I want to ask, what are we doing?  Why are we here?  What is this place?  Today is the “Day” we have all been anticipating.  I open my mouth to ask, but from the look in my mother’s eyes I immediately know that I have to be silent.  With my mother’s hand in mine, I walk down the dusty staircase, along with hundreds of other pairs of children and their mothers.  I breathe in deeply and immediately notice that the smell of the air has changed; a foul and acrid odor burns my nostrils.  I let out a small moan as I tug my ponytail and twirl it between my fingers. 
I have never heard any details about this “Day” from anyone.  Children are forbidden to speak of it.  Adults are technically not allowed to discuss any of it either.  Over the years, I have only picked up occasional whispers from the adults about this event.  The bottom of the staircase leads to an unlit arena.  We all stand quietly and wait by the entrance.
A powerful male voice breaks the silence of the arena.   “Welcome to our 23rd annual exhibit.  You are the chosen ones and therefore will be actively participating in today’s event.”  My heart skips a beat.  Is this a scavenger hunt or another mind challenge?  He continues his announcement.  “You are all the proud and lucky children of the Union’s Perfect Productions Laboratory, our first and the only accredited lab to successfully use CRISPR technology to create babies.”  CRISPR’s manipulation of the zygote’s DNA – the removal of unwanted sequences and the insertion of desired genes– makes it possible to design a perfect genome for any offspring.  Since its approval in 2116 by the Union, all the babies have been created by CRISPR.  Each designer baby has at least one extraordinary talent.
I have been designed by CRISPR to be a music prodigy.  My mind drifts to the upcoming concert where the city orchestra will perform the first concerto I composed at age six.   The opening measures of the concerto are about to replay in my head when instead I hear the man’s voice.  I realize that I am still in my spot next to my mother.  We are instructed to move forward to the middle of the arena onto a stage.  A circular compartment surrounded by steel bars sits in the middle of the stage.
The man continues his rehearsed speech.  “The CRISPR method almost always works perfectly – 99.9% of the time, to be exact.  Occasionally, the deletion or insertion of the desired sequences is not fully assimilated into the genome.  For this 0.1% of genetically-suboptimal children who turn out to be ‘ordinary’ without special talents, it is the Union’s responsibility to take care of them.  The chosen children must partake in the penalty phase of the ordinary children.”  He adds, “Those who choose not to participate today will face irreversible consequences.”
All the mother-child pairs walk onto the stage and form a line.  As we move closer to the cage entrance, I hear cacophonous roars but only see motions of other children striking at something behind the steel bars where it is dark.  When it is almost my turn, I cringe and dig my fingernails into my mother’s arm.  She caresses my shaking hand with one of her hands and uses the other one to nudge me forward.
My pupils converge on an almost lifeless bundle of skin and bones lying in a puddle of dirt.  Sticky grime is embedded on the skin and pasted onto the hair.  The nauseating smell of the crud on the floor forms a knot in my throat.  The chosen child inside the cage casts two strikes onto the bundle of skin and bones.  The sound of cracking bones pierces into my chest.  I feel dyspneic.  I want this to be over.  I want to go home.
The child walks out of the cage and bows as the audience roars with applause.  I feel a tap on my shoulder.  “It’s your turn now,” says the man.  I walk into the cage and hear the door screeching behind me as it closes.  I shut my eyes.  I force my hand to move slowly upward through the air.  When I feel it brushing against a patch of rough skin, I open my eyes to catch sight of a pair of emerald stones shining from beneath the overgrown bangs.  Below the neck, I see the body smudged with a collage of black and blue bruises and brown and red scars.  A thick stream of blood runs down the leg.  My arm drops.
When I turn around to face the man, he is shaking his head.  I feel the stares of everyone around me, waiting for me to strike at this, this… ordinary human.  The man opens his mouth to say something, but before he does, I utter, “I can’t do this.  I’m… I’m sorry.”
The man sighs.  “I guess you need a demonstration, then.”
He thrusts open the door of the cage, barges in, and shoves me out of the way.  The loud thud from the man’s kick makes me shudder.
I hurl myself forward, in front of the body.  The man’s fist gets caught in my face.  I don’t feel the blood dripping from my nose; I just taste it.  “Get out of the way or you’ll be next!” he yells.  He tries to shove me to the side, but I push his hand out of the way.  “No!  Stop!”  I yell.
It is no use.  I hear the screams of the man, the cries of my mom, and the roaring of the audience.  I feel a foot striking against my back, knocking me down to the floor next to the body.
I couldn’t do it, I say to myself.  I just couldn’t, I really couldn’t.  I’m sorry, Mommy.
My vision blurs.  I hear the faint sounds of their voices as they fade to almost silence.  I wonder when this will be over.
Then I see a pair of eyes flashing on top of me.  They are mostly green and luminescent, blinking right at me, shining so brightly in this dark room.  A salty droplet of water lands between my lips.   The eyes blink a few more times, sending more salty droplets onto my cheeks and forehead.  
The room is completely silent.  The green lights flash for the last time, before my vision eventually fades to black.