may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,
Some more 50-word stories:
Trace my trajectory: A starry arc beneath black skies? A fiery comet, here a moment and flown a thousand years? What attraction charges me? What repulsion breaks me away? I dance, an elaborate dance demanding rigorous steps and a thousand partners, breaking away with energy. The submicroscopic universe, my ballroom.
Choose Your Partner
Six scrutinized complete genomes, fine-tooth-combed. “Best of Class” award to one; the prize: implantation. Living dream of perfection, more costly than a car, the embryo grows. Parents have high hopes, because “No parents […] will have a right to burden society with a malformed or a mentally incompetent child.”*
Two sixth-graders pause from dashing around the playground. A leaden sky overhead threatens rain.
Jeremy: “Why’d your parents choose you?”
Kyle: “Best of the bunch.”
“Me, too. I’m smart.”
“No major problems?”
“Just my parents’ expectations.”
The drops begin falling as they obediently heed the recess bell.
Growing Up in a Perfect World
Careful sorting at the blastosphere stage produces exciting athletic games. Students focus hours on end, tirelessly, effortlessly absorbing knowledge. The $30,000 babies, disease free, dull tacks in comparison. Cut above, endowed by their parents the gift of perfection, they travel elite roads.
Roads built by the children of love. Imperfect.
*Bentley Glass, “Science: Endless Horizons or Golden Age,” Science 171:23-29, 1971, pg. 28