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ink well, writing
onsafari

Feminazi

More flash fiction. No, I have no idea where these come from.

From her position on top of the brick wall, she had a full view of the exercize arena. She watched as the groups of people came together and broke apart, splitting and combining like droplets of water. Some of the groups had organized some sort of improvised sporting event - it appeared that they were using rocks as markers and play tools. Others were standing around, some talking some not, enjoying the fresh air. They were only allowed a few hours of relative freedom from their daily confinement. She looked away, glancing back the way she had come and letting her mind wander back over the trail of her life.

She'd started as an idealist. She knew now that they all did, but at the time the movement had meant something, to her particularly. She'd been passed over time and again for promotions that were rightly hers by a supervisor that spent his time at work belittling her in front of colleagues and trying to get in her pants. When she'd heard whispers of a movement that would help her stand up to the man who made her waking hours a living nightmare, she'd found a meeting to attend.

The speakers had been passionate. They'd exhorted the audience to stand up for what they were guaranteed, what the law provided for them. They explained the small steps that needed to be accomplished every day to make the world a better place, one they would bequeath to their daughters when the time came. She's been entranced by their obvious belief that their actions could and would make a difference and the possibilities had blossomed before her eyes.

She'd stayed behind to talk to the speakers, asking questions and getting their support for her situation, she'd even named her supervisor. It had started the next day, when she'd heard that he'd been severely beaten the night before. There was a small part of her that wondered at the coincidence, but afterward he was a changed man. She applied her new knowledge and he no longer groped her every time she walked by. She was a believer. After that, she attended the meetings regularly, eventually becoming a featured speaker herself. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about liberating and had become something more, something different.

She looked down at her uniform and marvelled at it. It still looked new despite its age, the bars of office shone even on this overcast day. She looked back at the men in the exercize yard, watching as some were separated out by her troops and lined up as the others were shooed back toward their barracks. After the doors were locked and the lines had proceeded into their brick huts, she raised her fist to the sky to signal the order. A voice echoed from the radio attached to her shoulder.

"Start the ovens."

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Wow, very nice. I didn't see the ending coming until it hit.

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