The sun beat down on me, beads of sweat and dirt covering me from the manual labor I'd been doing all day. I brought the ax down on the log, splintering it in two.

The ax was one of the only tools that I had to work with. With everything from food and water to clothing and weapons being rationed and accounted for, I'd had to make do with things I constructed myself, or things my parents had hoarded from back in the day. I’d also made tools and weapons, and although they were almost barbaric in nature, they did the job. That's all I could ask for in this day and age.

I picked up half of the log and set it on the chopping block. I brought the ax down on the piece, splintering that one in two as well. I did this over and over again, cutting firewood before finally picking up the pieces and stacking them on the side of the house.

I'd been born in this cabin, raised in it and away from the corrupt, fucked-up outside world. I'd only been down the mountain a few times to get supplies with my father, but that had been enough.

The fall of the economy had happened when my mother and father were children. Once adolescents, and my mother needing to escape the female roundup for the auctions, she met my father and they escaped together.

They needed to get away from the strict rules that the government enforced, especially given the fact that women were a commodity now, pawns to be sold off, given to the highest bidder … the wealthy.

Sex slaves, vessels for reproduction, maids … these were the things women in this world were made to do.

It made me sick to think about the depraved and vile acts that were perpetrated on them. But that was our world now, crazy and mad, dictating what others could do, how they felt.

And it only got worse as the years went by. It would only get worse as time moved on.

I continued the task at hand, chopping the wood, stacking it up. This was my life, lonely and monotonous, my days filled with doing tasks that ensured I survived, that once I found my woman she would be comfortable and happy here.

And yes, that was my end goal ... to find my woman.

I didn't know who she would be, didn't know where she was, but I knew one thing for certain: I needed a woman, a wife, the future mother of my children in my life. I needed that as much as I needed to breathe, as much as I needed to be strong and protect her.

And I would, until the day I took my last breath. She’d come to realize that she was my life.

I thought about the time I spent in the cabin with my family, how we’d tried to survive.

There had been other people who came to us over the years, looking for shelter, a warm fire to lie in front of, or even some broth to drink. We never turned them away. But in the end that had been my parents’ downfall.

It had been five years since I lost my parents to a drifter who took their generosity as something more. My father had been killed trying to protect my mother from the bastard and in turn I'd killed the motherfucker with my bare hands.

But at thirty years old I was tired of being alone. I was ready to finally venture out and find a female of my own. I'd never known the intimate touch of a woman. But I had no doubts I could make her feel good, could make her see that she was meant to be with me.

And even though I wanted that because I lived off the grid, and in the eyes of the government had no financial standing or privilege to own a woman, I had to find one for myself.

I grabbed a rag and wiped the sweat from my face, down my neck, and along my chest. I'd gotten rid of my tattered, once-white T-shirt hours ago when I’d started working.

This was my home, would be my home until the day I died.

Fuck anyone who thought that they could keep me from what I desired, from what they thought I wasn't worthy of having. A woman wasn't a piece of property, wasn't something to be used and abused.

Once I found my wife she'd be my equal. She'd make this cabin a home, a true home with children and love and laughter.

And anyone who thought they could take that from me would know the kind of wrath I could inflict upon them. I might be a man by all accounts, but being away from society and civilization made me more barbaric, more animalistic then what would be considered normal.

And I fucking embraced it.

It was what had kept me alive, what kept me strong. I might not have been able to save my parents, but things had changed. I’d changed. I wouldn’t let anyone try to stop me from acquiring what I wanted.

It was that fierce determination that would provide safety and protection for my woman and children.

It would be what kept us alive.

* * *

I was alone, had been alone for the last couple of months. Ever since my parents died I only had myself.

The house I lived in was beat down, aged and weathered. My parents had lived here for longer than I’d been alive. My mother had been spared from the female auctions because of her age and health ailments. It had been those things that had saved her life in the end.

It had been her medical history of infertility that had allowed her refuge from the barbaric practice of female auctioning, but she didn’t want to risk being sold for servitude. Instead she’d escaped, hidden, and lived her life like she didn’t even exist.

But then a miracle had happened and she conceived me. It was the biggest secret she ever kept. I was the biggest secret she ever kept. And because of that, and the threat of the government taking me and selling me off to the highest bidder, she and my father had essentially kept me in this one-room, windowless haven for my entire life.

Staying inside was the only way I could have ever survived in this fucked-up world. But I found myself making my way outside when the moon was high and the night was still. It had been those nights that I’d stared up at the bright moon and twinkling stars, wishing we lived in a different world.

But now I was truly, utterly alone. It wasn't safe for me out in that world. Hell, it wasn't even particularly safe to venture out the front door. But I had to survive. Staying here would lead to me being captured.

The supplies I had wouldn’t last, and if I stayed any longer I'd end up dying in this house.

I was young, had my whole life ahead of me, and I wasn't going let some disgusting, barbaric and ritualistic society deem what I could or couldn't do.

I had to leave this place. I had to make my way farther up north and hope that I found something better. I had to hope that I could find a life that was filled with more than just looking over my shoulder and wondering how much I was worth to the highest bidder.

I started shoving supplies in a bag, anything nonperishable that I could take with me. I didn't want to particularly leave at this moment, but the house wasn't safe.

Once the bag with the supplies was packed and I was out the front door, I turned around and looked at the only place I’d ever known as home. Memories of my childhood, of the love my parents had for me, filled my head and had me smiling. I would miss this place, miss the age and the smell of dust and mold that sometimes permeated the air.

I had to do this for myself. I just hoped in the end I wouldn’t regret it.