Portrait of the Artist as a Juvenile Android

Posted: January 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

I elected not to have children a long time ago, mostly for reasons many decry as selfish, relating to and heavily in consideration of my own personal freedoms and liberties to do as I please. Still, old age is something that sneaked up on me in a way I was not prepared for, and when my home proved too quiet in solitude, I took a long walk down to my local Office of Progeny on a rainy March afternoon – the kind that tricks you into thinking that winter is skipping ahead in line and taking its place immediately after itself. I took off my hat and coat and waited only a few short minutes before I was led back into a consultation room to discuss the procedure and whether I would be fit to sire my artificial kin, a wrinkle that had cropped up after a lengthy Supreme Court trial only a few years earlier. I elected by some long-buried masculine instinct to use my own genetics as the template for the “child”, a term that felt perverse but still appropriate and went to get lunch while the lab technicians finished the assembly of the boy whose hand I would hold on the walk home.

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