Lambing

“Girls, girls, girls, after today we won’t be calling you that anymore.” There were thirty-two lambs in the class, a big year this one. They had been called in after lunch for the big talk, bubbling with expectation. Female Head Mrs Andrews stood before them, buff chested and regal, proud to deliver another crop to market. School librarian Ms Shaw stood to her side, timid mouse to her cat superior. “For tonight is the night you will be shedding the sweet protection of youth to enter the golden age of adulthood.”

The boys were being given their own talk by Male Head Gibbons and Coach Roberts. Roars of laughter and school hoorahs echoed down the corridor from their boisterous lecture. How much was Al enjoying his talk? Alex wondered. Was he being told he was a flower blossom or a mighty lion?

Andrews explained the rules of the game everyone already knew. “From seven this nightfall to seven tomorrow dawning, for twelve joyous hours, you will be allowed to give yourself freely to your male brethren, potentially entwining for life, for the life the Lord truly intended for you.”

Her smile widened and arms outstretched. “You don’t know how lucky you are, for this year is truly blessed. There is an equal number of boys and girls to couple, so no-one need be left out, no-one need be lonely.” She side-eyed Ms Shaw, meek spinster of the school, who blushed and shrank even further into the corner.

Everyone gets fucked, Alex thought. That’s what you meant to say you sloppy joed witch. She looked around at her classmates, creaming themselves with excitement. Then she looked over at Ms Shaw, retreating into her shadow. Alex always liked Shaw – she’d briefly worked as her assistant for extra credits and found the quiet woman had a sharper mind than her voice suggested.

Ms Shaw also showed Alex her secret stash – books banned under New Greengate Law – and Alex’s vocabulary expanded overnight. Words describing an alternative history to the one drummed since birth. Good words, bad words, different words. Words like slavery. And rape. There was always another way of looking at the world, Alex learned, so the possibilities of her own grew bigger, while their limitations shrunk even more.

“Of course there will always be dissenters,” Andrews continued. “Those who take offence with noble acts of the lambing season, those perverts who would seek to distort truth and present lies as facts, those outside influencers, spies, traitors, terrorists who seek only to see Greengate burn.” She looked around each girl in turn, beady gaze on the hunt. Her flock shrank back, shaking dewy heads. Not me miss, never.

“Satanic communists are what they are. And there is no place in Greengate for… things.” The word came as a spit. “Like that.” Her eyes rested on Alex. Who me? She wanted to tell Andrews to go fuck herself for the season. But she didn’t. She stared back innocent, dug her nails into her palm to hold her tongue and waited for bitch eyes to move on.

Alex glared down at her clenched fist and made herself a promise. She wasn’t going to be a lamb to the slaughter, she wasn’t going to be told what to do, who to go with, or who to be. It was her life and hers alone to fuck up any which way she wanted. She just had to figure out how.

TO BE CONTINUED

The second installment of Lambing will be coming soon on Wednesday 11th March.