A couple of dreams is all that it takes
Chapter 1
It was a man's job. It always had been and it always would be. That is what he always said anyway. It made no difference, the words of the people around him. It was like talking to a brick wall, every whisper, every remark just bounced off him like a rubber ball hitting the floor.
He walked to his office that morning, the snow was fresh upon the ground and more long, snaking tendrils of tinsel had appeared. There was a frosty air that was becoming colder by the minute. That was when he saw it. A woman. A woman shovelling snow from off the ground. The sight was ghastly to his eyes. Although the atmosphere around him was merry, the words he said pierced the happiness like daggers.
"That is no job for you. Your weakness oozes out of your pores, there is no place for you in a job like this. Snow shovelling is a man's job, clearly it is something someone like you can't and shouldn't handle." With that, he walked away, clearly satisfied by what he had done.
Although this seems harsh, it was the typical behaviour of Scrooge Bartholomew Barrington. It didn't justify his actions however it did mean that people were used to his behaviour. The thing was, Scrooge was a very traditional and and as the world around him adapted to the modern life he tightened the reigns on what he would call the 'official' ways of doing things. He was a very political man with very strong opinions of society: a man should be the one doing manual labour due to more strength and masculinity whereas a woman's place was at home. To everyone else it seemed ridiculous, maybe fifty years ago this was the norm but it was the twentieth century, things had changed.
There was only one way to describe Scrooge. Solemn. His face rarely cracked a smile. It was like he was permanently at a funeral, the sombre tone impacting on his every move. He was tall and slight and when he walked he was partially stooped over like he was forever walking through low doorways. His voice had a strong accent, nothing national or global, it was just the tone to it. It had a richness to it. His face was like a blade, and a knife, and a flicker of light: it was delicate and fierce but could easily scowl with a sharp and piercing glance. It was like walking on eggshells around him.
As he approached the factory in which he worked, an icy wind blew past. It was getting closer to Christmas and although the weather was becoming cooler,a chill was in the air that morning that froze the smile off the faces of people passing by. Either that, or it was the presence of Edward. Anyway, he had arrived at the factory that morning with a chip on his shoulder. The factory was his, he used to be a soldier in the army however due to an injury many years ago, Scrooge had retired and having a couple of friends whom were very important in the industry, he had nabbed himself a top job with no glass ceiling prohibiting him. This was the difference between him and some of his colleagues. The thing that he enjoyed most about having his own factory was the fact that he could pick and choose his employees, this meant that he could categorise the jobs for men and women and only offer out certain positions, just the way he liked it.
Chapter 2
As he got to his desk that morning, his secretary walked up to him with a thick pile of papers. Application papers. Recently, he had advertised the job of a mechanical assistant to help him and although it seemed like a lot of applicant to get through, he knew how easy it would be to sort them. All he had to do was look at the second box down on the left hand side of the paper and that would determine if they were suitable for the job or not. A tick in the top box was a yes however a tick in the bottom box would deny them a job in an instant. You see, this box was a simple state your gender, the top box man and the bottom box woman. Obviously, he knew a woman could never complete a job like this, it wasn't a woman's thing. This was a man's job and he knew it. Nobody else did however. The pile of rejections grew every second. No matter how much experience or passion she had, her identity was tossed aside like rubbish. Even the poorest of men were considered, even though the window of success was far to high to reach. It was a long day, not that he got tired. After everyone had gone, he sat in his office and removed a book off the shelf. This was the one activity of leisure he felt could be enjoyed by both sexes if done properly. No skimming of pages, no books with sexual innuendos or improper behaviour. He took down his favourite, the history of mechanics. It included lots of illustrations of mechanics over time with information about them and he had thumbed through it from front to back a million times before. He knew the text of the first page by heart and read them aloud.
"Your behaviour is not right. Society has moved on and so should you. Your bad repute is well known. Do you realise the consequence of your actions?" He read this but his tone was flat. He rubbed his eyes, he knew it shouldn't say that. He tried again. "Now you move the wrench to the right. Society has adapted to the way it turns. It is a fact well known. Do you realise the consequence of using a tool this way?" He continued to stare at the page and that was when it happened.
An image flashed before his eyes, a vision his brain couldn't control. Writhing, wincing, writhing. The memories, the sharp pain, the distress that he finally thought he had pummelled through, it was back. The ache in his heart, his chest being crushed, the oxygen he needed far out of reach. A panic attack, years of therapy and family and money. But what for. The crash as she fell to the ground, the prey catching her like a prey to a predator. Her falling, falling from a burning building. Lifeless. He screamed at her to hold on, to stay. She couldn't. He had always known that this would happen but it didn't stop his heart dropping to his feet. He knew that she wasn't fit to do this job, it was a man's job, he had always said it was. But she said he was wrong, she said that it was a job that anyone could do. He had never forgiven her.
Another image began to form. This one stronger, not one he recognised but stronger. The memory of another person, taken from the mind of another person, another experience. A bridge. A dancer, so graceful and elegant that it made him smile even though it was the strangest thought he had had. It was one of the best dancers he had seen, so agile. As the silhouette pirouetted however, he realised that this dancer was actually male. It angered him yet it was strangely captivating. How could someone of the wrong gender dance so right. He knew it was only in his mind but it was out of control. The edge of the bridge was getting closer to the dancers pointed feet. As he danced, he danced words. Jealousy, discrimination, stereotypes. He knew that he couldn't be a dancer if he wasn't accepted for it. He couldn't be happy and live being who he wanted if he couldn't do what he wanted. There was only one thing that he could do. Jump. "No!"Scrooge suddenly came back to reality and sat there stunned. Had that really just happened? His heart was like a sensitive plant, it opened for a moment , but curled up and shrunk into itself at the thought of emotion for the one thing he was against or the chance of new belief. It had been a long night.
He briskly walked home that night, musing over the events that had happened. Could he have imagined it? Was it in any way possible? When he got home that night, he fell almost instantly into deep slumber.