Since I don't exactly feel like converting my documents or doing anything strange like actually uploading stories onto deviantArt, I think I'll post them as Journal entries for the entire world to see. It works the same way, and I think it makes me feel just a bit more special that people have to click into my profile to read my stories.

This story was something I came up with after an adventure dream. Ya know, one of those dreams that seems like days but in fact only takes place in what, a few minutes each night? This story takes place in a different world, where women are not women but prisoners of reality, and men are those who rule.

This is in no way making a claim against women. This is just a random story I came up with. This isn't as far as I wish I could have gone, but I got a huge attack of Writer's Block halfway through. It's rather interesting, if you can forgive the repetitive words, cliches, and strange plotline.

Introducing and Ending with "Women"

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There is nothing in the world left for us. We are a race left untouched, made to live in a world not of our own. We are not allowed to read. Not allowed to write. Not allowed to fight. We are women. We women are disgraced. Ridiculed. We have no rights to protect us. Our men refuse to touch us and they refuse to let us go. We are prisoners of our own families. Some of us seek justice whilst some of us choose to remain silent. There is no way to rebel against what has happened to us. We are not goddesses. We cannot choose our own paths to go. We cannot change our destinies. We come in all different forms. We are: stout, tall, petite, large, round, straight. We are all around you who have not noticed us. We are stronger than all the rest, yet we are weak in our own sense.

That is all there is to us.

I am a woman. Throughout my life, women have been taken hostage, beaten, humiliated and forgiven. It is an endless cycle of ignorance that means nothing. It is only a cycle to entertain. To give joy and jokes to those who refuse to save us. Our knights in shining armour? These men we have so hoped to protect us, refuse to even look at us. For the past five years of my life, I have been one of them. I have hidden away my truth and become one of them. How I loathe them. They are not men. They are monsters, cowards, weaklings. They do not deserve any amount of respect women gave them. Still give them. I have a reason for why I continue to live as one of them. That reason may not be enough to betray my fellow women, but it is a good enough way to survive.

There is no year. There is no beginning, just as there is no end. There is no month, no time, no day. There is just a moment. Every moment is what we must live in. In that moment is what we must survive in. Thrown into this rushing cycle, we women live harshly. I am an exception. Having disguised myself as a detested man for my entire one and twenty moments of life, I have lived in somewhat comfort despite my gender. From the moment of my birth, I was hidden as a man. My father is at fault. He and my brother had demanded only men-children be born. What idiotic fools. As a child I was forced to learn how to fight. Only men knew how to fight. Only men could fight. Only men would fight. They should, but they don't. Of course.

I turned into one of the best. Pathetic, isn't it? That I, a disguised woman, can so easily best the best. I had a reason to fight. I had a goal that I needed to reach in order to defeat all of these stupid men. There was no way I would let some weak man defeat me. I topped them all. I hate to say it, but I have great pride in my skills. Despite everything though,

But now my secret had been revealed. In a desperate attempt to flee from the hellhole called home, I rescued three women who were held hostage there. One my mother. One my sister. One my niece. Already young, my niece has suffered from my brother. Neglected and rejected, my niece has become hard like me. She knows. Just as the other women know what it is like to be a woman. My mother, my digust. How true she can be towards her husband and her son. And yet I, her only daughter, her only hope at stopping her bitter future, is considered stupid in her presence. I laugh even now as she shuns my existence. Continues to pray to herself, that her husband will save her. He will not save her. My father will not save any of us. We are saving ourselves from him. As my sister is my reflection, a feminine side I refused to see, in all her beauty is still as blind as my mother. She sees nothing of me. She only sees the men. Why? Why does she do such a thing? Because she believes in love.

Love. Such a despicable word, used only as an excuse, an illusion for the reality that faces us. There is no such thing as love. There is no such thing as hope. Hope for us. I do not love. I do not believe in anything like fate. There is only hate. There are only lies to tell and lies to accept. That is the only way to stay sane in this crazed world. This world that means nothing to us. It is all the same. In every country, we cannot be safe. We cannot waste energy hoping and praying for an ounce of kindness. This is what we must accept.