“Lahav? Lahav, can you hear me?! Answer, damn it!”
One of the two walls still left standing in the corner high-rise apartment had another hole punched through it as I was thrown clear. I slid on the floor among the wreckage and burning debris and eventually came to a halt as I bumped into a fallen beam. Rolling onto my side, I tried to stand up. My clothes were dirty with dust and bits of plaster were hanging off. I wiped the blood from my nose and dabbed at the cut on my brow, sending a sharp pain through my cranium. I stood up and held my bruised side then turned around.
Some people say that every person in the world has a double, someone else out there, whom you’ll probably never meet, who is your exact duplicate. They look like you and maybe act like you. I think this theory is complete and utter bulldrek. The odds of you existing, instead of some other version, are derived from possible combinations of your parents’ genes. I don’t know the precise numbers but I am sure they number in the billions. And the odds of someone else out there who is exactly like you, even considering the idea your parents went out and fooled around yet again, is that number squared. Those are numbers few humanoids can comprehend, let alone calculate. That is what left me with only one conclusion.
“Hey Lahav,” The voice came from the other side of the wall. “You’re not hurt too bad, are you?” The sandy-colored, short, scruffy haired head peaked in through the hole left by my entrance into the room. “Because I would really like to keep playing.” He said, with my voice.
He stepped over the breach in the wall and stood inside. Those sharp and distinct features I see in the mirror everyday filled me with nothing but disdain and the flames, from the various sources in this space, gave his face an air of wickedness.
I pulled my hand back from my forehead and looked at it. It was spattered with blood but not a great deal of it. I cracked my fingers and sent my arms forward, enticing a wave of muscle movement from my lower back upwards, releasing the strain and unfolding tout muscles. I crouched slightly and took my arms back arranging them in the starting pose.
“Come, brother. I will receive you with open arms.”
He smiled and I raised a middle finger.
Posted in From the Writing Desk by Eran with 7 comments.