13

13

I never thought I’d see the outside of that room, let alone have a life. There I was conditioned to believe that I had no purpose, that my dreams were futile; just another cog in the machine, spare parts. But I got out of that hell hole and it’s been two years. Two long years of freedom and bliss. I’ve made a life for myself, and from the outside looking in, it may seem mediocre, but I'm proud of what I've built. I take pride in my shitty one-bedroom apartment; I take pride in my beat-up old hatchback. I take pride in the off-brand clothes on my back and shoes on my feet. Most of all, I take pride in my job at this run-down old diner. Cooking is my only skill, seeing how that’s all they allowed me to do when I was there. Now I get to do it for people who enjoy and appreciate my skill.

It was Tuesday night, Sidney, the waitress I usually work with had a sudden family emergency, so I had the place all to myself. It had been two hours since she left before anyone walked in. I was in the back catching up on the dishes when I heard the bell chime. “Be right with you, boss,” I said.

“No rush brotha, take your time” he called back. I finished rinsing off a pan and put it onto the drying rack.

“Can I grab you something to drink?” I called out to him.

“Yeah I'll take a coffee, black please” he called back. I poured his cup and got a look at him over the swinging doors. He sat leaning forward perching his elbows on the table. Though he was sitting down, I could tell he was a big dude. He wore a hoodie with the hood pulled down so low, it reminded me of the bad guy from those star wars films I recently watched. The only part of his face I could see was the light brown skin of his chin.

“Here ya go,” I said, stepping through the doors with the steaming cup of joe. I grabbed a square napkin from the pile under the counter and placed it down with the coffee on top. As I pulled out my crumbly old notepad, “what can I get started for you?” I casually asked the giant customer.

He picked up his coffee slowly and took a sip. “Nothing. We don't plan on being here much longer,” he answered in a matter of fact tone that sounded oddly familiar.

“We?” I asked, utterly puzzled. I looked out the window to the parking lot and there wasn't a car in sight. He took his hood off, long graying curly hair tumbling from beneath it. Then looked up at me with dark brown, almost black eyes... my eyes. It was like I was looking in a mirror, but the reflection looked much older and had a sadistic, amused smile.

“Long time no see, 13,” said my sardonic reflection. “We missed you so much,” he continued.

“1” I gasped. Stomach tightening with fear, I took a retreating step back, and then I felt cold hard steel on the back of my neck, followed by a heavy metallic click.

“Don’t even think about it bitch” said the man behind me. “Go over the counter and have a seat at the table.”

“Shiiiit,” I thought, sneaking a glance back. Another doppelganger, except his hair was pulled back in a tight bun and though he looked older than me, he looked much younger than number 1. I climbed over the counter slowly and followed 1 to the table. “Where's 2? I thought you guys were inseparable,” I inquired sarcastically . I was answered with a blow to the back of the head from 3’s cold, steel pistol, and fell onto my knees.

“He didn’t survive; you stabbed him pretty deep when you escaped!” 3 screamed down at me. “Now get your ass up off that floor and sit the fuck down!” 3 exclaimed. Groggy and seeing spots from the blow, I reached back and felt warm blood where I was bludgeoned. Struggling, I got to my feet and slid into the seat across from 1, who was looking at me curiously. “You cut your hair 13,” he said humorously as 3 scooted in the seat trapping me against the wall. “Now why would you go and do that, the curls are our best trait,” 1 chastised as he pulled his own tresses out of his face to emphasize it.

“Because” inserted a new voice, “he wanted to feel like an individual?” inserted a new voice.

My eyes widen with horror at the familiar voice from the kitchen. As if it was their que, ten more of my doppelgängers all wearing black hoodies and sweats, walked out of the kitchen looking younger and younger as they poured in. Creating two rows facing one another, five stood on one side and the remaining five stood opposite of them. Parallel and facing each other, they all got down on one knee bowing their heads down submissively. It was him, The Original. He walked through the swinging doors hunched leaning on his cane. He wore a prussian blue suit with matching shoes. A flood of traumatic memories came to mind from the hollow ticking noise his cane made when it hit the floor. He looked at me and though everyone in the room had the same eyes, his glare was unbearably calculating and cold.

“Hello 13, I’ve missed you,” he said, sounding uncomfortably sincere. Sitting down across from 3 as 1 scooted towards the wall in front of me “especially your cooking” he recalled while licking his lips. “None of your predecessors had the same gift in the kitchen as you”. My heart felt as if it was going to beat out of my chest and onto the table.

“Please Ger-” I began but was abruptly interrupted by 3 breaking my nose with another blow from his pistol.

“How dare you call The Original by his name, the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, getting ready to hit me again, but The Original put his hand up and 2 stopped short and reluctantly lowered his weapon.

“You were always a pain in my ass, 13,” The Original said as he looked up, recalling something. “1 and 2 were both against your creation. They said 12 was enough and that 13 was an unlucky number.” He took in a deep wheezy breath, “and seeing how you stabbed 2 in the gut on your way out, it seems that they were right.” His smile fading into a scowl, “you’ve been nothing but a cancer to the entire operation thinking you are above the others. Well you're not!” he spat. With a look of bitter contempt, The Original bellowed “you belong to me!”.

“No. I don’t belong to anyone and I’ll die before I go back there,” I responded, blood still running down my face. 3 cocked back for another pistol whip, but he stopped short after another glare from The Original.

“Who said anything about bringing you back?” The Original mocked as his eyes went from 3 back to me. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a gold revolver and aimed it at my head, his weak old hands shaking from the weight. I didn’t flinch, definitely I stared into the black abyss of the barrel, chin held high. The Original grinned, “For what it’s worth 13, you remind me a lot of myself,” he said, cocking back the hammer with his free hand, “that, in fact, is your downfall.”

Smiling, I closed my eyes. They say when you die you see a highlight reel of your life, and in my last moment l envisioned the last 2 years of freedom, of bliss, and smiled. BANG!

“5, 6 collect the body, get him on ice so we can salvage the organs,” 1 demanded. As they got up, “the rest of you, clean this mess up, ” he added. All the doppelgängers began to do as they were told except the youngest of them all.

“What’s wrong 14?” The Original asked.

“He knew he was about to die,” 14 stammered, “why was he smiling at the end?”

The Original put a hand on 14’s shoulder and paused, considering his answer. “People spend their whole life searching for something he got in two years.”

14 looked at his older self puzzled, asking “What's that sir?” Already heading for the exit, The Original grinned humorlessly and without turning said, “Is the answer to that worth dying for?”