Icememory

They make me to look this way, but it’s just an after-effect. It’s been forever since colonists birthed natural young. The patterntwitching prevents culture shock, for our neighbours, and ourselves. It holds back multiplicity… nothing is mine, everything is someone elses. All my identity is statistical error. My ankles come from the 23rd century, a thousand runners between my toes and my calves… and mostly they’re Kenyan. Eyes took longer, they’re 24th: a Nordic bluegreen that holds focus through age.

No one here is fat. No one is thin. There is no such thing as colour or creed beyond random chance, we simply vary within tolerance- the Chimera 100. Even genetic diversity is programmed to prevent plague. I’m technically perfect. The most perfect human there can be. We all are. I can run a mile in a minute holding my breath. Out here, lightyears from our species, we will never catch cold. All we have to fear is cancer and eventual old age. Age, and a cold wave in my gut that rises unprogrammed. When our neighbours look at us like monsters, and our parents look at us like marvels.