A Day in Anna's Life

(All characters and places fictional. Content for leisure only.)

In this country it was the law for every unmarried adult woman to have a photo of her lower body taken every month and issued a special yellow PID pass for better policing purpose.

Five years ago the government claimed to have found evidence of radical sabotage by female college students who styled their pubic hair in three thin vertical strips, mimicking three raised fingers, a popular anti-war gesture during many illegal gatherings. It was immediately mandated that all women were required to shave all of their pubic hair to prevent such civil disobedience from happening again. The PID was meant to serve as a non-guilty token that could be shown to the police, who could otherwise ask any woman in public to unclothe and display her body. Naturally, those who were married or over the age of 50 automatically got an exemption, and in reality the "pussy cops" only ever checked on the young women.

This unpleasant chore became a rite of passage for every girl when she turned 18. As the popular slogan went: "either wear your wedding ring or show your P-Pass." But where were all these young women going to find themselves a husband when train-loads of young men were being sent to die in the frozen black-earthed Steppe? The law was regularly abused by unhinged cops who harassed random women on the streets and raided the bars which college students liked to frequent at night -- just to get a glimpse of their delectable cunts in colored pixels, or sometimes in live action if one forgot to have her PID with her.

Feminist activists had protested nationwide against this flagrant form of gender discrimination to little avail, since the all-male Congress always renewed that particular legislation--the Combatting Underdress Noncooperative Terrorism Act--each year without failure. This summer, when another huge protest started in the capital, the police abruptly arrested and locked up hundreds of female protesters; the few who were since released spoke about the horror stories that happened to these brave women, who were kept in same cells with the lowest criminals and scoundrels, and the officers looked away as they were being collectively violated day and night. Since then the civil unrests largely died down.

Slowly, people got used to the new normal, and these yellow PID cards along with all the other changes became a fixture in every young woman's life.

A week after Anna reached 18, she received an official letter asking her to report to the Department of Female Affairs. It suggested that she "clean herself thoroughly and make sure nothing obscures the physical characteristics of her sexual organ." Anna was one of the last girls in her class to get it. Like everything among teenagers, the yellow card had managed to become a vanity item and constantly shown off by those who had it as a definite sign of its holder being a grown, mature woman, who could now be legally married (and widowed). Anna was disgusted at such an idea, but somehow she was also rendered a little nervous and excited; she tossed and turned in her bed the night before her assigned date and woke up with an unspeakable sense of dread.

The Saturday morning went like every other one, where Anna's mother made breakfast for her and her little brother Misha, and the three ate quietly on their small dining table.

Anna was mindlessly browsing on her phone when her mother asked if she should come along. The teen refused, saying she was old enough to take care of herself. They had both caught the rumor about a new change coming to the P-Pass, something about combining it with the regular ID so the girls only needed to bring one card with them. Anna's mother decided it was just another sign of an approaching apocalypse, but still she hoped her daughter could be as least troubled by her first PID as possible.

Bored by his bland cereal, Misha caught their exchange like a life jacket and immediately asked where Anna was going.

"Oh, just to get my new ID." She said it with a fake nonchalance.

"C-can I get one too?" Misha said in an excited voice, with the wanderlust already shining in his big round eyes. Anna sighed. She loved him but sometimes he drove her crazy.

Mother turned to him with a heartwarming smile. "Well, it's only for us girls, and kids are not allowed to see it, sor-ry!"

Hearing this, disappointment swiftly set in Misha's little face. Mother was quick to mimic his sad expression: "Awwww look who's so sad now!"

Misha's melancholy couldn't last more than three seconds before he bursted into a silly laughter; he always reacted like this when the adults imitated him. Father was the one who found out about it first and they had been doing this ever since. Worked every time.

If she could just sit there with them forever, Anna thought, but now she really needed to go. With that thought she finished her glass of milk and waved goodbye to her family.

It took twelve stops to reach the place. Monotonous apartment towers of grey drifted past Anna's window. She stepped out of the bus and watched her fellow riders scatter away in identical poker-faces, as if they were all participants in a shared silent conspiracy. Winter was near and the sullen clouds in the sky were its evidence and premonition. On the wall along the stop was a smiling young soldier, his teeth white as snow, with a caption written below his rifle-holding gloved hands: True heroes never die. Enlist today! Anna rolled her eyes after making sure no one was watching her. She knew which side she was on, even if she couldn't afford to say it out loud.

Inside the department building she was surprised to find an unusually long zig-zagging line of people already waiting. They were all like her, young women who couldn't control their own fate and decided to do nothing about it, unlike those braver ones. There was a girl in her school who went missing after the mass arrest at the protest. Her parents said she became unwell and went abroad for cure, but everyone else knew that their daughter was on the square that night, fighting for the soul of her nation. When the news about what happened got out the next morning and she did not come to school, white roses started to show up by the gate. People knew she was probably not dead, but what they could not imagine that could happen in the darkness came off worse than death.

After filling the paperwork and taking a slot, Anna asked the girl in front of her if all this much crowds was normal. She wore a pair of black-framed glasses and had a few strings of her black hair dyed purple.

"Not sure either, but I bet the that rumor is real -- and for some reason it takes much longer to make the cards..." She pulled her hair aside and revealed her black earrings. A fellow punk lover I see, Anna thought.

Anna asked whether this was her first PID as well; turned out she already had it for two years. So two years older than her. College? Was in it for a semester and dropped out. All the interesting people either went out of the country or were drafted in the war; what's the point staying there anymore?

"Speaking of the P-pass, you wanna have a look?"

Anna had never got a clear look at any. She did not have any close friend at her current school and stayed out of the way when those future sorority-types passed theirs around like business cards.

"I mean, I don't really mind having people look me up unless it's like a weird dude."

"Like a cop?"

"Yep, like those darn cops." She made a shooting hand gesture and followed it with a soft whistle. "Seriously, nine out of ten men out there are absolute perverts who won't wait a second to rape the next woman he sees if he can get away with it."

That was spot-on. Growing up Anna was always afraid of male strangers, especially those old men who would masturbate under their old army coats while smiling at her and her friends. She was already beginning to like this purple-haired girl.

Anna accepted the yellow card from her friend. It was not as gross as she had thought, but she still disliked putting one's private part on such glaring display, as it came unmistakably as a form of domination.

The name on the ID said Sheryl P--.

"Thanks, Sheryl." She gave it back gingerly, and then added, "I'm Anna, by the way."

For the forty-five minutes, Anna and Sheryl chatted on and off about musics, college, their lives and dreams until the number of people before them was finally reduced to single digits. Soon it would be their turn. The photographing took place in another room, and those waiting outside could not get a glimpse of what was going on behind the door, as much as they wanted. Anna found herself becoming more nervous than ever and would have been near a mental breakdown had Cheryl not been there with her. What was she afraid of? All her friends had told her that it wouldn't take more than a few seconds, just like taking an X-ray at the hospital. Well, she never liked taking X-rays; doesn't your body die a little every time the radiation goes through?

"89, 90, 91, 92, and 93 please proceed into the room --" The loudspeaker on the wall above announced. They were 92 and 93. Time to go in there and see for themselves. "Don't breathe so hard now, Anna, remember what I said, it's just another trifle we girls need to take care of! It'll be totally fine, you don't need to get all naked, just loose up your pants for a second behind a private booth and it'll be over before you know --

Sheryl did not get to finish her sentence before they both realized just how wrong she had just been. Whatever this new thing was that they were doing, it was nothing like how it was used to be. The pair and the three girls before them found themselves faced by an unusually-shaped chair on one end, and a camera with a huge lens attached on the other end of the room. Several staff awaited their arrival; to the women's mortification they were all male and looked so rough that they could be released from the jail yesterday. Sheryl made eyes at Anna and then at the men's belts -- they were all armed with those thick black batons that could easily break one's ribs in a few hits.

All of their phones and other devices were taken away and stored somewhere else.

"Start taking your clothes off now, women," one of the men said impatiently in a dry voice, and added, "I mean all of you!"

For a moment Anna looked around in confusion and so did the others, but then they mechanically followed their orders while trying to keep their eyes to themselves. They had been used to doing whatever they were told without thinking too much; this was no different from being pulled by a random cop on the street to lift your skirt so he could see whether you have been shaved clean. In this country you would be a mad person to disobey authorities; they could make you disappear for little reason, or murder you right on the broad street.

The men did not pretend to avert their gazes and instead brazenly glued their eyes on the women's most interesting parts. Standing in bare legs over her stripped clothings on the floor, Anna felt her entire body being scanned over and over again, and felt her cheeks starting to burn in shame. So this is what's it like to be an unmarried adult woman in this country: as mere public property to any man with the slightest bit of power in their hands. You are nothing but God's earthly vessels, designed to hold nothing but pain and men's cum. Anna could not help stealing a look at Sheryl: beneath her innocuous makeup she had quite an athletic figure that made Anna's seem like that of a pre-adolescent child. On her smooth and firm abdomen, right around where her uterus was supposed to be, were a pair of tattooed wings in simple geometric design. And Sheryl had kept her short black socks on. Anna now felt stupid for taking hers off.

After everyone finished undressing, in very brief words they were told about how the new PID photoshoot worked: both one's face and her sexual organ needs to be in one frame to prove that they belong to one person. This was made possible by the specially deigned chair in the room. It would help bring their faces closer to their privates so that everything could be in one sharp focus. The chair had a sleek metallic design that Anna would have appreciated had it not served such a perverse purpose.

No.89, a short freckled redhead, was the first to go. With some effort she climbed onto the chair, lied on her back and placed her ankle into two hard holders high above. Her legs now opened at an unseemly angle which was a major turn-on for the men. One of them pushed a button on the chair-device and it started to fold up. At first it did not seem to have caused any change in the girl, but soon she began to visibly struggle with the discomfort. When the chair finished moving, the redhead was forcefully pushed into a position that Anna had only seen in an advanced yogic class; her feet were now behind her head and her sweated chin not far from the upper tip of her vulva. The girl's size was never huge to start with but now she looked like a small contorted sculpture of white marble. Sheryl gasped at this bizarre and humiliating sight. They were meant be to watch and learn.

After some further adjustments the redhead was in the perfect position to be photographed. She was told to smile for her own sake, which she reluctantly complied. A rapid sequence of flashlights and sounds of the shutter closing ensued. Then the chair slowly went back to its original position and she was helped off it and escorted out of the backdoor with all her clothings. She appeared to walk with some difficulty and with her hands on her back and waist.

In fear Anna's hand unknowingly found its way into Sheryl's and together they gripped tight and hard. Her hand was stone cold while Sheryl's was warm. A guard noticed and made an evil grin. The moment she realized what she was doing Anna led go, and she glanced at Sheryl to find her a little embarrassed too.

No. 90, a tall blonde, was found not having been shaved thoroughly and the next girl was ordered to do it for her on the spot. The shooting process had encountered some difficulty because of her height, but there was nothing stopping the men from finishing their job. Anna and Sheryl had to bear the disquieting sound of her scream as the blonde had her head pressed down towards her crotch. The next girl was a little better but not by a huge margin.

After No. 91 was held from the chair-like device and taken away, it was Sheryl's term. New procedure or not she was not going easy with these brutes; as she got near the chair, one of the men made a vulgar remark about her tattoo and without a thought Sheryl spat him in the eyes. This turned out to be a grave mistake, as the men swiftly took out their batons and gave Sheryl a sound round of beating; the blows fell so hard and fast that the punk chick had no time to cry out. Even though Sheryl was no frail rose, she was not made of iron either, and after only a few moments the proud woman was reduced to a helpless wretch begging for mercy, her glasses thrown on the floor a few feet away, their lenses shuttered. Thank heaven the guards were careful to avoid hitting any lethal spot, or the beating could have left her paralyzed.

Anna watched all of this unfold in front of her speechless. It all happened so fast and left no time for her to intervene in any meaningful way. Now Cheryl was lying on her stomach trying to recover from the shock and pain, but they would not allow her: one of the men dropped his pants and fell upon her with his fully erect manhood; it was all done in one swift move, like he had done this to other women many times before. The rest were cheering around him and at the same time looking to Anna -- let it be a warning, you little slut. After the first man finished another replaced him until everyone had taken a turn on Sheryl, and she nearly passed out, whether from pain or ecstasy Anna did not want to guess.

They then placed her onto the chair and started its programmed motion again. Even half passed-out she would still have her photo taken. Anna watched her friend being folded tight into the same disgraceful pose that was imposed on the three girls before her. Meanwhile, Sheryl was staring into the air like an inanimate doll, her mind probably floating above her body watching all this happening to her in a detached third-person view. As the pictures were being taken, Anna could see the foul stinky semen leaking out of her friend in a long silvery trail and dropping onto the floor beneath to form a little slippery pool. She prayed that none of them had fathered Sheryl a child because abortion had been banned eight years ago; pregnant women weren't even allowed to leave the country. They had brought their war to our uteruses.

At last it was finished. Sheryl was removed from the torture instrument and taken away so Anna, the last woman remaining in the room, could endure the same. Relax Anna. It was just a photoshoot. Around her ankles the metallic holders still felt warm from Sheryl's presence. A short sharp "beep" sound and the chair started to move on her. If she never did an advanced yoga course before, now Anna knew what it was like. The young woman ground her teeth while her legs were pressed further and further past her normal pelvic position. The muscle tendon in her groin felt like they were being stretched to their limits. The chair then turned up until she was almost being suspended vertically to the ground. Anna's feet were above her head now, toes stretched and pointing to the back. She felt like being on some kind of reverse cross, her limbs and torso pressed together tightly instead of being nailed apart, and her atonement witnessed by a bunch of violent thugs and a really large protruding camera lens, its hollow eye starring at her in its gaze-less gaze.

And then there was light -- white flash so strong that was almost blinding, and the shutter rapidly cleaving and eating away her soul. Anna quickly went through her lifetime's achievements so far in a mental flashback and found it morally stainless, if only a little dull. And - oh - she remembered to smile all this time. After all, she didn't want to end up like Sheryl; as much as she liked her courage, Anna could not endorse such form of meaningless sacrifice.

She dressed herself in the corner of a makeshift changing room. She had to wait another five minutes for the new ID to be ready. Sheryl was gone; she was told by the staff that the purple-haired girl left earlier alone, deeply broken and shaken. Anna felt bad for her and felt stupid that they did not exchange any number or social media during all that wait.

Stepping out of the Brutalist concrete building of the Department of Female Affairs, Anna was finally ready to look at her new very first PID, now fully integrated into her normal ID and medical care. This yellow card with an explicit image was all she got now. It was just printed and still felt warm in her hands.

Her name, Annabelle Y--. Born XX/10 2004. Hair Brown. Eye Brown. 56 kg/123 lbs. 170cm/5'7''. The photo was a tightly cropped one that showed only her face and her private part. In the faithful--even hyperrealistic--portrait she looked like a deer in the headlights. Right below her mechanically grinning mouth was her soft pink vulva, freshly-shaved this morning, and her anus with a dark rim around it; together they looked like a naughty exclamation mark. In another month she would have to come back here and take another photo like this, and the thought made her so physically sick that she almost vomited on the sidewalk.

The air outside was so cold that it could almost snow if there were rain. Anna sighed and put the new card back into her pocket. She felt a little better now and was ready to head back. It was well past noon and she would need to ask mother to reheat the soup. Misha was probably waiting for her to read him his favorite cartoon books - which one would he pick today? And there was the college application due next week. She's thinking about studying psychology. When the war ends sometime in the future there are going to be a lot of broken souls around, and they need to be helped, or others risk getting hurt.