The Same as Me

We call them dummies. Scientifically they’re referred to as Genetically Modified Incubatory Clones. But, everyone just started to call them dummies at some point. It’s actually a cruel name when you think about it. The disease began to spread five years ago. No one is sure where it started. Researchers have been trying to find a source for a while, but there doesn’t seem to be one. A lot of people think it’s God punishing us. He’s cleaning the house. No one knows how you get it either. It’s random in it’s selection. People just begin getting sick. It starts out like a cold. You get a cough, some sniffles, a sore throat, nothing major. Most people don’t think much of it. They barely notice. Then you get the fever and you start throwing up and the pain begins. It’s horrible, keeled over, clenching your stomach pain and nothing helps. That’s when your organs start to fail. Once that happens, you have about four to six months. It’s not a long time, but it’s not a fast death. It’s torture. 3 billion have died so far.

Since we don’t know where it comes from, we can’t study those who are immune. We don’t even know if anyone is immune. And we can’t make a vaccine because we don’t know what it is. The rich needed a cure, though. And they went to extreme lengths to find one. Marcus Colson came up with the idea. He earned his billions in biotechnology. He came up with the clones. Videos have surfaced of what scientists were doing and it’s disgusting. But, we’re so desperate to survive, we just turn the other way. We needed organs but we couldn’t use the ones from the infected and there weren’t enough uninfected people dying to keep up with the demand. So Colson made the clones, or dummies. An exact replica of a person down to each beauty mark. If you can afford to buy one, it’s your only chance at survival. Most people who get transplants recover. Still, some people die from complications. It’s not certain that it works, but it’s the only chance you have right now. The dummies sole purpose in living is to provide organs to their sick counterparts. We call them dummies because rumors say they don’t speak. They’re not taught anything. They get created, grow for a few months, then are slaughtered. There’s no purpose in teaching them anything.

“How are you today?” Doctor Brady asked as he scanned over my chart. The nurse had come in earlier to check my vitals.

“Cold,” I shivered. It was especially chilly in the room today. I’ve been bed ridden in the hospital for three weeks. I realized I was infected a little over two months ago. As soon as I was diagnosed, my parents found the best transplant surgeon in the country and packed us up. I can barely walk to the bathroom four feet away from the bed anymore. I’m in constant pain. My only release is sleep, which I do most of the day.

“It’s your fever. It’s going up. I’ll get someone to bring you medicine and another blanket,” He put the chart down. A serious look spread across his face, “I got word from Colson Genetics this morning. Your clone is ready to be harvested. We can start preparing you for surgery in the next few days.”

I didn’t know how to feel. I was relieved that maybe this would be over, that maybe I would have a chance to live. But, I’ve been struggling with the feeling of guilt. Someone was created to sacrifice themselves for me and they don’t even know. They didn’t ask for this. It’s not fair.

“Can I meet them?” It was probably a bad idea. I might be torturing myself in some sick way, but I don’t want my clone to give up its life for me without me at least thanking them. Whether they understand or not.

“You want to meet your clone?” Doctor Brady sounded stunned. From the inquisitive look on his face I assumed no one had asked him that before. I nodded, confirming my question.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re weak right now. I don’t think you should be leaving the hospital.”

“Please, I just need to see them.”

He took a moment. Then nodded, “I’ll contact the facility, see if they’ll allow it. A nurse would have to travel with you, though. But, you just get some sleep for now.”

I woke up a few hours later when I heard muffled arguing in the doorway. My parents were here, clearly upset. I coughed to indicate I was awake. My mother jolted back, shocked, and rushed to my bedside. My mother was more worried than I was about me dying. When everyone began to get sick, I think I accepted that it might happen to me, I would think a lot of people did. But, parents can’t accept their children dying before them, and they shouldn’t have to. My mothers been wildly protective and doesn't ever want to leave my side. My dad practically has to drag her back to the hotel every few days to shower.

“Honey,” she petted my hair, “ why would you want to go meet your dummy? I don’t think that’s a good choice. You need to rest for surgery.”

I shrugged softly, “I just need to, mom. I don’t think I can go through with it without meeting them. They’re saving me. I want to at least see them.”

She looked to my father for support in her argument, but he stayed silent, just looked down at his feet. My mother was clearly irritated, but she relented.

“Ok.” Was all she said.

The local Colson Genetic Housing Facilities weren’t far from the hospital. There were a few facilities around the country near major cities where clones were shipped to to grow for a few months. They needed them close to large hospitals so that the organs would be preserved after harvestation. It only took us about an hour to get there. A nurse rode with us to make sure I would be okay. Once we got there, though, the receptionist said no one could come in besides me, stating confidentiality. The transparency in the process needed to be limited to as few people as possible. My mother was clearly displeased, but what could she do? We were already there. So, the receptionist wheeled me in herself. I was patted down by a security guard and my phone was confiscated.

“Clones are housed in individual cells where they have a bed and a toilet,” The receptionist told me as she rolled me down a dark grey hall. The building was cold and eerie. I couldn’t believe they kept people in here. It seemed inhumane. “You can have about ten minutes with your clone, but don’t expect anything. They can’t hold conversations, doubt they could even understand you.”

She stopped my chair in front of a large steel door. It had the number 256 in large font, a little opening for what I assumed was food, and a small window in it. This place was basically a jail. The receptionist unlocked the door and opened it for me.

“Do you want me to stay?” She seemed annoyed, so I shook my head. She walked away back down the dim hallway. I wheeled myself into the doorway. There she was, me, well not literally. She sat on the bed, staring at the wall, still. For a moment I wasn’t sure if she could even move. She didn’t even seem real, just like a mannequin, posed. But she looked exactly like me. It was frightening. I mustered the strength to get on my feet and stumble slowly closer. I felt weird, something wasn’t right.

She abruptly stood, shocking me, making me trip backwards a step. We were now face to face. Up close it was even more unreal. She had the same little freckle on her nose, the same small dimple on the left side of her mouth, and her hair even fell in the same way. It felt almost sinister to look at myself and have myself stare back, blankly. Her eyes were hollow and soulless. I imagine her mind being blank. It felt like she was just a human shaped shell. My breathing was ragged. I was nervous. I kept trying to speak but the words were choked up in my throat.

“Hi,” I finally muttered. No semblance of recognition to the word crossed her face. I knew she couldn’t understand me but I continued as I started to sniffle and hold back tears, “I know you don’t realize what is happening. You don’t know what you’re about to do. What you’re about to give me. But, I wanted to thank you. You’re going to save my life. I know you didn’t choose this , but I appreciate you so much. I needed to introduce myself to you, I think I owe you that. I’m Becca.”

I began to sob. She was being sacrificed for me. It wasn’t fair or right and the fact that she wasn’t even cognizant of her reality broke my heart. I reached out to touch her shoulder, timidly, unsure if she would react. She didn’t even flinch. So, I hugged her. I don’t know why exactly, maybe just that natural human instinct would show her I cared.

Pain. I felt pain. In my stomach. Not like the pain of the disease. This was sudden and sharp. Then I felt a liquid dampening my shirt. I pulled back. Her once expressionless face had a slight smirk. She looked wicked, evil even. I touched my stomach and looked down at my now red covered hand. My eyes darted to her side where her hand grasped a sharp object covered in my blood. I slunk down to the floor, sitting on my knees, gasping for air, staring at her in bewilderment. What was happening? She slowly lowered herself to me. Our faces now leveled again.

“I understand,” her voice was low and raspy, like it was rusty from being unused. I couldn’t speak. It hurt too much to even breathe. Her eyes moved down to my neck where the golden heart shaped locket my grandmother left me after she passed had rested on me for ten years. I had never taken it off. She reached behind my head and unclasped it, removing it from me before putting it on her own neck. She adjusted it, then stood back up, hovering high above me. She appeared giant at this moment. Far from the empty shell she was a few moments ago. I felt small, like an ant that had just been stepped on.

“I’m Becca now,” she barked at me. She slinked over to my wheelchair and sat in it before wheeling herself out and slamming the dense door loudly.

I slipped to the ground, falling onto my back, still grasping my stomach. Blood oozed from me like a slow creek. I tried to speak but nothing but a small, “help,” escaped my lips. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes couldn’t stay open and I faded away.