10 QUESTIONS FOR THE CLONE WHO STOLE MY LIFE
1. The clone researchers said you were leading a happy life in your cramped, sterile, colorless, soundless storage pod. Why did you feel the need to escape?
2. I doubt any of the idiots at work will notice you’re an imposter, but you won’t be so lucky at home. Karen and the kids will see through you pretty quickly. How much longer do you think you can pull this off? Any chance you can make it through the weekend, so I can get in a little fishing?
3. You may look and sound exactly like me, and have my exact DNA and blood type and all that, but do you also have my memories? The scientists explained things to me several times, but I always got confused about that part.
4. Which one of us do you think would win at arm wrestling? Would it be a perfect, eternal draw, with neither of us getting an edge over the other? Would my natural humanity grant me just enough of an advantage to defeat the soulless monster who was growth-accelerated in a glorified Petri dish? Or would I find some other way to win, such as reaching over and punching you in the larynx?
5. You may have taken control of my bank account, but there’s a load of cash you’ll never get your hands on. They paid me a hundred grand to donate a few of my skin cells. Did you know that? Does it feel good to know you were created from lowly skin cells? I bet sleeping with my wife isn’t quite so sweet now, is it?
6. I was being metaphorical when I called you soulless, but now I’m actually wondering about it. I can’t even remember if the scientists tried to explain that part to me or they’d just given up by then. So what is it? Soul or no soul? Just curious.
7. Have Karen and the kids gotten suspicious yet? None of them are especially bright, or loving, or remotely pleasant to be around, but surely they’ve noticed that something is off. If they haven’t said it aloud yet, they’re definitely thinking it. They just can’t put their fingers on what’s different about me (that is, about you.) Give them another few days. A week at most. Then you’re through. Just watch.
8. I noticed you haven’t even bothered to change the locks on the house. Don’t you think that was something you should have done right away? What’s stopping me from just walking in and confronting you in front of Karen and the kids? Are all clones this stupid?
9. How much do you think it cost to bribe one of the researchers into letting you escape after programming into you the desire to take over my life? Answer: a measly $10,000.
10. I’ll be going out of state for a while with my ninety grand, but I swear to God I’ll be back soon to get my revenge on you and reclaim my rightful place. Before that day comes, though, I want you to ask yourself just how much longer you can keep up this charade. Two weeks? Three? I say forty years at most. Then you’re through. Just watch.
Ralph Gamelli attempts to write stuff that, under certain conditions, in just the right light, with a good song playing in the background, might possibly be considered somewhat funny.
