I’m wearing a skirt to school. First day.
Walden haunts my education like a friendly ghost. My teachers take the slightest pretense to assign it. In Senior Project 2, we are reading it as inspiration for our own “lived experiments.”
So they printed the copy of me, without the genetic abnormality. I lay in the bed, under constant scan. It accumulated in the tray next to me, molecule by molecule, or however they do it, till it was a he, till he was me.
A little taller. The limbs not stunted, the muscles not atrophied, the cells not set to explode decades…