"School Population Reduction: Gillian" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/qMUPf1UR Created on: Monday 6th of February 2017 10:57:37 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:23:34 AM UTC School Population Reduction: Gillian « on: February 03, 2017, 09:57:10 pm » Quote "I don't think that I want to die." Even as she said the words, Gillian felt like she said she wanted to defy gravity because it sounded so ridiculous to herself. Still, the counselor she was assigned didn't bug out her eyes in stark incredulity. Instead, they were impassive as she sipped her hot tea. "Most people don't," the woman answered carefully. "That in itself isn't a demonstration of non-consent. I have Resolution in a little over a year and half. Not something I am looking forward to necessarily." Gillian looked with not a small amount of frustration. Ms. Rhodes was living out a full life by society's standards. Gillian was going to be killed while she was still in high school. It was hard to see her point. And Ms. Rhodes was a she-male. Wasn't that the reason Gillian had to die anyway? She wondered how many girls were put to death to feed Ms. Rhodes through her 38 years. "With respect, ma'am," Gillian blurted, "that's easy for you to say. You are the predator. I am the prey." Gillian was certain that she was going to be punished for her impertinence, however the ill-considered statement only caused the ginger-haired, slightly heavy Satyr to chuckle. "Six times when I was your age, I thought I was going to be killed. And no one wanted to eat me. You will probably be eaten, but that isn't why there is a cull in this school. The bottom line is that there are too many kids in this district and the community won't support an adult population that large. It is far more likely that you are being asked to die because of the demographics than the fact that I need meat on my table." "It doesn't feel like I am dying for good reason," Gillian seemed to whisper to herself. "I mean, I'm so young. Why not lower the Resolution age and kill off extra adults?" It seemed a well-considered question to the counselor, who shook her head routinely. "Because older women don't contribute much to the food chain," Ms Rhodes explained. "Girls your age... at the childbearing peak... are still valuable to the Food Reserves. It would be foolish of the government to require this big of a cull and not take in as much resource as possible. Besides, knowing that as a girl you will be fulfilling a more transcendent role provides your death with a little more purpose." Ms. Rhodes sat still after her statement looking at Gillian's downcast head. "But you already know all of these things. You're smart and I know that from your grades, you understand all of these things. Hell, there are girls in your school who are comparing stories about how they didn't want to be left out of the cull." "They're idiots," Gillian said dryly looking up slowly. "They romanticize the most horrible aspect of life... the end." Ms. Rhodes shook her head knowingly. "That is the usual kind of thing which I have to deal with in these sessions. So what is it that motivates you to struggle. I know you. I know that you will go when it is time to. How can I help you be at peace and more consensual about it?" Gillian felt herself feeling ashamed of her own weakness. "I'm afraid." Her voice was barely audible enough for the counselor to make out. The she-male bent forward and responded in the same hushed tone. "What are you afraid of?" "I'm afraid it will hurt---that I will scream and make a scene. I don't want to be that girl who is afraid to do her duty." Tears began to slide down Gillian's round face. "All my friends act like they are so privileged. Some are first born, so they were probably going to die anyway. But some are just so glad they weren't left out." The counselor sat back with a shrug. "Lot's of people have romanticized ideas about conversion. That's okay because it helps them deal with the panic you are feeling right now." "Will it hurt? I mean, will it be easy?" Ms. Rhodes surveyed her briefly, apologetic in her expression. "Yeah, I imagine it will. You are a big girl. You will probably be gutted or spitted. Neither one of those is very easy I imagine." Then she paused. "Have you ever been spanked in school?" Gillian's expression was like she had been patronized. "Of course, I have. Lots of times." "I don't mean the normal daily spankings. I mean, have you ever received a serious school punishment. One that was so bad, you didn't think you could take it." Gillian's mind raced back to a time where as part of a hazing for an exclusive all girl after school group, she and several other pledges tortured and killed a she-male slave. When the school found out, her chastisement was both public and terrifying. She was bound in the high school square and whipped four times during the day. She still had scars that would never complete fade. She silently nodded an assent to the query. "Well, I think that it will probably be that kind of pain, except that it is over the moment that you die in just a few seconds. And this is for a good reason." As if on cue, Mrs. Gale, the school Headmistress' voice came over the loudspeaker. "Will the students with goldenrod notices from the following classes please report to the football fields for conversion. Algebra 1, Trigonometry 1, Raphaim Biology, Sex Technique 1 and 2, English 101 and 102, Humanities 3, Creative Writing, Home Economics, and Husbandry. Bring your slips with you and be cooperative." Gillian looked back up at Ms. Rhodes. It wasn’t as if she had some kind of epiphany as to the value of dying, but she did have a sudden calm about it and she realized that it came from the likable counselor, who might in fact find herself eating Gillian’s doomed flesh one day soon. Ms. Rhodes extended her hand and shook Gillian’s. “Die well, Gillian.” “Thank you, Ms. Rhodes. Good bye.” She drew a deep breath and left the office and headed to the football field. ~~~ While most of us waited hours, it seemed only minutes to go through the prep process and ushering us on to the floor of the stadium where we were being herded for slaughter. I was sent into a forest of stakes where the girls in front of me were tied to it, a rope tethered around their neck. The garrote is tightened and the girl slowly asphyxiates. I have never seen the woman killing me. She ties my hands roughly but is talking politely, in a gentle voice as if that will remove the tension of my death which I am so ambiguous about. The girl to my left is gasping and gagging and I can hear her feet thumping and kicking desperately on the ground. The woman pulls the rope over my head and then tightens till it is snug. “There we are, sweet girl.” I am naked, trembling and frightened and I am about to be killed slowly. Before the last syllable leaves her mouth, she turns the crank a full half turn and the rope constricts mercilessly against my throat. My mouth flies open instinctively, trying to use the air to force its way out of my chest but there is not portal because my throat is in a python firm lock. I feel myself panicking and thrashing, tears streaming, face blue, my tongue bloated and extended. I strangle like this forever it seems and start to see stars. I am aware of the other girls dying. Beyond the little forest of garrote stakes, others are dying in bloodier ways. I am a little relieved though the stars I am seeing are exploding larger and large until all I can see or sense is the white of the flashing stars.