Dystopian indulgence…

“When was the last time you indulged?” my therapist asked. The rim of her glasses sat at the bridge of her nose, and her piercing blue eyes penetrated mine as if she already knew the answer to her questions. Daring me to defy her, daring me to lie.

I swallowed, hard. Well, it had been long, long enough, since I indulged. Definitely, longer than the government prescribed abstinence period.

“Answer my question, Anya.” Her voice threatened to drown me in her fury. But somehow, what comforted me was the fact that I wont have to face the brunt of that fire vividly raging inside my therapist. I decided to be truthful.

“It has been three months, Evelyn.” I said, my head hanging in shame, low, lower than it was anatomically possible.

Evelyn threw her notepad at me, just as I ducked and saved my forehead from a nasty bruise.

“You insolent, nasty little chit!” She screamed. Her face red with pent up rage. It was obvious enough that it was she who needed to indulge. And indulge, like right now!

“You waste the government’s money, my time, in these petty little therapy sessions, when there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing wrong in your anger, nothing wrong in the fury you feel. You say you cant sleep, you say you consistently crave pain, you say you want to break things, you say you want to kill someone. Do it, dammit. Don’t come here and cry like those weak toys.” Evelyn’s passion, the intensity in her voice terrified me.

Although a part of me realized that I should take offense at being compared with those soulless, spineless toys. But I knew she was right, my dreams, my insecurities, my cravings were manifesting as physical evidences of me slacking in my work.

“Excuse me for a while, will you?” Instantly composed, Evelyn walked up to the closet door in her clinic. She removed the overcoat she wore, underneath was a body hugging black leather jumpsuit, along with bright red boots that boasted six inch, razor sharp heels.

I cleared my throat. This was unconventional and a little uncomfortable. Getting a sneak peek into the private life of my psychiatrist.

She walked into the back door, and slammed it while I sat contemplating the fate of her toy.

In another fifteen minutes, a high-pitched scream made me jump off my chair. I had never heard a scream that terrifying in all my life. None of my toys, not that there were many, ever screamed like that. Yes they cried, yes they yelled, yes they begged me to stop. But never like this, never this painfully.

Wow, Evelyn was my new hero, she had to be, going by the way the screams got louder, longer and more horrific. I was tempted to peep through the key-hole, but that was against the rules. What happened between a Mistress and her toys, remained between them. No one was allowed to witness that unless the mistress wanted it.

Ah yes, the rules. They were taught since kindergarten. And there weren’t many.

The last war ensured that male population dwindled, which in-turn ensured women were in power in practically every single facet of the society. The good part, there were no more wars, very less crimes. The bad part, there was a lot of pent up anger, owing to centuries of subjugation of women; anger against men, anger against creation, anger against ourselves and anger against each other.

When the traditional methods of yoga and meditation failed, our seer, the world renowned anger therapist Ms. Faye Dobe, came up with a new therapy; and a new profession for the few men leftover.

“Angry? Can’t sleep? Want hurt someone?…Simple! Get a toy.

Buy one at your local Toy distribution centres.”

They had all kinds of toys, big, small, tall, short, white, black and asian, long haired, short haired. Some were available at premium pricing and some used toys at a discount. During occasions or clearance sale of course, we got discounts on new stock. Or if you directly buy from the breeder you could get them for a lot lesser.

I loved toy shopping, even shopping clothes for my toys. I liked to dress up my toys when I wasn’t indulging.

But then I had a particular preference, tall, muscular and wheatish, preferably of Mediterranean origins; with a deep baritone. High-pitched screams grated my nerves. And I had two of those kind of toys. That I had been playing with since ten months now. I almost felt connected to them.

But two more months I would have to dispose them off. We were not allowed to keep a toy for more than a year.

Loud gurgling sounds accompanied with electric buzzing of a saw; shook me back to reality. Oh, Evelyn’s toy was ruined, ruined for anyone else. I bet after today, she wouldn’t even be able to sell it at second hand, unless it was for the lower economic zones in our society; the ones who had turned to necrophilic indulgence.

Five minutes and consistent wails later, there was nothing but silence. The door opened slowly, and Evelyn walked out, I could barely recognize her without her scowl. She was smiling wide, covered in blood; she walked confidently over to me, kissed my forehead and said.

“See, what happens when you indulge regularly, you fell peace, joy and contentment.”

“Promise me Anya, you would never go for more than a month without indulging, promise me.” She asked, earnest affection shining through her eyes, and blood dripping off her hair.

“Yes Evelyn” I grinned wide, already thinking about which one of my toys would I indulge in tonight.

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