One! Two! Three! The man shouts at us to fall in. We all fall in line, moving in a straight line with chains dangling from our necks, hands and feet clanking with each step we take. Our lips are wrapped around a gag tightly. We move our way to the breakfast room. One of our masters as we are to call them because they are better than us, stronger and the best, he ungagged us as we are about to enter the room. As we enter the room, we sit quietly and eat as we’re taught: eyes down, back straight. They treat us like we’re their pets. But then we’re their pets. After breakfast, we are returned to our rooms that’s basically like a holding cell to prepare for our daily training. This preparation involves shaving all part of us. Any body hair found during inspection is punishable. After shaving we go through the process of washing and scrubbing ourselves clean. We then make up and look like  perfect sets  of dolls. Once we’re ready, we’re inspected by our masters. Mouths shut and asses out, they look us over. Legs open and stretched out in the air, they peer at us.

Once they’re satisfied with our bodies, we’re taken to the classroom where we learn the same things all over and over until our masters deem us fit to be sent out and be useful to our masters in the outside world. We are taught to be submissive all the time. We’re taught that we are toys, things to be used by men. We’re meant to follow orders and not question our masters. To anger them brings great consequences. We learn that we’re sex objects to pleasure our masters in any manner that is required. We learn that we’re to be used to the whims of men. We’re the docile and dumb species. We are the breeding machines. Our opinions doesn’t matter. In fact, we aren’t meant to have an opinion. We can never be in control. We are groomed to be used until we’re broken and then the masters mend us back and the whole process continues.

Those that fail to learn and perfect all we are taught end up with worse fates than those who are perfectly submissive. The disobedient ones, the ones with bodily faults are taken to the basements and we hear screams and shouts of misery in our cells. There are times we see them after the screams and there are times we never see them again.

For me, it’s getting hard to behave and be perfect. My head boils whenever I see these men that claim to be our masters come to inspect us like we are pieces of meat, like we’re commodities. It makes my heart burn whenever I see us females getting used and beaten to a pulp. It pains me to see us being molested and raped. It pains me to see that we’re so powerless against these animals called men. I run mad when I hear screams for help and cries of pain. I hate the fact that we’re voiceless. A fire to fightback burns in me and it grows brighter day by day. I can’t be a submissive no more.

Yesterday, I snarled at the master that wanted to inspect me. I snarled viciously when he touched me down there but then I covered it up with a cough when he looked at me in the eye. In class, a master grabbed a girl by her hair because she asked a question. He hit her and asked her to get in position: chest out, ass out, mouth shut and he went in her forcefully grunting in pleasure while she gasps in pain. I saw red and all I wanted to do was to smash his head repeatedly on the wall until his blood sprays all over and his skull shatters into pieces.

I don’t think I can stay in line anymore. I don’t wanna be a perfect doll anymore. It isn’t a crime that I have a vagina and a pair of breasts. I’m more that just a sex toy. I’m way more than an object to be used as one. I’m more than just a docile and submissive female. I have my own voice and my own opinions. I am human too.

Then I snapped. I heard screams of a girl as we were being walked back to our cells. I turned at the sound of the voice crying for help but I was kicked into my cell and a master came in with me. He said he noticed that I’m not their perfect doll and he is going to put me in place. I wanted to spit in his face and reply him but then I have been gagged. He hit my face and turned me around with his pants off. I turned around and wrapped my chains around his neck, choking him. I enjoyed this. I transferred all the years and moments of pain and suffering to him. I enjoyed the feeling of the chains cutting into his neck as he tried to claw his way out. I imagined the number of girls that wanted to crawl their way out of this hell hole but were shut down. I watched as the chains cracked his neck and cut through his cartilage. I watched as his blood spilled over. I crossed over him and picked up the keys and unchained myself.  I opened the doors of the cells around me and freed my fellow girls. We are not meant to fall in line! We attacked the men that came across our way as we found our way out of this hell hole. This was a fight to death. But then some of us made it out. For the first time we breath in fresh air and we felt sunlight on our skin. We are free.

We are not meant to be used! We are not meant to be sex objects! We are not meant to be submissive! We have our opinions! We have our voices! We are not weak! We are humans! We own the world as much as these filthy men do! And we are not made to fall in line!




Inspired by a song titled fall in line by Demo Lovato and Christiana Aguilera.

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