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Disclaimer: The following characters in this story are not of my own creation, they are a design of Craig van Sickle and Steven Long Mitchell (if I can still spell their names). And somehow NBC, and TNT, and oh, what's the use, they're not MINE.
The Ice Cream Clone
by 23
It's hard being a clone. You hear people say things like "everyone's unique," and knowing it doesn't apply to you feels bad. And there are the questions about your family, except it's not really your family. I mean, they're nice people, that is, Jarod and Major Charles, but they already have a Jarod. I'm just J2.
I've been called J2 since I was born. I didn't know why then. I knew everything about science, math and just about anything you can learn from a book, but I didn't know about my parents. How could I? I didn't have any. I never really will. Sure, someone can be like a father to me, but only like. It's not the same. It can't be the same.
I used to be what I thought was a normal kid. I wasn't "the clone". I was just J2, the Pretender who performed sims. Sims. Short for simulations. I did them to help people. It was what I wanted to do. I didn't want to be on the run from the Centre. I didn't want to be a clone. I didn't want to learn they had inverted the simulations. Now I am, and I did. I am so confused now that I know. Why would anyone want to hurt people?
Greed. Corruption. Anger. Despair. Emotions and vices. Stupid reasons. They don't even care that they hurt people. They hurt Jarod. They hurt everyone. They hurt me. They hurt me a lot. They are The Centre. A place where evil deeds are merchandise. A dark and twisted place, full of lies and demons. A place that hurt me.
I only do what I think is righteous now. But that's not part of my character; it's part of Jarod's. I'm living out his life, only I've escaped the Centre earlier. He was there for twice as long as I. I guess that's a good thing, but what good is a teenage boy trying to right the wrongs of the world? Anyway, there's Jarod, that's something for him to do. But I try to do the things he would do, because I'm really just an extra.
Jarod always seems to wish he'd been free of the Centre earlier. I know I should feel grateful, and I do, but there's no fun in it. I'm just living his life the way he would want to. Except, I'm not enjoying it. I don't enjoy anything anymore. He made me try ice cream when we first met. It was good, but it's really just something he likes. There's nothing specific to me. I've lost my personality completely and just imitate him.
I want to. More than anything else in this world, I want to enjoy something again. I sometimes feel faint traces of joy when I see or do something that I should enjoy, but these are merely shades of a long dead ghost. And then there's Zoe.
Zoe is Jarod's girlfriend. Well, his longest lasting relationship so far. What I know is, she had a sister who died, feels she must run from her entire family except for her grandmother, and is battling cancer. She has every reason to be unhappy, but she enjoys life more than most people I know. I envy her. I have no reason to be so sad, but I envy her more than anyone, but I don't want to be just like her. That's what made me feel this way in the first place.
And now I close the journal, and look at it's cover. A specter arises inside of me, and tears swell in my eyes. I read such a simple word, on such a simple book, and I know it is unique from every other. It merely reads: J.2.
by 23
It's hard being a clone. You hear people say things like "everyone's unique," and knowing it doesn't apply to you feels bad. And there are the questions about your family, except it's not really your family. I mean, they're nice people, that is, Jarod and Major Charles, but they already have a Jarod. I'm just J2.
I've been called J2 since I was born. I didn't know why then. I knew everything about science, math and just about anything you can learn from a book, but I didn't know about my parents. How could I? I didn't have any. I never really will. Sure, someone can be like a father to me, but only like. It's not the same. It can't be the same.
I used to be what I thought was a normal kid. I wasn't "the clone". I was just J2, the Pretender who performed sims. Sims. Short for simulations. I did them to help people. It was what I wanted to do. I didn't want to be on the run from the Centre. I didn't want to be a clone. I didn't want to learn they had inverted the simulations. Now I am, and I did. I am so confused now that I know. Why would anyone want to hurt people?
Greed. Corruption. Anger. Despair. Emotions and vices. Stupid reasons. They don't even care that they hurt people. They hurt Jarod. They hurt everyone. They hurt me. They hurt me a lot. They are The Centre. A place where evil deeds are merchandise. A dark and twisted place, full of lies and demons. A place that hurt me.
I only do what I think is righteous now. But that's not part of my character; it's part of Jarod's. I'm living out his life, only I've escaped the Centre earlier. He was there for twice as long as I. I guess that's a good thing, but what good is a teenage boy trying to right the wrongs of the world? Anyway, there's Jarod, that's something for him to do. But I try to do the things he would do, because I'm really just an extra.
Jarod always seems to wish he'd been free of the Centre earlier. I know I should feel grateful, and I do, but there's no fun in it. I'm just living his life the way he would want to. Except, I'm not enjoying it. I don't enjoy anything anymore. He made me try ice cream when we first met. It was good, but it's really just something he likes. There's nothing specific to me. I've lost my personality completely and just imitate him.
I want to. More than anything else in this world, I want to enjoy something again. I sometimes feel faint traces of joy when I see or do something that I should enjoy, but these are merely shades of a long dead ghost. And then there's Zoe.
Zoe is Jarod's girlfriend. Well, his longest lasting relationship so far. What I know is, she had a sister who died, feels she must run from her entire family except for her grandmother, and is battling cancer. She has every reason to be unhappy, but she enjoys life more than most people I know. I envy her. I have no reason to be so sad, but I envy her more than anyone, but I don't want to be just like her. That's what made me feel this way in the first place.
And now I close the journal, and look at it's cover. A specter arises inside of me, and tears swell in my eyes. I read such a simple word, on such a simple book, and I know it is unique from every other. It merely reads: J.2.
