The Brotherhood and Me

Chapter 1

I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, my nerves keeping me from sleep. Tomorrow was the day, the day I would be released from confinement. I have spent the last 16 years hidden away in my family’s basement. For my own protection, of course. It wasn’t safe out in the world for girls of any age, much less those that have reached puberty. Since the virus affected the earth’s population so dramatically years ago, men outnumber women 10 to 1. And in a world with so few women and men having the needs that they have, keeping girls hidden and secret is the only way to keep them safe. That’s what my mother tells me, though I believe her. She was only 15 when I was conceived and she tells me that the man that contributed to giving me life is a stranger. She swears that she wasn’t forced, but I’m not sure if I believe that.

I’ve been told by one of my mother’s fathers that in order for girls to stay safe in this new world, she must find a brotherhood to marry or join a brothel. The brotherhoods were created shortly after the virus wiped out most of the population. Communes began popping up across the country, consisting of several groups with one woman married to small groups of men willing to share. In some instances, the love between wife and husbands was genuine and beautiful but in most cases, the husbands receive physical satisfaction at their behest in exchange for protecting their bride and any female children she may conceive. Fortunately, or possibly unfortunately for the future of mankind, the possibility of conception of a female was very low due to lingering effects of the virus.

Our commune was a relatively small one, consisting of only our family and two others on our street. The boys in both families were sent to the city and came home with brides quite quickly. They were lucky to have made it home at all. Since girls coming of age happens less often these days, the men in charge in the city decided that gladiator-style battles were the best way to decide who was worthy of a woman. Many men have died in these battles since each brotherhood is only allowed to battle for a bride once in their lifetime.

My thoughts return to my current predicament. Tomorrow is the day. My grandfathers will present me to the committee and then I will attend introductions. Tomorrow, I will meet several men willing to fight, possibly to the death, for my hand in marriage. Over the next several weeks I will spend time with each man, getting to know them personally and possibly intimately if they choose it. I can’t decide if I’m more terrified of what these men might do to me or saddened at the idea of getting to know someone, possibly falling in love with someone, only for them to die in battle.

I could always choose to not participate in the introductions. If I tell the committee that I wish to join the brothel, I will then be whisked away to a life of debauchery. I shudder at the thought. While my weeks at introductions might be dangerous in a way, I know that I will have my panic button if one of the men tries to force me into something I am unwilling to do. I wouldn’t have that safety net if I were to join a brothel.

I turn on my side and stare at the painting my favorite grandfather bought for me when he took a trip to the city last year. He said the silhouette of the lone girl watching the roaring river below reminded him of me. I feel like that girl now. Terrified of plunging into the water, not knowing where it might take me. What kind of future I might have. I fell asleep with thoughts of the weeks to come dancing in my mind. Four brotherhoods were scheduled to be there. What kind of men would they be?