People like me? you think.
"People like me?" you ask. Your philosophy teacher looks at you like you're either really
dumb or just being difficult on purpose. You don't think you're either.
"Yes, Charles, people like you. People with non-human traits. Cat people. Dog people.
Rabbitfolk. You didn't forget you weren't fully human, did you?" She almost seems to
be taunting you at this point. You try not to show your upset. "I didn't forget that."
She seems pleased. "Good. Anyways. People like you only really emerged during and after the
war. At least, in this country. Before the war they only lived in other countries with others of their
kind. But now they can create people like you. In laboratories. Although I'm sure you know that,
since I assume you were created in that way."
Her curiosity scares you. You kind of want to run away, but you're certain you'll get in trouble if
you do. So you just softly shake your head. "I wasn't. I was born."
Your philosophy teacher seems on the brink of loud, boisterous laughter. "Is that what your
mother told you, honey? Did she tell you she loved you so so much? That you came from her
body? Don't make me laugh."
Your nose wrinkles up in a mix of confusion and disgust. You were truly born at home, and your
mother really is your mother. You know that for certain. You've seen the pictures.
The teacher walks off, finally leaving you be. "You really should ask your mother about it...
how old are you now? You're way too old to still believe in those lies."