World of The Clones (Part 1&2)

Novalie 2, 4568 (2:00 am)

I’m lying in my broken wooden bed unable to sleep for the billionth time and for once, it isn't because of my rock-hard mattress. No, this time it is because I have finally realized just how insane this world is. Everyone on Planet Delmira is a clone, all two billion of us. We’re all just copies of six humans, known as the Final Six. We don’t even know if any of our thoughts are our own. And yet, everyone is just going about their daily lives as if that isn’t a cause for concern. Or maybe we all just got used to living with that fact.

New Year’s Day has finally passed, and I’m bittersweet about it because it means that I have to return to work to fulfill the purpose of my creation. Now that the holiday is over, I will go back to doing my part in creating more clones to inhabit this absurd world at the creation factory downtown, which will be opening back up again later today. After all, it’s the only way to keep our species from going extinct, since we aren’t capable of producing offspring. I finally start to feel drowsy and drift off to sleep. Soon the sun will rise, and the sunlight from our red dwarf sun will shine upon the land.

Novalie 2, 4568 (07:00 am)

Red sunlight flashes through the window of my tiny cubicle apartment and onto my face. I wake up irritated that the government has yet to bring me the curtains I ordered last week. I get out of bed, brush my teeth, shower, put on my work clothes and exit the apartment.

The purple sky is clear and light wind from the east whispers across the coast. The city is busy, as usual. Despite the busyness, the bustling streets are mostly silent. I join the ever-expanding crowd as we all march in one direction. The only noise breaking the silence is the sound of our footsteps moving in unison. No one dares to look at or speak to someone else in the crowd. There is an unspoken collective agreement among everyone that awkward silence is best, especially with hidden government cameras watching our every move. One can only socialize when the government gives permission to do so. And the government only allows the public to socialize at certain times of the day. Now is not one of those sanctioned times. After a little while, the group begins to slowly decrease in size as we start to arrive at the buildings in which we work. As I walk lock step with the crowd, I think about the events of last year.

4567 had been a long year with the hen wolves and tiger pigs attacks. Hen wolves usually are about six feet tall, walk on four legs, have grey fur, a spiky tail tipped with venom and the head of a bird. Tiger pigs, on the other hand, are usually the size of a small building. They have pink skin, sharp clams, a curly pink tail that resembles a metal spring and walk on four legs. Unlike the rest of their body, their head has orange and white fur. They have sharp teeth and white whiskers. And can spit acid.

As if the hen wolves and tiger pigs weren't bad enough. There was the failed coup against our one world government by misprint clones that had occurred during the summer. Though no one is supposed to acknowledge their existence, misprint clones are real. Misprint clones are defective clones. They are considered defective because they don't look identical to any member of the Final Six. So they are banished to the wild due to their imperfection. And in this society, everything must always be perfect. Perfection means the everything looks the same, smells the same, sounds the same, feels the same, and even taste the same. It implies order, efficiency, and the balance of man with nature. It wasn’t always this way; elder clones would tell me.

Our species weren't always clones obsessed with perfection. In fact, there was a time when not one member of species was a clone. Thousands of years ago, before the apocalypse occurred on Planet Earth, our home planet, years were shorter. Planet Delmira is a much larger planet than Earth, so it rotates even slower on its axis. While it took twenty-four hours for the Earth to complete one rotation, it takes Delmira twenty-six hours to do the same. And even though Delmira is closer to its red dwarf sun than the Earth was to its yellow sun, Earth orbited its sun more quickly. It took Earth three hundred sixty-five days to revolve around its sun. It takes Delmira three hundred ninety-five days to do likewise, despite Earth's sun being far more gigantic. As a result, Earth had twelve months in a year, while Delmira has thirteen. Earth had seven continents and four oceans. Delmira has twelve continents and seven oceans. Sadly, the days of Earth has long since passed for our species. Lost to time like a trail of footprints on the sands of a beach being swallowed by the sea.

Novalie 2, 4568 (8:30 am)

I finally arrived at work. One could be forgiven for not realizing that the building was a factory. Taking up twelve city blocks and reaching a towering height of two thousand feet, it was designed in such a way that it created a perfect balance between man and nature. The factory resembled a tiny mountain range. In fact, for many clones, it was difficult to figure out where the mountains ended, and the factory began. It even had its own artificial waterfall. Planet Delmira has fifty creation factories. Most aren't anywhere near this gigantic. The one I work at is only so massive because it also doubled as the headquarters for the Department of Creation. (Also known as the D.O.C.)

Before I can enter the building, I have to get past a security checkpoint. Once I reach the checkpoint, I am stopped by a security guard who blocks my path. She has caramel colored skin, green eyes, and long, curly, silver-white hair. She is clearly cloned after Mia, a member of the Final Six. Holding a tablet in her hands, the guard looks toward me.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Answer them to the best of your ability. If caught lying, I am under legal obligation to kill you right here and now.", she says in a deadpan, matter-of-factly voice.

"Yes, ma'am," I answer promptly

"Please hand over your I.D."

I quickly comply.

"Clone type?", she asks

"I'm cloned after Aaquail.", I state

"Serial number?"

"4, 0, 5, 6 , 3, 7, dash 8, 1, 9, 2 dash 0, 1, 3, 9, 7"

"Date of creation?"

" I was awakened on the 25th day in the month of Exton, in the year 4544."

"Purpose of Creation?", she inquires

"The purpose of my existence is to help increase the population of our society.", I assert

"Lifespan Determination?"

"It was determined by the D.O.C that I am to live for 70 years."

"Date of expiration?"

"The 14th of Kasian in the year 4614."

She looks at her tablet and my I.D. to determine if I have deceived her about my identity. After she is satisfied, I am finally granted permission to enter the building. Once inside, I promptly take the elevator to the sixth floor. I read the digital clock on the wall. It's eight forty-five am. I clock in and get to work.

Novalie 2, 4568 (13:00 pm; Also known as Noon)

At the creation factory, I am nothing more than a faceless government bureaucrat who works for the D.O.C. In our society, one doesn't have the freedom to decide what they're meant to do. It's just too inefficient. Instead, overworked and underpaid, government bureaucrats like myself, assign to newly created clones their purpose of creation. We tell these new clones, why we allow them to exist. Failure to live up to your pre-assigned purpose of creation means that you're not a model citizen of our wonderful society. You're worse than a misprint clone. They're just defective. Presumably, if they weren't defective, then they would be perfect. By failing to live up to your pre-assignment purpose of creation, you become a constant reminder of imperfection. A constant reminder of the fact it is very possible to not be defective and sill be imperfect. And for that repugnant reminder, the punishment is deactivation, which is essentially an execution.

But now was not the time to dwell on such negative things. For it is lunchtime, and I plan on enjoying my hour-long break. I clock out and go to the factory's cafeteria. I go through the long line and sit at one of the tables in the back alone. Other employees sit with their fellow associates and eagerly begin conversing with one another since now is one of the government sanctions times to socialize. I'm not so eager to socialize because I don't like to mingle. People think that I'm anti-social, but the truth is that I just enjoy being left alone with my thoughts. Instead, I use this time to daydream about not being a clone and living in a society where people are their own unique selves.

Novalie 2, 4568 (6:00 pm)

It's quittin' time. As I am about to clock out, I hear people shouts of anger. I decide to locate the source of all the commotion. It isn't long before I do. It's coming from a small group of newly created clones. They have been informed by one of my colleagues about their assigned purpose of creation. It's not going well. Apparently, no one in the group likes their assigned purpose of creation. This rarely happens, but it isn't unheard of. It just means that the batch is inadequate. The faulty batch began demanding that be allowed to decide their own purpose of creation. I admit to being sympathetic to their demands. However, I realize it just isn't possible. It's far too inefficient. Clones being given an assigned purpose of creation is a large part of what keeps the system in check.

It isn't long before security arrives and takes the faulty batch away for deactivation. That's what they get, I tell myself with half-hearted belief. I clocked out and head home knowing that today's events will more or less also happen tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that, until the date of my expiration like a cog in a machine. Such is life, I guess. There isn't anything I could possibly do to change it. After all, I'm just a faceless government bureaucrat.