It was twenty years ago when I was mentally, and almost physically, destroyed. During the War to End the Patriarchy (2015-2021), I was one of many proud men who took part in the resistance against ending CIS scum privilege. On a fine day in the winter of 2017, I was at the local shopping centre when all doors and windows slammed shut all of a sudden. An announcement sounded over the loudspeaker system; the feminine voice said words I had heard at the beginning of nightmarish conflicts Id previously survived. All CIS gender, privileged white males to group into the corner behind the western-most counter. My resistance ended at this very moment. Before I could react, darts of tranquilizer and estrogen shot from the ceilings mounted anti-privilege turrets. The groan of all men weakening and falling to the ground will never leave my mind; some nights I wake in a cold sweat when I hear it again. A week later I awoke. The sign on the wall told me to conform; I was in a rehabilitation center that had the sole purpose of making all bow before the almighty Womynz Empire. I felt odd, and I instantly noticed that I had been castrated. My morning privilege pole had...had...failed to rise...tears began to well in my eyes as I frantically stroked my hairless jawline. Handcuffed to the institutions bed, I then noticed the two tubes in my arm; one removing my testosterone, the other injecting estrogen. Until my rescue and reconstruction, I lived solely to contribute my daily eighteen hours of work to keep the less fortunate thirty nine other genders alive. Fast forward to 2034; Im walking to my job that consists of making roads. A voice in my head allows me to briefly reminisce my largely forgotten past. What have I become, my dearest friend... The realization that this familiar voice is not just a mental echo causes the slightest sensation between my legs...CIS rebels in their futuristically modified 57 Belair convertible approach me, identifying me as a former patriarch. Well reform you to your former glory, friend, the leader says as my frail, testosterone lacking body is helped into the back seat. You could have it all, my empire of dirt... For the second time in my life, I awake with tubes in my arm in an unfamiliar facility. However, my groin feels very odd. Very good, in fact. I feel whole. As the sun outside the window rises, a tall monolith that jogs my memory appears in my sight. The doctor comes to my side, and reassures me. Youre biologically the same as you were years ago, but physically superior due to your new android body. Helping you feels so noble; it was- I cut him off, my privilege. The doctor proudly grins ear to ear as he drops off my weekly supply of deadlifting chalk that had been absent from my then delicate hands for too long and gives me directions to the gym. I am whole again, but incorruptible this time. This war has only just begun. I am The Oppressor, and the patriarchy will rise again.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 08:05:05 +0000
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