Question of Morals

Short story about human cloning.

The white walls around him were the only thing he knew as home. While most grew up with a dog, or a cat, or some form of love and affection, all he knew were these four walls.  There were no hugs or kisses goodnight, or caring looks when he did something good. There were only sterile tables, a cold bed, and the doctor.  She would sit in her chair, ask him questions as she observed him, make notes when he said something, made checks when he said others. He didn't know what she was writing, but he always hoped that she was pleased with him.

It wasn't a bad life, in fact, he was happy. Or at least, he thought he was. He wasn't exactly sure if he had experienced that emotion, or if he was just feeling what the doctor described as happiness.

He sat on his bed, his legs tucked under him as he stared up at the little blinking box (what had she called it? A camera?), thinking about the color it kept flashing. Orange? Or was it red? He wasn't sure, there weren't a whole lot of examples of color in his life. The doctor had told him they needed to keep his sensory levels down, that too much might over stimulate him, and they weren't sure of the effect that would have on his mind. She had called him fragile. 

"Do you know what that means John?" She had asked him. "It means you can break easily."

"Why?" He said, watching her write.

"Because," She sighed, taking off her glasses to get a better look at him, "you were made to process things, and too much at once can only end up hurting you."

So he sat alone in his room, thinking about the camera, about the doctor, about the stories she had read him, and the things he was learning.  He wished she was here, he hated it when she was gone.  

Hours past, and all he did was simply sit. He was about to fall asleep, when suddenly, the doors opened. He sat up, his face lighting up at the sight of her, "Doctor." He said, straightening his back. "You are early."

She gave him a kind nod, "Yes I am John. Would you like to go for a walk?"

He looked past her into the hall and then back at her, "You mean out? We don't go out."

"I know." She smiled, coming over and kneeling down in front of him, "But there's some people who want to meet you."

"We don't meet people." He said, but stood anyways, taking her hand. "Why do people want to meet me?"

"Because you're special, John." She said, squeezing his smaller hand. He was still so young in her mind, but he must be twelve now. She looked him over, doing a quick medical evaluation in her head. He was cleaned, well fed, his eyes were alert as ever. She could almost see his wheels turning inside that smart head of his!  She stood, nodding towards the door, "Do you know what special means, John?"

He frowned, thinking a moment, a concentrated look on his face as he went through the list of words he had learned, "Unique, different, one of a kind." John looked up at her, pleased when she nodded, "I'm one of a kind?"

She laughed, "The one and only!"

He lifted his chin a little higher as they walked out of the safety of his four walls, into the hall way that he had only ever seen when his door opened and closed. He clung to her as they passed quickly by some more rooms, going to another small room that closed them in together. He gave her a curious look as she pushed a button and the whole room shook upward. 

"It's not a room." He said, mostly to himself, reaching out and touching a wall near him, feeling the way the mechanics behind the wall worked. "We're going up?"

She didn't respond as the doors opened, leading out into another long hall. A man stood at the end of it, watching them as they approached, John staring at him as he seemed to look down with...anger? That was the emotion the doctor described to him that went with that face. Maybe it was fear? He leaned into his caretaker, swallowing past the lump in his throat, "Doctor.."

She pulled him into the room, and suddenly he was surrounded by people, more than he had ever seen before in his life.  They were different sizes, some with long hair and female like the doctor, others short and balding.  They poked him, asked the doctor questions, had him turn around, pulled on his hair, pricked his finger and then look at his blood under some sort of box he had never seen before. There were pictures on the table across the room of him when he was little, videos playing of him on the wall behind him. All this, for him. He looked up as they began to talk, only catching every other word before his doctor raised her hands, "Alright, alright, please, let's take our seats."

They all sat down as he stood at the front, their eyes still locked on him, some filled with fear like the man from the hall, others...he couldn't come up with the words for it. Maybe wanting? For some reason, it scared him more than those who were angry with him.

"As you can see, John is a living breathing child." his doctor said, as he looked up at her, "He was successfully cloned from a willing donor, and reprogrammed to be absorb the world around him faster than any human being possible. He's the next stage of science."

She had never spoken about him like this. Something was detached about it, and as he went to take her hand again, she pulled it back, going on, "We can make more like him, with even better talents. He's simply a beta test."

"So when is the autopsy?" A large man asked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes hungrily looking John over.  

The doctor frowned, pausing, looking down at the boy she had studied, that she had practically raised herself from the moment they brought him into this world. 

"There WILL be an autopsy, won't there?" the man asked, sitting up and looking around, "I mean, why else did you bring us here, Joanna?"

"To show you his progress-" She tried to stress, but was shot down.

"You said it yourself, he's simply a test subject." the man cut in, giving her an almost humoring, scolding look, "How can we learn anything if we can't see what's inside?"

John looked up at her as she turned her eyes down to him. Could she do it? Could she kill the one thing she had spent her whole life creating.

"Doctor?" He reached out for her hand again, and she could only stare at it.  What was she supposed to do?....

Author's Note

I really enjoy writing small scenes like this, not so much as a warm up, but just to get ideas on the page. This was kind of inspired by the idea behind "The Lady and The Tiger", where the ending is left open between two decisions. She either keeps him, or has to kill him, but either way, she's going to loose something.

I'd love to hear what emotions y'all get from the piece, as well as anything you'd like to point out for constructive criticism