She had little for which to be thankful. The other children teased and taunted her for her emotions. She didn’t understand why no one else ever felt sad, trapped, or sorry for the momma mims—just years older yet forced to spend their lives giving birth to other mims. Her mom was a mim. A surrogate. That is what Uncle M called her when he invited Ima to his office.
He had tears in his eyes. Something about the pain of seeing his creation suffer. “Ima, I’m sorry to tell you, love. Your mum died giving birth to her sixth mim.”
She should have felt sad. Her mom. That should mean something to her. Shouldn’t it? But, she and the others were raised as a group. Sure she’d seen the dark-haired mim known as Evelyn around. More than anything, she felt relief for her. She was now free. If she now was, at all.
Thanksgiving? She investigated the day in the electronic encyclopedia she had access to for school. Not that she got to go to school. Like everything else in her life, it took place within the facility.
It was a holiday. Apparently, many people took certain days to celebrate each year. This one was a celebration of the harvest. She read about Pilgrims, and President Lincoln declaring the last Thursday of each November a celebration of thanks to some Father in the Heavens.
She didn’t have a father. None of the mims did. They didn’t really have mothers either, but the surrogates at least gave birth to them. No, from the day she could understand what the nurses were saying, they told her that she was the product of science. A slush of bio-material, called DNA.
Despite intense year-around schooling, at the age of six, she still didn’t understand much of what she was told. The other mims seemed to grasp things much quicker than her.
One thing she definitely didn’t understand—a holiday dedicated to being thankful for all she had.
What exactly might that be?