I’m at the tube station. Another face in the crowd. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m just one of those people who don’t – won’t leave a mark. I often fantasize about throwing myself in front of the oncoming train. Poof. Gone.
Today’s just another day.
Same old thankless job. At some faceless corporation. Thank Fuck the pay is great. Same Styrofoam coffee mug. Same handbag cutting into my shoulder blade. Same ponytail. Same glasses. Same coat. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
The train’s here and I get in, along with about fifty billion others. I just want to get home to my cat. Smell her one time before I hit the shower and go to bed, no dinner, and mentally cross out another day off my life’s calendar. I’m lost in my own thoughts and I barely notice the girl in the black moto jacket. She takes the seat next to me. Marc Jacobs Daisy whifts over. Hey that’s the perfume I use, too.
I plug in my earphones and shut out the world. Get down at my stop. Start walking home. I feel a sharp pain in the small of my back. Then I black out.
When I come to, I’m outside my apartment. I have no idea how I got here. I hear voices and laughter coming from the inside. Someone’s watching the telly. I reach for the doorknob. And freeze. It’s unlocked. The door’s unlocked. There are people here. There are people here, Rachel, get out. I tell myself. Too late, they’ve seen me. Some person in a hoodie grabs my arm, drags me in, locks the door behind me.
Lets their hood fall.
I can’t scream. I know I’ve no siblings, because I’m an only child. Only biological child, and I grew up with my biological parents.
The girl in front of me? She looks exactly like I do. Only with fancier hair, makeup, better clothes and no glasses. What’s going on? My first thought is, It’s Orphan Black come to life and Helena is confronting me. She’ll start talking with this weird accent. And didn’t Helena murder people?!
She’s holding a knife.
It’s looking at a highly warped version of me, through a black mirror. She hands me the knife and I don’t know why I take it. I maybe even smile. She’s miming something. She wants me to slice my jugular. That’s good.
I wanted this anyway.
Everyone apparently has eight döppelgangers. Rachel got stuck with the weird one. It wasn’t the döppelganger’s fault, not really – she only wanted Rachel’s job. I guess it was a great idea to inject Rachel in the cerebrospinal fluid with some weird cocktail of tranquilizers and hypnotics and sedatives and whatever the shit, and make her do what the döppelganger wanted.
In this case, her job and her life, that Rachel was so ungrateful for.
We’ve been given this life – might as well live and enjoy it, before someone comes and takes it away. Imma thank God everyday for what I’ve been blessed with, and stop cursing. That’s my super early New year’s resolution, y’all.