Perfection

Build-A-Baby

Zoe
  The beeping sound of the alarm in my earpiece woke me up. I stretched and got up. The sensors on the earpiece realized I was awake and the obnoxious sound of the alarm clock finally ended. I quickly grabbed some clothes and headed to my bathroom.
   I went to the bathroom and cleaned my hands with the new spray-on probiotic soap that my mom had bought. It smelled sickeningly of sherry with an acrid whiff of lemon. I coughed and slid out of my synthetic satin pajamas before taking a shower. Hot tidewater poured all over my body and I washed my hair with a new shampoo designed to promote hair growth from a cellular level. I honestly could care less, but my family is too rich to take showers with "just water" or use ordinary shampoo. Everything in my life was planned out just how my parents wanted-especially me.
    I turned off the shower and used a sponge-like towel to dry myself before slipping on some dark leggings and a stretchy t-shirt. I used some hairspray my mother got me to detangle my messy hair-my mom would have a heart attack if I went to school with tangly hair- and I soon was headed downstairs. The dining room was as fancy as ever with platters of food out.
   My mother came up to me. She was wearing a tight-fitting halter dress and giving me a "I-am-your-mother-so-I-have-complete-control-over-you" look. "Take your vitamins, honey," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice that didn't match her personality at all.
    Don't get me wrong. My mother is nice to people; well, people other than me. I was a mistake. My mother's request for a baby was mixed up with someone else's. I didn't look like my thin, blonde mother. My midnight-dark skin and thick, curly hair contrasted with her tanned skin and perfectly straight hair. I overheard my mother and my father talking about how I was such a disappointment to them one day. They wanted me to begin genetic therapy when I turned 17-the age of consent for genetic modification -to make me look more like them. I knew they just wanted me to look whiter.
I didn't want any of the fancy genetic engineering. I was glad I wasn't my doted brother, who was just a toy for my parents to control and play with. I wanted to decide my own future and be my own person. I know I didn't end up his my mother wanted, but in a way, I was grateful for that because it let me see the ugliness behind the seeming perfection of our society.
   I quickly gulped down my meal and took my vitamins. I pressed the watch around my wrist. Everyone considered important was given a watch at birth that verified your identity and signified your rank. They also tracked your spending habits-you could use the points on them to buy things- and where you went. No one had ever found a way to take them off.