There was nothing to be done now, Oliver supposed. Slamming his fingers into the guitar strings, crying as the blood splattered on his fingers. It hurt, but his tears nullified the discomfort. Phosphenes flew past, dancing around, as the lights tease him. Of course, It would be gone when he dies , and so would everything else. To others, that must be torture, but Oliver never had believed in the afterlife. A cry in the midst of laughter is one that won't be noticed. The string snaps.
If there was one thing Oliver could remember, was the stories he was told as a child. Of doppelgangers, killing their mirrors. Of the boy who cried the oceans. Whether he believed this or not, he wouldn't know. Secretly, he looks around to wonder. Bandaged fingers tear at his hair, letting strands of black float down. A small roundabout, took him past the school. The daunting shadows curled around his sneakers that emitted small squeaks. A peace that was nice, after all the crying and screaming. He holds the pills.
In a world like this, no one knows what is or is not possible. He fails to take the pills. However, he was too tired to walk home again. Emotionally drained, or physically drained, Oliver didn't know. But a spark lead to another, and he went along. If he was lost, he couldn't care less but the fact someone was watching him was concerning. With a slightly sinister look, with a hood covering any facial details-And was that the exact same hood he had? It's all a coincidence, he reminds himself. But the creeping feeling didn't go away. He's made this jacket for himself- alone. But a turn of events, is a turn of fates, so he turned to the man by whom he was fascinated.
"Who are you?"
The stranger palsed, seemingly compleplating his answer, "... I am you,"
Oliver's fingers twitched, hovering over his pocket. The best weapon he had, an unsharpened pencil.
"I meant what I said, Who are you?"
The smile never left. But he did. Staring after him, Oliver clenches his fist. He shouts to the blank nothingness.
"I don't even know who I am!"
He stares at himself, fingering the sharp pencil, hearing the pills shake. Perhaps another day, And he decides to find his way home.
After that encounter Oliver finds himself shockingly calm- a stark contrast to what he should be. He reads about such encounters in books, how they get so paranoid they're driven to madness. But not at all feeling these effects, he seemed calmer than he was before. He sometimes catches himself imagining what the other wanted. How hopeless.
On the edge of a gutter he pulls his hood up, to muffle any and all conversations around him. A boy who ran away, a boy who never cared. He thinks, A boy who was never understood. Grimacing, as he always does when he refers to himself, he finds himself before his small and dim home. He unlocks the door.
His first hint, was the fact that the signature clicking was gone. He always left his alarm, blaring as he leaves. It was a comfort of his, to hear something after hearing nothing for so long. His second hint, was the wrongness in the feeling of the house. It was too filled, instead of empty for once. He holds the pencil.
"Hello?"
He doesn't know what to expect, walking in a house that's all sorts of wrong and greeting it like it would respond, and yet, it does.
"You're back."
Oliver stares. And so he is.
"Why are you me?"
"Why aren't you someone else?"
Stuck at a standstill, they stare at each other. An internal struggle, this is. Oliver reaches over, and take the other's hood off. He stared right back at himself.
"Wouldn't it be sad, If the only one who cared for you was yourself?"
Oliver shook, backing away. Stories were not real life. He wouldn't have a doppelganger. After all, no matter how close the resemblance they did not look the same.
"Why is your neck covered?" He asks.
"Why do you have pills?" His doppelganger replies.
Oliver closes his eye. Was he really like this? Frustrating and vague?
"I am here because I did it. You did it. In the future. And I realize, I have to stop you."