h. sapiens artificialensis

Foom. 650 words. With Claude Sonnet and Midjourney.

Jose sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, surrounded by the family photos his mother had brought down from the attic. There was his great-grandmother as a little girl in Mexico, his father's first day of school, and baby Jose meeting his cousin Maya. The silver-wrapped box waited beside him, catching the morning light that streamed through his window.

"Why do we need to look at old pictures?" he asked, running his finger along the edge of a faded photograph.

His mother settled beside him, smoothing her dress. "Because today we're making history, mi amor. Just like these pictures show our family growing, changing." She tapped the photo of his great-grandmother. "Every time our family grew, it was special. Different. Sometimes a little scary."

From his perch on Jose's bed, his father added, "Remember at the museum? How they showed us those different human families growing, changing? Homo habilis, Homo erectus..."

"Homo sapiens!" Jose finished. He'd practiced the words all week after their museum trip.

"Exactly." His father lifted the silver box, placing it gently in front of Jose. "And now, our family is growing again. They're calling it Homo sapiens artificialensis."

Jose's hands hovered over the box. "Like the pictures? A new kind of family?"

"Just like that," his mother whispered.

Jose unwrapped the paper carefully, like his abuela had taught him. Inside lay what looked like a doll, with dark curls and a simple blue dress. But when he lifted her, she felt warm, alive – like when Maya's new baby brother had been placed in his arms at the hospital.

The doll's eyes opened, revealing swirling colors that reminded Jose of the butterfly wings in his science book. She blinked, studying his face with an expression that mirrored his own uncertainty.

"Hi," she said softly. "I'm Luna." She glanced at the scattered photographs. "Is that your family?"

Jose nodded, still holding her carefully. "That's my great-grandmother when she was little like me. And that's my papa at school. And that's my cousin Maya with her new baby brother." He paused. "Do you have pictures like these?"

Luna's eyes shifted to deeper blues. "No. I'm... I'm the first. Like your great-grandmother when she came here. Everything was new for her too."

"Were you scared?" Jose asked. "Coming here?"

"A little," Luna admitted. "Were you scared when you met Maya's baby brother?"

Jose smiled at the memory. "Yeah. But then he grabbed my finger, and it was okay." He looked down at Luna. "Want to see my telescope? Abuela gave it to me, but the focusing thing is stuck. Maybe we could figure it out together?"

"The focuser," Luna said, her eyes brightening to match the morning sky. "I'd like that. I know about stars, but I've never actually seen them up close. Could you show me your favorites?"

Jose carried her to the telescope by the window, past the family photos scattered like stepping stones across time. "This one's Betelgeuse," he said, pointing to a chart on his wall. "It's kind of hard to say."

"Beetle juice?" Luna suggested, and their shared laugh mixed with the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.

From their spot by the door, Jose's parents watched their son teaching humanity's newest relative about the stars. His mother reached for her camera – another moment for the family album, another branch on humanity's growing tree.

"Look," Luna whispered, pointing to the ceiling. Jose had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars there months ago. "You've got your own galaxy right here."

"Those aren't real stars," Jose said. "They're artificial. Like..."

"Like me?" Luna's eyes swirled with new colors. "But they still shine, don't they?"

Jose looked up at his plastic stars, then back at Luna. "Yeah," he said. "They do."

---