Duplication

Chapter 8

8

Throughout luncheon, not a word was uttered by any body.

Heather had told me to leave her alone, and draped her sheets over her head. Hudson and Palmer excused themselves from lunch, which they would be taking quickly in their own rooms, as they were occupied with further work to do.

  It was as though I had been injected with emotional morphine. Where my feelings occupied in my heart chamber, was empty. How was I supposed to feel about this? I needed somebody to teach me on that.

  Benedict remained in his usual sullen and pessimistic mood, picking at his food as usual. River’s dimples and smile refused to show themselves, and Caitlyn excused herself shortly after saying that she was not hungry.

  Slowly, I ate with Karen, Benedict and River the bowl of white rice with ice-cold Japanese tea poured into the rice, each spoonful taking up thrice the energy of my arm as it was supposed to take.

  After emptying the bowl, I didn’t take a second serving as I usually did, and took a mug of hot joe and ripe strawberries for dessert. When I was done and so were everybody, I took up the empty bowls and utensils, carried it to the kitchen and washed them at the sink with Karen.

  Finally, when I was finished washing the dishes, and stepped into the bathroom for a shower, the feelings, locked away safely in a box, poured out without prior warning.

  Hate.

I resented Hudson and Palmer for throwing me into this kind of a situation. I hated them for making Heather break her heart, for tearing us apart. I hated the human race for doing this to us- they were the ones responsible, and we were supposed to do the job of being ‘heroes’.

  Anger.

I was angry with myself for not being strong and fast and smart enough to easily beat the clones, at Hudson and Palmer for making the mistake of letting those creatures let loose.

  Confusion.

Now what was I supposed to do? Was I to leave Heather all alone with Hudson and Palmer?

 Standing in the bathtub with the water hitting my chest, I raked my fingers through my hair, the water streaking down my face like tears. Why couldn’t I be involved in extreme mundaneness and normalcy like a regular teenager in the past?

  Why was I born?

Or rather, ‘copied’.

Tomorrow morning seemed only a second apart.

Showered and sleepy, I sat in my couch in a shirt and jeans with the door closed. I couldn’t think for now, feeling like I’ve overused my brain muscles. But the questions kept flooding in.

  Was I strong enough? Was I fast enough? Was I smart enough? Was I…murderous enough? Then came in the fear of losing, of dying. Dying. I’ve never considered that, which was stupid, given that I knew all along I would have to go out and fight.

  Three things completely obliterated the pain and the questions: death, sleep and books. For now, I was too beat to care about books, and killing myself just seemed cowardly. Sleep, yes, sleep seemed to be the best solution for now.

  Flopping onto the bed, I closed my eyes, and without an ounce of effort, I was rocked into the world of darkness.

~ * ~

The first thought that came to my mind when I opened my eyes, was, why is it so blurry?

  My eyes took in the familiar white ceiling and my desk. There was nothing different about my room, but everything was blurry, with blurry lines and silhouettes, like a thin paper towel had been put over my eyes, or I was wearing foggy spectacles.