Shameless Self Promotion

Hi, everyone! Just wanted to let you know about my new book that will be released this month, just in time for Women's History Month. The expected release date will be March 27, so mark your calendars! This is a book about a dystopian future in which women have to deliver their menstrual blood to a government clinic to ensure that they are not sloughing off a fertilized egg. Renae has just fallen afoul of the Menstruating Women Act by having a fertilized egg in her menstrual blood, and must figure out how to save herself, and other women, from being imprisoned for a normal event.

Further details on how to purchase this will be provided as the release date approaches, but for now, I present you with a teaser - the first chapter.

BLOOD READY

The room never changed. The same white walls, white floor, and white furniture, carefully scrubbed every day to make sure there was never a hint of a spot. The woman behind the desk, also white – white skin, white hair, white teeth, white dress, white shoes – also never changed. She had managed that desk as long as Renae could remember. Fifteen years – no, eighteen, ever since that horrible day in her twelfth year when she found the first red spot on her otherwise spotless underwear. Trembling in the bathroom, staring at the spot, noticing with horror the growing pool of blood dripping from her most private regions, streaking down her leg while she huddled in the stall, her pants around her ankles, her day shattered. Renae felt a rush of warmth for the scared girl, uninstructed in the ways of women, sure she had contracted some horrifying disease and was dying. She whispered a small word of comfort as though it could somehow reach back through the years and touch the child, relieving her fear and her pain with knowledge gained through the exhilarating, frightening, and often tedious process of growing up.

“Renae? Renae Drexford?”

Renae glared at the nurse outlined in the doorway, still refusing to call her by her proper name. She resisted the urge to again correct the smug young woman, knowing it would do no good, as it had done no good last month, the month before, or any month before that. She had gotten used to answering to Drexford, and Drexford it would be, at least in this space, this horrible white sterile room.

“Yes?” Renae turned her face to the young woman, forcing her lips into a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“You’ll be next. I’m sorry, we had a…situation…and we’ll have to keep you waiting for a little while.”

Renae nodded. She didn’t care if she waited all day. Her morning was a nightmare, and it was a relief to sit here in this barren world where all cell phones were left outside with security. No one could reach her. None of the problems of the morning could possibly touch her here. She would wait, and daydream, and forget about the shouting voices, the angry faces, and the frustration of a student unable to demand or threaten his way to a better grade. It was behind her. She dealt with it to the best of her ability, and now she would forget about students and parents and administrators.

There were three women in the room with her…well, one of them wasn’t a woman at all, was she? At most, the youngest of them might be sixteen, but was probably closer to fifteen. She looked scared. This was probably still new to her, probably still felt like punishment being meted out, punishment for being a woman, for daring to bleed every month. Renae ached for her, remembering how it felt before she came to grips with the intrusive reality of her monthly duty, the dutiful delivery of her menstrual blood to the clinic, the suspicious stares of the woman behind the desk each time she arrived.

The other two women looked somewhat more seasoned. The oldest of them looked like she was probably getting close to the age when this would no longer be necessary, the age when nature took over and removed her from the reproductive pool so she could relax and retire from the monthly ritual. She mostly looked tired. It was the third face that caught Renae’s attention, however, a face so small and so delicate she almost looked like a hologram. She stood out, the only spot of color in this white world, a small dark skinned woman in a soft green dress. There was no fear or loathing evident in the beautiful features, only bored acceptance. The woman appeared to be about Renae’s age, and no doubt had done this many times before. She thumbed idly through the pages of the magazine in her hands, but didn’t stop on any page long enough to actually read anything. When she reached the end, she put that magazine down and picked up another from the white table beside the white couch.

The motions were familiar. For months, Renae did the same thing herself, flipping idly through the pages of magazines written “for women” that held no interest to her, or to most of the women she knew. It was a joke at the office, the “what women want” joke that was more sarcastic than funny. The assumption that all women wanted clothes, babies, and make up was evident in the magazine selection. Renae made a few half-hearted suggestions they improve the magazine selection, but the management considered political magazines or scholarly magazines to be inappropriate for, and above the comprehension of, their female customers. The suggestion that women be allowed to bring in their own reading material met with stony silence. With nothing to read, no tablets or cell phones allowed, Renae grew accustomed to spending the time inside her head.

The other woman looked up from the pages of a fashion magazine and her eyes briefly caught Renae’s. A warm smile touched her lips, but she dropped her eyes again before Renae could return the smile. She stared at the page in front of her as though the model in a pink dress was the most fascinating human being who ever walked the earth. Renae understood. This was a difficult enough situation without striking up banal conversation with strangers just to while away the time. No one ever spoke here. It seemed likely no one ever would.

“No!”

The scream resounded through the room, coming from somewhere in the back of the clinic. It was a scream of sheer, primal terror, and everyone in the room jumped. The young woman dropped her magazine, and as she bent to pick it up, Renae got the impression the other woman tensed, her muscles coiled and ready to run. When she straightened back up and settled in her chair with the magazine, she crossed her legs and assumed a pose so casual Renae thought she imagined the tension. The white knuckles clenched around the magazine belied the casual manner, and Renae realized the scream aroused something visceral most of them hadn’t felt for years. For a moment, the women were all twelve again, experiencing their first period, sitting in the white room beside their mother for the first time, not sure what was going to happen but understanding it wasn’t going to be good.

Somewhere behind the closed door, another door slammed. The women shrank into themselves, hugging their souls closely, not sure what it meant. The door opened briefly, and Renae trembled to hear whimpers waft out and fill the room, wispy and light as though from a long distance, but like a sonic boom dropped on the silent room.

The door was yanked shut, and the nurse stood with her back to it, surveying the room as a lioness seeking the weakest member of the herd to slaughter for dinner. She nodded her head at the teenager, who crept toward the door, her fist clenched around the small tube of red fluid as though it were the most precious elixir of life. She inched her way without a word until she disappeared into the gaping maw of the clinic. The sound of fear rumbled during the brief time the door was open, then the click of the latch erased the sound.

Renae relaxed, feeling silly as she realized she was trying to send positive vibes in the direction of the youngster, hoping it would give her courage. It was becoming more common to see teenagers here without their mothers. The clinic used to encourage mothers to come with the younger girls, but in recent months, they put up posters suggesting the mothers might have something better to do than sit here waiting for their daughters.

The woman behind the desk beckoned. Renae stepped over, determined to remain in control of at least her own body. She stood in front of the desk, waiting while the woman made notations in the chart in front of her. This was a common move, call her over for something then keep her waiting. Renae refused to allow them to intimidate her. After all, she had done nothing wrong, and there was no reason to be ashamed of having her period.

She watched the woman work for more than a minute, the clock ticking audibly, its old-fashioned sound a reminder that time continued to pass while she sat there waiting. She glared at the crooked part in the white hair of the other woman, realizing that, in all these years of seeing the same woman every month, she had no idea what her name was. Is that part of a plan, she wondered? Do they purposely remain so cold and detached to make you feel less than you are?

The woman slid the file into the drawer with a deliberate motion, then slid her eyes up Renae’s body to her eyes. She flicked her finger in Renae’s direction and spoke, her voice a low, warm voice that belied the coldness of her eyes.

“You’ll be next, Mrs. Drexford.”

Renae nodded. Was that the only reason she called her over?

“So, how do you like married life?”

The same question. Every month, even though she’d been married for five years, the woman asked her the same question. Never a question about how her work was going, or what her dreams were, only whether she liked married life. Renae swallowed the bile as it rose in her throat and adopted a sweet tone.

“It’s treating me well, very well. I enjoy being married very much.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I always want my women to be happy.”

Renae detected a note of sincerity, and wondered if the woman actually did consider the women who came to the clinic “her women”. She didn’t pause to think about it very long. The door flew open, and a small body erupted into the waiting room. Renae recoiled at the terror on the young face as a teenager catapulted toward the exit door, pursued by two orderlies and a large woman who possibly looked much like this girl when she was younger.

“No!” the girl screamed as she plunged toward the door. “No!”

Renae moved toward the girl, her instinct overriding her common sense, her hand extended toward the girl in a gesture of comfort. Another orderly, flying out the door to assist, grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.

“Leave her alone”, the orderly growled.

Renae nodded. The other women backed against the wall, making themselves as small as possible, not willing to risk getting involved. Renae normally knew her place, but something about the fear on the girl’s face moved her to attempt an action she knew would never succeed. She knew the security at the clinic was so tight the girl would never get any further than a few feet past the outer door before she was stopped, and she knew her overtures of compassion would not be regarded well by the clinic. Non-interference in their work was the order of the day, and she had violated the cardinal rule.

She moved back toward the wall, pressing against it as she was instructed in her orientation packet all those years ago. This was the first time the clinic initiated standard procedures while she was there, but she knew some other women who had encountered similar disturbing scenes.  Nothing in their whispered accounts prepared her for the onrush of emotion as she tried not to watch the girl captured, elevated over the heads of the orderlies, and carried through the waiting room like so much cargo. The woman slapped the youngster and pulled her hair, and the girl screamed again before the door slammed behind the entourage.

Three faces, almost as pale as the walls they pressed against, watched the white door where the girl disappeared. Three faces registered horror, then compassion, then total bland disinterest as they settled back into their chairs, waiting their own turn behind the door. Guilt washed over Renae as she tried to focus on her inner world; the outer world kept intruding. No matter how she told herself she couldn’t help, she felt there must be something she should do. A decent person would at least try, she chided herself.

She didn’t notice the door open, or hear the nurse call her name. Pain shot through her arm as the nurse grabbed her shoulder with an iron claw-like grip, and shook her.

“Mrs. Drexford, I can’t wait all day. It’s your turn.”

Renae sensed rather than saw the other two women watch her as she stepped through the door. She mentally inserted a ramrod in her back and willed her knees not to buckle. She maintained a studied indifference as she moved forward, but it took every bit of willpower she possessed not to jump as the latch clicked behind her.