WOMEN MUST SERVE MEN
‘Get in here now!’ bellowed the large balding middle aged man, his voice echoing around the room crowded with misogynist acolytes, men salivating, emboldened by the new law created: women must serve men. Slowly, the large wooden doors opened, revealing a dark empty space. The men, like a pack of hyennas, began to grow impatient, hungry, and angered by this delay of the food’s appearance. Serabella edged forward, into the light, bearing a tray. On the tray was the head of her husband.
Serabella stepped forward to assist the patient. She had been been a doctor for three years, tirelessly dedicating herself to serving the sick. Since the Great Battle, there seemed to be an endless supply of them. It was mostly women, battered and ragged, bruised and beaten. Whilst gently applying bandages and consolation to the latest victim, her father stormed into the surgery. He had never approved of Serabella’s vocation, claiming it was a man’s job, for a man’s world. He violently grabbed Serabella by the arm and led her out of view of the patient. ‘You’re to be married! Next week!’
Serabella protested, in vain, a whack across the cheek the answer to her questions.
Serabella had seen the consequences of cruelty perpetrated by the husbands of her patients, but now she experienced them first hand. The husband had presented as kind that first meeting, but as soon as the vows had been exchanged, an ironic procedure indeed, he turned, and the monster was unleashed.
He repeatedly beat her, without provocation. He demanded total obedience, total subservience.
It took some time for the men in the room to comprehend what lay before their eyes. They couldn’t equate the two messages: the head on the tray and Serabella’s composed expression. Her eyes displayed defiance, but deep down, resignation too. She knew what her likely fate would be. She knew it was probably moments away. But just before it happened, she caught a look from another girl across the room, and in that look she saw the future.