I am taboo.

There was a time when they asked me to die. I was poor, but I asked them the price to live. They told me to show what I'd got. And there I began.

I had no brawn. Women won't collectively outperform men with their brawn. In fact, it's not genetically viable. But that wasn't what I told them. I told them I was a woman but brawn just wasn't my genre.

I had no caste. I just didn't belong. And they were about to throw me out too. So, I told them the truth. They laughed at the irony.

I had no skill. They were advancing now, pulling out the thread of life that was stitched into my wound. They were ready to dismantle me, but I had to convince them of my worth. I had to live. I just couldn't die this way. So, I told them. I told them that I had been so lonely that there actually wasn't anyone to teach me.

I had no custom. I had no ritual. I had nothing for them to distinguish my civility from crude barbarism which they loathed. I had no definition that could fit into their tantrum of a society.

True, they lived for them and each lived for every other. True, nothing was going anywhere without the support, the cohesion, the plurality.

But wasn't this act of hypocrisy not restricting individual freedom?

They were powerful, now. So, they shut me up.

They did what was best for them. Because, after all, the majority's side was what the majority was going to take. And, who was I? What could a puny, lost soul do for herself? She could fight and I did. The fight lasted a second. The blood gushed but it stopped after a time. It had to, no, O Clot?

The fight lasted a second. Some watched, some snored through it.

The fight lasted a second. And, by the end of it, I was dead. And, no one cared.