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I am not he
By Evan J. Schlesinger


Chapter 1: Möbius strip

I am a long line of unoriginality, twenty-fifth to be exact. Twenty-five men grew and died like me, they thought like me. Hell, they even breathed like me. Each time though, they become less original. Choices and circumstances are repeated, and his mistakes or his successes are repeated. He was a politician, a scientist. One time, sometimes I regret to admit it, he was a porn star.... only for a brief time, he died of AIDS two years after starting.
It seems like history does repeat, especially with the legalization of cloning after 2045... are we truly doomed to repeat our mistakes if we aren't allowed to die? We learn of men in history, brave and foolish men. Who ruled vast empires with iron fists, who fought for their contrives during the world wars of the 20th centuries.
Whatever I know...No, whatever I learn, has already been heard and filtered and sugar coated by so many ears that I doubt there is an ounce of truth left in this world. Maybe on Mars, I've heard the colonists there live twice as long due to the naturally occurring minerals in the groundwater... Space though is a scary place; it is either to dark, or too light, or not enough of this or that. I'd rather keep my feet planted on my cage-like apartment.
Floor 100,463...
Room 100,46.3...
Right next to that awful elevator that breaks down at three in the morning; like clockwork almost...

A heavy knocking irradiates from the door, it is the recognizable pattern of knocks and pounding that could only be created by the human mind alone.

"Who is it?" I asked, I knew it was him anyways, "If you're selling cookies, I don’t want any!"
"Open up a**-wipe" said the door, of course it was him. His flower-full language was too noticeable.
"Hey, give me a sec man, I'm half naked!"
"Man, stop jacking off and open the ******** door, I'm serious, you need a girl-friend badly"

I reluctantly got off the chrome couch, my favorite tool to relaxation, and bumped into the glass coffee table perched next to the couch. It always wished to trip me, most of my furniture have personalities. The HV-TV hides in the corner, like the awkward nerdy kids in those old high-school romances... Sometimes I would rearrange the furniture to see how they reacted... The couch often had affairs with the white chair in my kitchen. They gaze at each other from affair, like Romeo and Juliet... knowing that their forbidden lust for each other was only a passing faze, a fleeting moment in the scope of the universe. The table is the loner of the group; he stays to the side of the furniture, which are the more popular, yet he is important to the social structure of my furniture. In all, I act as the narrator of my living room, a "dues ex machina" of sorts... creating drama and ending conflict in this small area of my life.
The cold metallic floor echoes with my footsteps as I shuffle towards the door. I stand in front the plain plastic-like white door, it shimmered slightly as random hairs of light combed through the cheap vinyl shades.
I wrap my hand around the cold handle of the door and lethargically turn as the tumblers whined and moaned.
Suddenly!! The door jolted open from the rhino-like strength of Steven.

"Hey you mother ********!" he yelled as his burly arms wrapped around me in an embrace that could snap a tree in half. My back gave out a cracking sound like breaking glass under a rubber boot.

"Can't.... breath..."
"Aww don't be a baby"
"You can let go now"

Steven lessened his grip and I jarred free of his clutches. Cold-air rushed into my lungs, which triggered a coughing fit.

"Damn it Steven" I said between coughs, "You will be the death of me, how much you think I cost?"

"Ah, you were a cheapskate when you were an original though, no changing that." he said, running his meaty fingers though his blond hair.
Steven and I have been friends over the centuries; he never changed, and neither have I. His reoccurring blond hair and deep blue eyes never changed. He was a nice guy I guess, as children we were played together at school. Teachers nowadays teach the same class over and over as the same classes return again.... and again.
"Hey, I have to introduce you to someone" said Steven, usually at this time; he introduces me to the ugly sister of a girl he wants to date so that he can be alone with his "special friend". A girl, around 15 in her looks, peered from behind the doorway.

"Umm... this is kind of awkward" she said, he voice almost a whisper with a sprinkling of sassiness to it.

"Don't worry, I've had my shots", I said, my poor attempt at a joke resulted in to usual look of disgust from the listeners. "Well, I guess they forgot they added my comical gene when I was in the tube..." This was my attempt to recover the situation, this failed in almost every way possible. I was never one for first impressions anyways.
"...Well anyways Evan, this is Christina" said Steven after an unbearably long silence. "Umm... nice to meet you Evan"
"Pleasure is mine."
"No it's mine, I asked her out to a movie and I need you to baby-sit her sister." said Steven, he raised an eyebrow and folded his muscular arms.

Steven has many tells in normal conversation; his folded arms and raised eyebrow meant that I was to be his "wing man" or he would beat my sorry-a** all the way to the kieper-belt.

Reluctantly, I nodded and bid my guests inside my cage with a swift motion of my hand in a regal fashion.

I saw Christina clearer now that she stepped out from behind Steven's bulk. Her hair was cut short, almost in a masculine fashion. It flowed out of her head like a dark chocolate waterfall and ended abruptly at her chin. Her oval-ish head housed two eyeballs, slightly too small for the expansive space of her eye-sockets, and her sharp nose made a triangle that reminded me of a cockatoos' beak, which lead me down to her lips... An over-saturated expanse of red and pink, soft and smooth... She seemed so plastic, like a toy doll almost...

...It was disgusting...

Chapter 2: Close Encounters with the Idiotic Kind

By now I would have thought that mankind would have found a solution to the long elevator wait by now. The decrepit 20th century pulley elevator took roughly 20 minutes to get to my floor, and a half an hour before we got to a transit tube. At first it was bearable, Christina held onto Steven's arm like a scared child, she appeared almost afraid of me.

"So Steven, aside being the obvious ladies man that you are, what’s been going on?" I asked, while the elevator made it's way eventually to my floor. I could hear its' rusted cables screeching as they resisted the pull of the elevator's mass.

"Ah, nothing much man, just trying to survive junior year as always...I'm just trying to get my s**t straight before next month" He said, trying to make himself look like more of a sap then he already was.

Christina whispered something in Stevens ear then glanced at me with a piercing glance that was followed by a generic blush and giggle. Steven then turned his head so he could focus his eyeballs on my form. He slowly gazed from my shoes to my hair, it felt as though I was a test subject for an evil corporation. Time slowed down to a bear nub, the ticking of a watch could have been heard easily down the hall.

Steven turned his thick neck so his head swiveled back like a car fishtailing, he whispered back in Christina's ear, and another soft giggle erupted from her mouth as she failed to contain it.

"So what are you two love-birds giggling about?" I asked, usually my curiosity would just lead to silence and a rejection. Steven opened his mouth as the resentment of speaking slipped out in a slight gurgling noise; Christina interrupted the odd sound and nervously began to tell the "secret".

"Well, I have a friend of mine who needs a date," I already knew what was coming... "And I was wondering if we could double date tonight?"

The cracking of Steven's knuckles could be heard from the bottom floor, I thought about it and simply nodded my head...I would rather not be the reason why Steven couldn't get laid, It would be a bad place to be if I wanted to stay healthy.
Suddenly, the indistinguishable ring of the elevator echoed down the metallic hallway as the old doors jerked open with explosive force. An older man, probably homeless from the style of clothes he wore, was standing in the elevator with glassed over eyes. He stepped out with his shoulders hunched as he shuffled out of the elevator, his ripped sneakers tracked mud from the ground level in a path of dirt and crap. I walked in the elevator, making sure not to step in the trail of earth left by the man, Steven and Christina waltzed in right as the doors began to close in their jerking fashion.

"What the ******** was with that guy?" Steven said to no one in particular.

I said after a few seconds, "This building has a lot of homeless in it, they do serious drugs on the lower levels, and sleep in the unoccupied rooms."

Christina looked at me, her eyes studying my response. She looked as though she was angry at me for being so realistic, and not have said something that was nicer like: he was a garbage collector, or that I knew him and he was retired... or something along the lines of that.