Am I Memorex? - Week 2

My second kick catches him square in the solar plexus. He doubles over gasping for air. I pull the flexible mask attached to the small air bottle on my belt free and stand over him. I open the bottle and force the mask over his mouth. He's gasping and can't not breath in the carbon monoxide filling the mask.

I kick him when he tries to get up. After a few minutes, he stops struggling. I hold the mask over his face until his chest stops as well.

I look up and the smoke has gotten thicker. I'm surrounded by people standing and watching. I wonder, "Why aren't they gasping and choking on the smoke?" then one lunges at me.

I grab and throw him into the wall. One jumps onto my back. Her hands claw at my face mask. Then the rest begin piling on.

My mask is torn free. Hot air and smoke burn my eyes and lungs. Someone presses a smaller air mask to my face and I take a breath. Something feels wrong. The air is wrong. I glance down and follow the air tube to my belt. I jerk my head away but strong arms hold me still. I feel heavy, tired, and I stop resisting. The arms holding me relax.

I feel fingers gently combing through my hair before it all goes black.

"You were having a nightmare," a voice says from behind me.

I turn and in the almost black of the room I can just barely see her. She's half laying, half sitting behind me fingers smoothing my hair. "Go back to sleep. It's still early," she tells me.

I nod and turn back to sleep. I feel chilled. Looking down I see my blankets and sheet are bunched and tangled around my feet. My angel in nurse guise sees them as well and helps me straighten them out.

Properly covered I fall back asleep and dream of nothing.

---

The lights are switched to full when I am expected to wake. I sit on the bed until the doctor arrives.

"Good morning," he says with a smile. He never smiles. "How are you today?"

"Better than I was yesterday," I say with a shrug.

"Hmm, yes being conscious could be considered an improvement over being comatose." He scribbles on his note pad, his fake smile slips revealing his normal frown.

"I meant being alive is better than being dead."

"Hmm, well you weren't really dead yesterday, were you? Hmm brain dead maybe," he mused to himself, "but then you clones start that way."

Clone. It's what I am, I know this. I just don't like being reminded.

My body was grown in a lab. My thoughts implanted by machines I don't understand. I am not who I think I am. Regina Ortiz died three years ago. I'm just her shadow. It's easy to forget. Easier sometimes to let myself forget.

"Hmm, are you all right?" the doctor asks in an uncommon show of empathy.

"Yeah, just tired from being comatose and brain dead."

He nods and scribbles something else on his note pad. "Well when you're ready we can begin."

"Sure thing doctor. Fire away."

For three hours he asks me questions about general facts and history.

"What's the square root of 144?"

"12."

"What is Newton's first law of motion?"

"An object in motion remains in motion unless acted upon be an outside force."

"Who was the second man on the moon?"

"Buzz Aldrin."

"Who shoot JFK?" We argue about this one but he's not here to debate me and we move on.

"Is light a particle or a wave?" We disagree again but have fun disagreeing with diagrams and a page of math.

"What city was Fat Man dropped on?"

"Nagasaki, Japan." And so on.

Am I Memorex? - Part 12

For three hours he asks me questions about general facts and history.

"What's the square root of 144?"

"12."

"What is Newton's first law of motion?"

"An object in motion remains in motion unless acted upon be an outside force."

"Who was the second man on the moon?"

"Buzz Aldrin."

"Who shoot JFK?" We argue about this one but he's not here to debate me and we move on.

"Is light a particle or a wave?" We disagree again but have fun disagreeing with diagrams and a page of math.

"What city was Fat Man dropped on?"

"Nagasaki, Japan." And so on.

Am I Memorex? - Part 11

Clone. It's what I am, I know this. I just don't like being reminded.

My body was grown in a lab. My thoughts implanted by machines I don't understand. I am not who I think I am. Regina Ortiz died three years ago. I'm just her shadow. It's easy to forget. Easier sometimes to let myself forget.

"Hmm, are you all right?" the doctor asks in an uncommon show of empathy.

"Yeah, just tired from being comatose and brain dead."

He nods and scribbles something else on his note pad. "Well when you're ready we can begin."

"Sure thing doctor. Fire away."

Am I Memorex? - Part 10

The lights are switched to full when I am expected to wake. I sit on the bed until the doctor arrives.

"Good morning," he says with a smile. He never smiles. "How are you today?"

"Better than I was yesterday," I say with a shrug.

"Hmm, yes being conscious could be considered an improvement over being comatose." He scribbles on his note pad, his fake smile slips revealing his normal frown.

"I meant being alive is better than being dead."

"Hmm, well you weren't really dead yesterday, were you? Hmm brain dead maybe," he muses to himself, "but then you clones start that way."

Am I Memorex? - Part 9

"You were having a nightmare," a voice says from behind me.

I turn and in the almost black of the room I can just barely see her. She's half laying, half sitting behind me fingers smoothing my hair. "Go back to sleep. It's still early," she tells me.

I nod and turn back to sleep. I feel chilled. Looking down I see my blankets and sheet are bunched and tangled around my feet. My angel in nurse guise sees them as well and helps me straighten them out.

Properly covered I fall back asleep and dream of nothing.

Am I Memorex? - Part 8

I grab and throw him into the wall. One jumps onto my back. Her hands claw at my face mask. Then the rest begin piling on.

My mask is torn free. Hot air and smoke burn my eyes and lungs. Someone presses a smaller air mask to my face and I take a breath. Something feels wrong. The air is wrong. I glance down and follow the air tube to my belt. I jerk my head away but strong arms hold me still. I feel heavy, tired, and I stop resisting. The arms holding me relax.

I feel fingers gently combing through my hair before it all goes black.

Am I Memorex? - Part 7

My second kick catches him square in the solar plexus. He doubles over gasping for air. I pull the flexible mask attached to the small air bottle on my belt free and stand over him. I open the bottle and force the mask over his mouth. He can't stop himself from breathing in the carbon monoxide. He struggles get weaker with each breath until he stops moving. I hold the mask over his face until his chest stops as well.

The smoke is getting thicker. I look around and I'm surrounded. Why aren't they gasping and choking on the smoke? I wonder before the first one lunges at me.

Am I Memorex? - Week 1

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?

---

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?" the 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.

"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's 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.

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 splitting headache," I say. Her hand slides down the side of my face cupping my cheek for a second before moving on to my shoulder and squeezing it gently.

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

She turns down the lights before leaving. I close my eyes and fall asleep before the door closes and locks with a thump.

I dream of a smoke filled hallway.

People cough and stumble through it to the stairwell. I can see and breathe easy because I am wearing firefighting gear. I'm not a firefighter.

I walk against the flow of people, checking rooms for stranglers, guiding them to the stairs. No one in the hotel is supposed to die tonight. Except for one man.

I see him. Half his face is behind a wet towel and he's crouched down low, his free hand following the wall to the stairs.

He's followed the wall into a small alcove. I make my way to him. He sees me as I walk toward him but does nothing to stop me from kicking him in the crotch. I've landed one solid blow but he isn't down yet. My kick to his stomach is intercepted and he nearly makes me fall but the first blow left him gasping and the lack of fresh air is hampering him.

He looks at me, our eyes meet and I can see the accusation in his eyes. I'm not playing fair. I've stacked the deck in my favor. For a second I think about feeling sorry for him but I don't.

Am I Memorex? - Part 6

He's followed the wall into a small alcove. I make my way to him. He sees me as I walk toward him but does nothing to stop me from kicking him in the crotch. I've landed one solid blow but he isn't down yet. My kick to his stomach is intercepted and he nearly makes me fall but the first blow left him gasping and the lack of fresh air is hampering him.

He looks at me, our eyes meet and I can see the accusation in his eyes. I'm not playing fair. I've stacked the deck in my favor. For a second I think about feeling sorry for him but I don't.

Am I Memorex? - Part 5

She turns down the lights before leaving. I close my eyes and fall asleep before the door closes and the locks thump.

I dream of a smoke filled hallway.

People cough and stumble through it to the stairwell. I can see and breathe easy because I am wearing firefighting gear. I'm not a firefighter.

I walk against the flow of people, checking rooms for stranglers, guiding them to the stairs. No one in the hotel is supposed to die tonight. Except for one man.

I see him. Half his face is behind a wet towel and he's crouched down low, his free hand following the wall to the stairs.