the new generation

Unbelievable. I peered inside to see the thing. How can you be scared of what comes from your own body? I don't know why I didn't want to hold it, to touch it, maybe to kiss it, but maybe it was the textural gleam of the little thing's bald, enajmbed crown that repulsed my instinct to engulf. A thud from inside the incubator. A gnarling growl of post-birth hunger accompanied the tossing of protective sheets from within. My hot buttered biscuit stretched its limbs from beyond its plastic cradle. Flashes of violet green suction graspers and splats of pistule plasm decorating the sterile white floor lamanet. "Is that normal?" I breathed with hesitation. My partunitionist smiled, "This little pancake came with extra syrup. It'll clear up when we commence feeding in a moment." I pulled up my sheets to my chin, chewing the edge. Is this fabric flavored with relief? Every macromammalian dreams of the day when they too witness the miracle of creation their predecessors perfected, generously stowed deep into atmospheric endocrine of the macro-geno-info-data base. Tappable upon request. My co-feccund threw up his limbs in maniacal satisfaction with his profound accomplishment, "Oh Estronia! Little Rhyfed looks just like your Prior-Feccund! Same huge auralators, broad wing-span." 78 prongs of my co-fecund's spinal base ping-ponged wildly, stretching the limits of seagreen-violet epidermis encasing his excitement. "But HEY-O! This one's got the Faszi Apollanator! No mistaking that. Oh Stronie, you know how I feel right?" I looked up at my partner. I let the sheet fall from my lips. Consciously contorting my mouth into what appeared like a look of reciprocation, I said, "You feel how I feel." "Complete" and was resolved. The past five minutes resounded with an importance unmatched by other events in my existorspan. A world of possibility and freedom suddenly gelatinized into memory foam of the past. No longer could I just hop into my globewizzer and visit foreign saltflats on some starry afternoon, the tentacles of a new lover looking for the secret zippered inside my atmosuit...I looked back toward the incubator. My gaze was returned with an eruption of glittering pistule plasm. My partner cooed and giggled, "Oh, ohohoho, Estronia let me get you a wipey, that stuff'll burn if we leave it on your face." He turned to look in the supply drawer. Maybe I could make a run for it.