I sit in the chair and realize it is the same type of chair they’ve got in waiting room. I remember them: firm, gray, sterile.

I remember the conversation with the doctor. “You’ll have ten minutes before the clone expires,” that’s what he said. Hell, I even remember the way he smelled, grilled cheese.

I hadn’t been able to think of what I’d talk to myself about at the time. The question must have come to me since then, I hope. I am getting bored.

It’s been three minutes now and he hasn’t said a word. There is a window between us. He is smiling. His eyes are crooked, I never noticed.

Four minutes.

He’s just sitting there staring. He had a whole month. How had he come up with nothing to say in a whole damn month?

Five minutes.

They put a clock in here.

Why would they put a clock? So I can know exactly how long I have to live?

Sadists.

Six minutes.

“Say something God dammit!” I yell at the glass. He grins, prick.

Eight minutes.

Finally, the real-me moves. He waves. Two minutes to live and he waves.

I give myself the finger.

“You are going to die in one minute.”

“No shit.”

“What does it mean?” he says.

“What does what mean, jackass? You know you look like a jackass when you talk.”

He only smiles.

“What does death mean now? You know for certain that you are going to die. What are you thinking?” He says.

That was it. Of course, It was just the kind of thing I’d think up in a month obsessing over this moment.

30 seconds to go.

I look through the glass and see a glimmer of panic on his face. And a thought strikes me. A beautiful, enlightening, hilarious thought. I start laughing. It echoes around the cold room. The me on the other side of the glass is standing now.

“Tell me!” he yells through the window.

Ten seconds.

I only laugh. It was a very brief thought.

…maybe I am special, just maybe, I will be the one clone that doesn’t die.

 

 

A Writer and an artist living in Russia

12 Comment on “Clone Inc. Answers for you, from you

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