c l o n e s
a human, transplanting a head to a clone engineered without a brain. The promise of immortality always seemed right around the corner, like the cure for cancer.
I stared at the door. What a waste, I thought.
My old man didn't want me. I was an "Oops." He didn't feel he owed me anything. Junior was intentional. He had cable TV and Internet. He had an eclectic—yes, I know what that word means--upbringing from his many babysitters, and an independent adolescence that taught him self-reliance. He even had my wisdom, the most important advantage of all, my advice on everything in the world, to prevent him making my mistakes.
My bottle of scotch was almost empty and I was sinking deeper into my lazy-boy with these thoughts as a blanket. The day's event's had made me aware enough to know I was "rationalizing," as the social worker put it, but what else could I do? My 18-year sentence was up, but the crime was just now being let loose on the world. Even with someone to warn me, I would still make my mistakes. Even with every advantage provided me, I would still fail. It was in the genes life dealt me, completely out of my control…and there was something very comforting about that.
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