Jillian Rae Young

Miranda 1

WHY? That was the question looming within and beyond the reflection in the full length mirror which drew the slender, diminutive figure contemplating silently before it. She felt like she was forgetting something important. She considered the date: 19 June 2113, Juneteenth...on Earth, anyway. Based on her own experience, the girl in the mirror had long identified with the oppressed people of color who celebrated their liberation from slavery on that day. There were many people who had treated her disrespectfully, deplorably, even shamefully. It was no surprise that those looking for something to hate or fear about her usually found it in her appearance. She sighed gently as she noted her features one by one: her eyes, sparkling and golden like liquid metal, the perfectly symmetrical, delicately feminine features of her face whose bronze-silver skin made her look like a living sculpture, her mane of long, disheveled, black curly locks, her slight, bony frame clad in a form fitting black jumpsuit, and finally the tag sewn onto the jumpsuit embroidered with her name: Miranda 1.