Make your own free website on

This is just a story. The events are completely fictional. I donít have any special knowledge. No one has given me any information.
-Paranoid Author

War of the sexes

Matthew Barron

The year is 2010. A man like many others is sitting in a small apartment, or pad, as they are now commonly called. He is in a good mood because it is his night to be with the wife. They are going to see a movie. The man is trying to decide which of all the movies playing he would most like to see. The choices are Waiting to Exhale part 3, Talk, and The Husband Killer's Club.

His friend Grienald bursts into the apartment. Grienald is the janitor at a national monument; the studios where our forty-fifth president once taped her television show. It is only a grunt job, but for a male it is very prestigious. Grienald is flustered and breathing heavily.

The man tries to act concerned. "What's wrong?" he asks. In reality he only wants Grienald to be gone before the wife arrives. It is my night after all , he thinks.

Still panting, Grienald reaches into his overalls and pulls out an old worn text which he hands to the man. "I found this when I was cleaning the old guest waiting room."

"I have seen that room on the tour with the wife. It is a very dank room. Without the furniture or green paint it would look more like a prison cell."

"Yes. This journal was hidden behind a brick in the wall. It is from a more innocent time. Read it." Saying this, Grienald takes a cautious look out the window and yells, "There is no equality." He then darts out the door as hurriedly as he had come.

Grienald is normally very level headed. His strange behavior arouses the manís curiosity. He looks at the book. The cover is flaking and the first several pages are worn away by dripping water and the munching of bugs. He still has time before the wife arrives, so he gives into curiosity and reads what is legible.

....Another town. I've got to rest sometime so I can run some more tomorrow.

The bar was like all the others I had seen- room filled with smoke and the stench of alcohol all around me. But I had to stay sober despite what I knew. They are too devious. But I had to be here to see if this conspiracy was as prevalent as I feared. I found an inconspicuous table in the back and watched.

A scantily clad woman walked by a table where two other girls sat. Dirty looks were exchanged. Undoubtedly there was some petty grudge between them. I watched the two girls at the table for hours. One was short and slightly chubby. The other was tall and slender and seemed to be the dominant of the two. Both wore heavy makeup and had their hair done in the same meticulous style. One man after another came up to them. Each time the taller of the two would flip open her compact as if to check her hair in its mirror and then she would shake her head no. The man would then walk away disappointed, and the females would whisper to each other and giggle while the compact remained open. Then they saw me watching them. They must have thought I was making eye contact. I quickly looked down and pretended to read an advertisement left on my table, but it was too late. They were walking toward me. I got up to leave, but my lack of interest only seemed to attract them.

The taller one spoke to me, "Not drinking tonight?"

I tried to keep cool but I was so nervous. I ordered drinks for our table.

The shorter asked me my name. "Bobby," I answered.

"Bobby what?"

I had to think of something quickly. "Bobby Mann," I answered.

The taller woman flipped open her compact and checked her hair. She stared at the compact confusedly for a moment and then looked at me. "Stay right here. Julie and I have to go to the bathroom."

They walked to their conference room. They knew that the name I had given them was fake. It was not in their worldwide database. But that in itself was not a serious offense to them, and I planned on being out of town by morning. I reached into my back pocket for my wallet so that I could pay for the drinks and leave. My wallet was gone, and my I.D. with it. They had my real name. I ran for the door.

The scantily clad woman that I had noticed earlier barred my way. "What's the hurry?"

My God; They are organized despite their own personal grievances! I turned the other way. There were the two girls. The shorter flashed the compact in my face briefly. The words "HE KNOWS" blinked digitally on the mirrorís surface.

Just then a male came up to me. "What did you do to these girls?" Every female face in the room smiled a devious smile as the man raised his fist.

"Stop! You're betraying your own kind" I exclaimed as the fist connected with my face.

I woke up recently in this dank dungeon. I don't think they will ever let me out. I am continuing my journal in the hopes that it will be found someday and that the knowledge I've gained will survive.

I vaguely remember being interrogated last night. I must have been drugged. They wanted to know how much I knew and what I would do with the information I had. The interrogator appeared so sweet and beautiful. I wanted to tell her everything, but the truth helped me resist her awful charms.

Their weapon against me now seems to be boredom. Nothing ever happens and nothing ever changes. I cannot even tell if it is night or day. One bland meal a day is slipped into a hatch in the door. As the footsteps walk away, I beg for a magazine or television set. Anything.

For the first time I have been given hope. The women have given me a choice. The first: execution. The second: an appearance on their leaderís talk show. A single hour of my time and I will be free. Perhaps their secret organization is not as bad as I thought. I will continue my journal tonight after my appearance on Ricki Lake.

The journal ends here. A chill runs up the readerís spine as the booing and dog calling echo in his mind. "My God. The fool. He should have chosen execution."

Just then he hears a car horn honk. A huge grin erupts on his face as he tosses the journal in the trash and leaves with the wife.

War of The Sexes
Created by Matthew Barron
Updated 05/18/01


Send an E-mail to Matthew Barron