Excerpt:

Prologue
Books. Stories. Tales. All these are from the past. They aren’t allowed in this world. My world. I can’t go any longer without telling my tale though. It’s not a tale of happiness, where the handsome prince comes and rescues the princess at the end, and they all live happily ever after.
Those types of stories do not happen in my world. My world is part of the darkness. I never knew the past, but I have longed to. I want my princess to come and sweep me off my feet and take me to my happily ever after, that would be the way it would work here. No handsome princes. We, the men of the society are also the scum of society. And worse, a white man like me, we are nothing. This is why I have to tell my tale. It is quite possible that one day, in a not too distant future there will be no white men, men like me, to tell this tale. And then where would we be? The high and mighty women, descended from the Gods would have even more control than they do now, impossible as that is to believe.
My name is Ardy 2539215. I remember from my early years in school before education was banned for people like me. I also remember that “Ardy” was in relation to our ancestors, a pre-human called Ardipithicus Ramidus. We all have a set of numbers after our names. Mine reflect that I was born in the 2nd millennium. The 539th year of the 2nd millennium. The 2 says that I was born in the second month. I believe from history class that they used to call that February. Now however, it is just known as the second month. The 15 relates to me being born on the 15th of that month. There are 30 days in each month. It’s a long code name, and irritating to remember. I wish sometimes that we still had names like people used to have in the olden days, names like John, or Philip. Of course, around school when we used to go, we just invented names for each other. I remember that I was Sebastian, and my best friend was called Edward. It was an amazing feeling to have a name that defined us, rather than a title and a set of numbers that made us all conform. Women automatically got names; it was just the men that had to conform to a number. It dehumanised us all.
I know that my dad was Ardy 2488623. I don’t know who my mother was. None of us ever do. I wish I had known, it could have been useful. Somehow, it could have been. But we are white. White men. And white men have no need to even interact with the high women in society. The heel of their stiletto shoes presses down on us, the scum of society, trampling us into dust and dirt.
This is my story, my tale. It’s not one of happiness, not one where good triumphs over evil, the scary fire-breathing dragons are destroyed; the evil stepmother is vanquished, the princess gets to live happily ever after. What it is, it is a story of truth. And there can be nothing better than that in my eyes.