Fledgling

by Octavia E. Butler

“You can’t be any more than ten or eleven.

“You don’t have any body hair at all,” he told me. “Should I?” I asked. “Most people over eleven or twelve do.” I thought about that. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “I don’t know enough about myself to say what my age might be or even whether I’m human. But I’m old enough to have sex with you if you want to.” He choked on his sandwich and spent time coughing and taking swallows of beer. “I think you’re supposed to,” I continued, then frowned. “No, that’s not right. I mean, I think you’re supposed to be free to, if you want to.”

I think this scene wouldn't get written today.

The room I slipped into was occupied by one person—a woman, sleeping alone. I crept closer to her bed and took a deep breath.

So she doesn’t need to be invited in.

“Ordinary sun exposure burns your skin even though you’re black?”

I think this is the first we hear specifically about race.

You say your symbiont has just died. If that were so, you would be prostrate. You would not be able to sit here telling lies and arguing. True Ina know the pain of losing a symbiont. We are Ina. You are nothing!”