AN: This is a short poem based on the scene from The Prestige where Angier creates the first clone in his machine, and after staring in wonderment for a moment, kills it. Written in First Person, in the perspective of the clone. Enjoy! Reviews are always welcome!
When I appeared across the room
We were different, and the same
Our consciousness identical
We even shared the name
But Still I knew as I awoke
I was a different man
I searched our mind, our memories,
Until I saw the plan
Gasping, I looked up at him
And he stared at me in awe,
My existence greatly pleased him
But his heart I could not thaw
His eyes showed guilt and pity
As he quickly seized his gun
And as I saw it rise to me,
my wits did surely run.
"No!" I cried, "don't do it!"
But the trigger he did seize.
And my life he put an end to,
with a simple, gentle, squeeze.
While I fell he turned away,
certain I was finished,
But as I fell, I screamed at him,
my strength not yet diminished.
"How many now!? How many more
will die beneath your stage!?"
And suddenly, he turned to me
with a cruel and newfound rage.
"No! Cease talking you! you...duplicate,
a mere facsimile!
You're just a reproduction, replication;
an unreal imitation of me!"
"But this is real!" I pointed
at the bloodstain on my shirt.
"How could a carbon copy
be susceptible to hurt?"
And with a growl he left me,
to die all on my own.
My mind, it dwelled upon his words
was I really just a clone?
Oh no, I thought there, with a smile
for when we all are dead
My brothers and I will take revenge
and haunt that man till his mind deserts his head.
