I hadn’t seen a real person in what seemed forever. I had seen him walk into the coffee shop, casually, as if nothing were wrong. At first, I didn’t think anything of it until I realized that I had never seen him before. I suddenly stood to my feet and immediately ventured to his position. The young man was last in line so I slid in right behind him. I attempted to create conversation, but stopped myself. Never had I been so close to another human being. I got so close to him, just to smell him. To catch his unique scent is rejuvenating. He quickly turned to see me. I realized how weird this must have been.
“The smell of your coat reminds me of a place in Africa I visited,” I lied.
“Where in Africa?” the stranger asked, “I just came from there.”
I moved awkwardly from side to side, “Um, you probably have never been there.”
“Try me.”
I immediately responded trying to impress,“A small village in Ethiopia.”
“Interesting,” He said holding out his hand, “My name is Craig.”
My hand leaped upon his hand, grasping it firmly, “Nice to meet you Craig, my name is William, but you can just call me Bill. It’s what my grand kids call me,” another lie.
We sat down and drank coffee. I talked about the town, mostly because that is all I know. I haven’t left this place for at least twenty years.
“I had never heard of this town before,” Craig said.
I sat in the booth and thought for a little, “We haven’t had many visitors recently.”
We sat for a long time, talked and chatted. It was just friendly. I had not talked really to anyone, not even the Fakes. I tried my best to not be myself, because to please him was my only objective in life. I looked into his eyes and saw that they were actually there, not stagnant nor were they careless. They were genuine because the user was genuine. I fought in my mind though, to keep him or disperse the young boy.
After the conversation, Craig went to a meeting and I went to lurk in the shadows. Were there more Genuines out there, in the town? I eliminated them so it can’t be true. Back in the dark days, I remember eliminating them and excluding others. This forced me into loneliness and rage. I slayed them all, I slayed them all! All of them were gone. I took extreme measures to create copies, but never had I thought that the Genuines would ever emerge again. I took it upon myself to make sure nobody would survive.
For a while, the copies would suffice and I was able to maintain conversations. But I realized that fake peoples were not good for me. Anyways, I am intrigued by his ways. He walks with some type of unknown confidence. Craig enjoys company of anything and everyone. He even likes to be with the Fakes. I don’t even like them and I created them. Many boys his age don’t carry themselves with confidence. I am somewhat successful, but carry this type of stature. Even Duplicates see this type of phenomena and even ask, “Where did this boy come from?”
Being myself, I need to more about him. I follow him everyday to observe him. I notice now that the boy has an eye for art. He walks art museums, which I made, and cherishes the great works found there. After awhile, I started to disguise myself in order to be with him without him even knowing it.
“Interesting piece isn’t it?” I said, adjusting my tie.
He looked deeply into the picture, and replied, “Yes, but I have never seen it before.”
I gasped, almost in disbelief, “How? I, I mean we, have had this painting here for such a long time! How could you have passed it by?”
“Sorry, I have never been here before. I just moved in downtown,” he replied.
“Ah, well I should let you know that all our paintings here are donated by the cities artists.”
“Sweet! I am an artist,” Craig replied.
This explained a lot, “Oh, well I hope you enjoy the exhibit!”
I should have stayed around though, and told him how to actually donate, but he beats me to it, “How does one donate?”
I had taken off my coat and put away my GPS, tracking devices, and my disguises. I lay in bed, and think of the many of lives I had taken. “Why is he important?” I asked myself. Why him? Had I not noticed this with all other Genuines? I am a fool for not seeing the obvious.
I awaken in a blood boiling rage. I rip apart sheets, throw things around the room, and punch holes in the wall. And I sat in the corner and cried. My life has been all about me, when a boy lives his life for himself too. So why does he not feel my pain? I burst like a fire set by gasoline. I busted down my door, and got into my car. Without a second thought, I drove down into downtown. My arm veins bulge and my face reddens like that of a man driven with hate. I arrived at a hotel, the one that Craig was staying at.
I walked right up to the clerk and said, “Do you house a man by the name of Craig? I believe Craig Neilson?”
“No we don’t sir, but we do serve a guest by the name of Craig Dean,” the clerk said.
“Great, I need his room number,” I said.
The clerk moved uneasily in his position, “I am afraid I cannot give you that information sir. Only to relatives.”
With a clenched fist, “I created you, you know that right?”
The young clerk immediately said, “How can you be so sure?”
With the key in my hand, and blood on my jacket, I continued with my mission, “Thank you boy.”
The door swung open, and I walked into the room. Craig sat in his bed; he quickly turned out of bed. He put his hands in the air slowly. I looked deep into his eyes again though. I looked and remembered my wife. I don’t remember if she was real, but I loved her. After her death, I could no longer live with people not as genuine as her. I raised the stake.
He turned and asked, “What? What is going on?”
“I am only doing what I have to,” I said in reply.
“I don’t understand,” he said, “Why are you here?”
“I have come to make you like me,” I stated, “and the only way to do that is to eliminate you and to copy you.”
The young man sat, puzzled, “I don’t understand, why do think I don’t like you?”
“It doesn’t matter if you think you like me, it matters if you mean it,” I blatantly stated.
He sat and then said, “Please, don’t keep doing this.”
I raise the stake and release the wrath held back by many years of rejection. The years of copies, they were a waste. The years of pain, they were real. The years of bitter mourn struck men like me into a state of insanity. These long years of recuperating never completely heal wounds. And long years of loneliness cannot and won’t help an old weary man. What men need are people to care for them.
The memories of that day pass everyday. They never get better, because what happened haunts me. Killing before was so easy, but excluding an innocent boy who I came to know was very difficult. After completing the awful deed, I have never felt the same. I sit in my chair everyday and think of Craig. I never got around the recreating him. Maybe I would after awhile, but probably not. The only other person I had not duplicated was actually my wife. Interestingly enough, I didn’t actually kill her. I guess I didn’t really kill the boy. I just excluded him out of my lonely and dreadful life. What to do to move on is a question for only gods and immortals. All I know is that it is now back to population one.
