Bead

Bead hummed a quiet, bubbly tune. Her eight arms, pearly and soft, moved with a gentle clink-clack. She was in her lab, a cozy corner. It smelled faintly of warm plastic and sweet pea pods. Glowing screens flickered around her. Piles of colorful beads sat in neat little bins.

Her lab tunic was a chunky-cartoon green. It had pockets for everything. She even had a tiny pocket on each of her eight sleeves. She often stood in a chunky-cartoon arranging-pose. Her back was straight. Her head was tilted just so. Her eight arms spread out, ready for action. Right now, she was focused on a long, twisty string. It shimmered under the lab lights.

On a big screen, her chromosome-tracker showed a swirling, rainbow map. Each swirl was a chromosome. It looked like a tangled spaghetti noodle, but a very important one. Little lights blinked where genes were active. Tiny arrows showed how traits were passed down. And on her desk, she had a stack of gene-bead-cards. Each card was thick and shiny. It had a tiny picture of what the gene did. One card showed a tiny ear. That was the ‘earlobe attachment’ gene. Another showed a little curly strand of hair. That was the ‘hair texture’ gene. A gene was like a single bead.

Bead picked up a bright green bead. It was perfectly round and smooth. She held it up to the light. It sparkled. “A gene,” she whispered to herself.