%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Keon was created for one purpose: to be someone else's second chance. |
| When Keon realized he was far enough away that he no longer had to check behind him, he dipped into another alleyway and sat down on the cold concrete, arms wrapped around himself as he rested his head on his knees. Around the corner, through an open window, an old TV playing the news sounded throughout the alley. “—another gang fight broke out over the weekend. Authorities cannot keep up with the growing number of clone casualties. The number of riots is rising—“ A loud groan escaped Keon’s lips. His ears, instead of listening to the rest of the news, focused on the sound of loose trash scraping against the ground as the wind smacked it around. Nursing his wounds in one of the worst areas in the city wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Lucky for him, he was part of the garbage; he was what the people feared. His people were going around terrorizing and causing trouble for everyone. He licked his dry lips in frustration at the thought. The TV sounded off again, mimicking his current thoughts. “—citizens are worried they created monsters. They created clones to help keep humans alive. They are nothing but miracles; an abundance of research material used for organ transplants and other medical phenomenon, while still being treated as closely as possible to human beings. Although Scientists and Government Officials see things differently, we see clones as humans, but they are not human. The Government created them for the benefit of humanity. This has been an ongoing battle for generations. Even religion—“ A sigh overtook him as he buried his head in-between his knees. It was all over the news and yet nothing had changed. He hated hearing about it. He was a clone, a “human backup.” One day, when the person who bought him was sick and dying, they would use his body to save theirs. His life expectancy wasn’t a day over thirty, if that. Statistics he learned in school about his kind replayed over in his mind, unrelenting and unforgiving in their accuracy. He lifted his head and brought his eyes to his wrist. Underneath the skin, embedded deep into his flesh, laid a tracker that took away his humanity. With it, no clone was free. To be watched at all times with information at the human’s disposal with a simple scan, freedom was in name only. His name, blood type, place of residence, date he entered the world—not birthed—and who his current master was. Freedom was a word for humans, not its look-a-likes. Suddenly, as if his body knew, his wrist throbbed and ache. The phantom pain would never let him forget who or what he was. A gunshot went off in the distance then, sending a shock of distress through him. “f***.” That could only mean another gang fight was about to start. He had to move before he got caught in it. Keon stood up, using the wall as support. His battered body made walking even more challenging. His master was going to be pissed when he got home. |
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