Spliced

Chapter 1

Dawn breaks as the wisps of the irradiated dust attempts to creep in through my windows. The gentle spears of light hit my covers so that the velvet patterns embroidered throughout are illuminated as if the sunlight were to kiss the very material. I prop myself up on my bed. I've noticed a significant increase in lethargic behavior recently, and my limbs have been more susceptible to becoming paralyzed. My head droops down leaving the matted curly hair to embrace my peripheries. My gaze becomes increasingly focused on my feet. I take note of the perfect symmetry, and plastic-like quality of my toenails. My bloodshot eyes land on my dresser. The crooked drawers of where the tendrils of sleeves crawl out make me feel even more dread knowing that I will eventually have to refold all of my clothes. My eyes wander upward only to find my mirror and stare blankly into a pale imitation. I gaze at my reflection. No, it stares back at me. Rage and sorrow raptures my being causing my body to stand erect, facing the mirror.

"Fuck you," I croak ritualistically. It's a force of habit. Just something that I picked up a couple of months ago when I was thrown out of my parents house. That day was all just a blur. That day was arguably the worst day of my life. Everything felt like it happened in a flash. The only thing that I can recall is my dad whispering to my mom during breakfast, and later that evening, they both gathered all my belongings and threw them out of the house. Sorrow overcomes my body, and I collapse onto my bed like a puppet doll getting its strings cut. I feel an episode coming. My consciousness starts to get hazy, and my mind starts spiraling. 

Why? Why did they throw me out? Did I not do well enough in school? 

No, I had perfect marks all throughout high school.

Did I not get into a good enough college?

No, I got accepted into the Franklin Institute of Genetic Science in Chicago. One of the most prestigious colleges in the field.

Was I not a satisfactory son?

Compared to other families in the US, our family scored high in the Family Satisfaction Index. So, that's ruled out.

I can't seem to grasp the fact that my family had excommunicated me. No matter how successful I am, and no matter how much of a good son I am, I can't seem to satisfy my parents. I can't seem to live up to that score we got in the Family Satisfaction Index.

A sudden shatter brings me back to my dull senses. It sounds like it came from the living room. I prop myself up once again, and head to the living room to check up on the ruckus. At the very least, I can say that I am fortunate enough to graduate college, work for the biggest commercial gene-editing company, and live in a lavish apartment.