[A dystopian feminist flash fiction story. Need more intro than that? OK. Thoughts?]
All her life Elizabeth dreamed of being a wife. What could be easier than being kept comfortably in a nice home, with your only responsibilities making a handsome man happy? After school she’d bake and sew. She polished and knitted. Her fellow schoolgirls didn’t see the appeal. They were headstrong, tomboys, playing baseball in the dirt and learning to code in the lab. She took no notice of them. They wouldn’t find a nice husband.
In college, she studied English—why not?— and made friends with plenty of fine young men. They loved coming over to hers for freshly-baked cookies, or asking her advice on laundry disasters. She helped them all and politely waited for their advances. None came. Her old classmate, Rebecca, who now called herself Red—what kind of name is that for a woman?— worked on robotics and patented her first household helper. She named it Lizzie and told Elizabeth it was based on her. Elizabeth took no notice of her, silly girl.
She met Chase, and knew he was the one. He was tall, handsome, an economics professor. Perfect. Theirs was a whirlwind romance, he proposed impulsively and she couldn’t refuse. They made wedding plans and the talk turned to the future, after her graduation. ‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be your wife, of course,’ was her reply. Chase laughed. He showed her his own Lizzie robot, how it cooked and cleaned and mended his clothes. ‘What’s your back-up plan?’ he asked. Elizabeth said nothing.
[What’s that? They’re getting shorter? Yeah, my client did have a rough word count, which I massively exceeded with the first two, and trimming them down made me sad…]