This is inspired by image #4, which reminded me of a woman among shafts of wheat. What follows is very much a first draft. To that end, I'm still undecided about the final paragraph. It brings a much fuller dimension to the story, but I'm not sure that it's necessary. On the other hand, I think the story ought to be a bit longer, but this was about as far as I could stretch it in one sitting ;)

 

The Biodegradable Woman

Anneliese Fox

 

“Created from 100% US American wheat, she's completely biodegradable, when the time comes... but I assure you, you'll get many, many great years out of her before then. This baby comes with everything a red-blooded American needs or wants--and we are all red-blooded Americans here, right?” 

 

The crowd chuckles.

 

“Our model A-77, here, comes programmed with the equivalent of ten PhDs so you'll never lack for stimulating conversation, but comes with our patented 'D-switch' so your friends never have to feel intimidated by too much smarts. Highly efficient, she can run for over a month on just an hour's worth of sunshine. No assembly. No user manual. Cheap love.”

 

The hawkster has everyone's attention now, even those crowding at the door, barely able to hear every other word. It's been this way, every town east of Cincinnati. Just as they said it would. No one knows why women won't survive within 500 miles of the coast, but it's made the notion of society interesting. Men can travel anywhere, cross the toxic oceans without harm; women are confined to the interiors of the continents, where they restrict the travel of men.

 

Jerry turns toward the life-sized wobot in her cardboard box and shrink-wrap and winks. “See anyone you like, honey?” The crowd roars with delight.

 

Cindy-43a77-3284 removes the shrink-wrap binding her legs and steps out of the box. In slow, strip-tease-like movements she removes the remaining plastic as she walks about the ten foot stage. Her body is nearly as firm sans wrap as with, but it jiggles ever so slightly in just the right places. The men are mesmerized. In the front row, they reach up to touch an ankle. 

 

“Stand back, take it easy, boys. Got your tickets ready? Good. Now most of you have a blue star printed on the back of your ticket, but one of you has a gold star. Will the holder of the gold star please join me up here on stage?”

 

There's nervous commotion, some obscenities and an ecstatic “Me! Me! I got it!”

 

“Congratulations! Come on up. Now, I can't give you Cindy, here, but I would like you to come up here and examine this wobot up close and tell us what you think. Can you do that? What's your name?”

 

Panting, fighting his way through the mass of bodies trying to get ever closer to the stage, a man calls, “Karl, Karl Somers.” Graying brown hair with a sallow complexion and sagging jowls, he'd never qualify for even a temporary visit to the interior on looks alone. Cindy examines him carefully as he first tentatively, then with slightly more assurance touches first her forearm.

 

“Hey, it feels like real skin.”

 

“Of course it does, Karl. Go ahead. Touch her hair. Give her a little kiss on the cheek.”

 

Cindybot performs a quick dna check and chemical analysis. Tainted. So few haven't been affected in some way by the lingering pollution. In her life-span, she will be lucky to identify a hundred candidates for inclusion in the interior. Most men still don't realize that this is the way someone gets chosen. The lotteries, merit applications and the rest are just devices to make the masses feel like they have an active role to play in the selection process. Men need to feel that they can control their destiny.

 

“So Karl, do you agree that this is one helluva fine example of womanhood in its prime?”

 

“Yes, sir, I do.”

 

“Thank you Karl. You may step down and we will begin the bidding.”

 

---

 

Cindy Walker broke the feeds from Cindybot. The connection was still temporary and generated nagging migraines if left on too long. Soon, she was assured, she would able to maintain the connection permanently. In effect, living two lives: one in the world at large, the other nestled within the compound. Such was the way of the new era. Precious few of either sex were immune to the world as it now existed. Yes, they could survive in their regional zones, but the human species had changed. Cindy could never run, walk or enjoy life in her natural form, but Cindybot could do all those things. It was a compromise everyone could live with.