Am I Memorex? - Part 4

She brings me aspirin in a little plastic cup. I toss them back and drink from the lukewarm glass of water by my bed.

"Besides the headache are you experiencing any discomfort?" her hand rest lightly on my forehead. It's coolness feels good to my skin.

"No. Just the spliting headache," I say. Her hand slides down the side of my face cupping my cheak for a second before moving on to my shoulder and squeazing it gently.

"It's late you should get some rest. They'll want to start the tests first thing in the morning," she reminds me.

Am I Memorex? - Part 3

"Fine," I say, "Bit of a headache. How's your sister?"

She flashes me with her white teeth. "She's doing better," her smile slips a little, "The chemo is working and she's in remission. How about I get you something for that headache?"

"Sure," I say as she walks out of the room. I watch her backside sway with each step until the door closes and locks with a thump behind her. She only person I know that isn't a government spook. She's the closest thing to a friend I have. I wish I didn't have to die to see her.

Am I Memorex? - Part 2

I awaken with a headache in a familiar room. This is the room where the new mes wakeup, when the old mes die. I'm a new me. A copy, a fraud, a shame. I try to think back, what happen to the last me? Fire and the smell burning flesh waft through my mind. Better not to remember I think.

"How are you feeling?" a nurse asks me while fiddling with something behind me. She's not supposed to talk to me. I'm a super secret government project. I'm not even supposed to talk to me. Or her. But I do.

Am I Memorex? - Part 1

I'm starting something new. I'm going to be writing hundred word story chunks six days a week. At the end of the week I'll post the entire week's worth of story together.

So without any further ado, here is part one of "Am I Memorex?"
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I die. They make a copy. It looks like me. It sounds like me. It thinks like me. It thinks it is me. But I am dead. I've been dead for a long time now. I am not really writing this. A copy of me is writing this.

I live. I am reborn time after time, death after death. I am the same person I've always been. This body or the next it matters not. What matters is who I am inside. I am me inside.

Two ways of looking at my existence. Only one is sane. But which one?

Introductions

Hello I'm Gillian or Gilly or even Gill.

This is my second blog on blogger. My first Infowhore Speaks is my everyday blog. I try to post something once a day, whatever I feel like speaking about from reviews of movies to accounts of my days off. I've even posted a few pieces of fiction. After giving it some thought I've decided to split my fiction off on it's on blog. What made me decide to do this? Well honestly I want to be a writer and I started blogging as a way to get into the habit of writing everyday, which it has. Unfortunately I'm not writing much fiction. It's too easy for me to churn out a post about the last movie I saw rather than the next part of the story I'm trying to write. So the idea is to isolate my fiction so I feel guilty about not writing the next part.

I'm going to start by editing and reposting the stories I've previously posted on Infowhore Speaks. Since I usually have Mondays and Tuesday off I'm going to aim for at least one post a week on Monday night or Tuesday morning.