Tentatively entitled: The Man Who Forgot How to Die
John woke up one morning to find that he’d been replaced. It was disconcerting, watching the him that wasn’t him go about the normal mourning routine. He knew better than to help himself, it just wasn’t done, acknowledging the duality of being. He still had faint memories of an older him, sitting on the bed and watching in the same passive silence he now employed.
Only after the new John had finished and moved from the sleeping quarters into the main bubble of the house, did the old John finally stumble into motion. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, just as he’d done a thousand other morning, pausing at the closet for a moment before turning away. They weren’t his clothes anymore.
He tossed his nightclothes into the hamper, because he couldn’t bear the thought of loosing his favorites even if it wasn’t him that would be wearing them, and pulled out one of the dusty boxes from under the bed. Inside was a pale blue jumpsuit, emblazoned with the logo of a company so old even his collective memories couldn’t recall. There were only seventeen jumpsuits left.
He waited, counting the seconds on the wall clock before he moved towards the door. Giving himself enough time to move on, and to avoid the awkward space between the old and the new.
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