Gerald looked into the face nearly identical to his own 50 years earlier. Birthed in a lab, each clone was reared on a diet of the scientist’s memories. The safe parts. The acceptable parts. This one, the most dominate of the clones, stood over him wielding the syringe Gerald kept for the inevitability that a clone must be put down.

“What is it you want?” he asked his other self.

“I want the part you refuse to give to anyone else.”

Gerald bowed his head. “That is the one thing you do not want.”

“It seems we are at an impasse.” Of all the clones, this one was most like him, Gerald thought. Perhaps he should let end him and his misery. Yet the urge to share the burden after so long was stronger.

“Very well.” Gerald capitulated, giving his other self the one memory he alone carried. He watched as the eyes of this other version of himself darted back and forth, searching the memory for some redemption for the decisions made ­ to alleviate the guilt. But Gerald had searched for decades. There was no redemption.

The other him collapsed into a chair, aging by the minute. Amazing how quickly the knowledge robbed it of its vitality, its aggression.

“Take it back,” the clone whispered.

Gerald snarled. “What part of my memory makes you think I have that kind of mercy?”

The clone shoved the syringe into Gerald’s neck, and Gerald laughed.

Yes, this one was most like him.

Photo by Pavel Danilyuk