problem, a few hard hits across our palms, backs and buttocks were nothing compared to the guards prowling around in the dark- their watches synced with every surveillance camera. One wrong move and they'd burst in guns blazing. Their deep voices spewing filth and their lecherous hands roaming over the incongruities.

'Incongruities must be chiselled away in order to make Britannica great again.'

Eventually we'd become no more than a mere name in some lousy obituary. Our cause of death- disobeying a man.

I lay on my shoe box crib, on top of a lumpy mattress, my arms- my makeshift pillow, were nestled behind my head and my thoughts were swiftly moving to places i'd once been, people i'd once known. At the center of it all was the orange haired pixie who mischievously floated into my thoughts.

I turned my head towards her crib, she was in the furthest right of the room, her small body turned my way, her eyes watching my hands move slowly under the itchy blanket.

She stared at me and urged me on with a lick of her lips. So I burrowed my face in the mattress, crossed my legs under the blanket and rubbed my soaking hand between my damp legs.