This short story would be under the 'Own Story' subcategory, of course. Any comments, compliments, or criticism are all appreciated and feel free to praise or yell at me to your heart's content.
“Good morning,” they would tell me every day. Quite frankly, it was not, and never was a good morning, much less good of a day. Perhaps, at times, they would be correct saying “Good mourning.”
No one knew, of course, none but I, considering nothing could be done about it by anyone. Just myself…maybe. Desperately, I had recently moved from the United States to Europe. Financially, I managed, and I only really did so because the research I had planned on doing in my benefit…was deemed “unethical.”
That was understandable. While I never did anything to force one dead, I simply had the consistency of taking aborted or stillborn babies and…committing myself to stem cell research and extraction.
I was quite the scientist after all. In cryogenic preservation, I had an abundance of stem cells from newborns and fetuses, all of which I had implanted my own DNA into. A complicated task in which, I failed at times, but still had quite a plethora of, nonetheless.
Now living away from my family, I had nothing to do but my repeating research and experimentations, until I finally had enough cells preserved to create a life form, over time, of course. With my DNA in them, I would grow…me. A little Caleb born and raised by myself, bearing my same name.
Time had passed, and he was ‘born,’ a mere baby as all would start out. Raised differently than I was, Caleb grew into an intelligent boy, but a bit of a pretentious one. He’s even persuaded me into a few changes to my lifestyle.
In fact, I remember taking him to church, to which he crudely replied, “Why do we have to take our time to worship someone who never takes his time to do anything for us?”
We never went there again.
The boy was raised as I would be with my, hopeful, future son. We were never really ‘sports people’ and mostly remained inside pursuing technological and musical hobbies.
Out of a bit of fear, I homeschooled Caleb and he never attained an actual birth certificate of any kind. Even so, I never had to lock him away from all other life, and instead, he got along with other children in the neighborhood. Some, anyway.
“Dad….” Caleb had inquired one day, at the age of ten, “Why don’t we live with our family?”
Hesitantly, I didn’t answer for a few moments, and soon began, “…Because…you’re special, Caleb. They aren’t…but they want to be. We’re special, only when together.”
He looked down a bit, thinking, the calming aroma of arum flowers flowing through the air. “Do I…have a mom?”
“…No. You—we don’t need one.”
The conversation ended there…and that’s when I decided to officially diagnose myself. The chance was incredibly high…I knew I had it. That’s why I came and…did this in the first place!
Caleb was such a sweet boy, though. Even more so than myself, it was hard to imagine hurting him in any way…I almost couldn’t…almost.
As it turned out, I had it. As expected. Just as the cause of death of my mother, I was absolutely bound to have my heart fail. I became…desperate.
I strapped him down, he had so incessantly squirmed and cried but no one heard him. Just me. “You…you should know JUST AS WELL AS I DO! Humans are selfish and avaricious! Envious!” I yelled frustratingly.
His tears and whims saddened me…but overall…they did nothing! Guilt, and nothing else. I strapped his face shut as well…his heart had to be replaced with mine. I couldn’t do it myself…I know. So I took the two of us to a hospital…their ethical decision would drive everything to its triumph or its failure!
Waiting and waiting, trickling my fingers together for their decision as they clarified our DNA being the same…they accepted me for a heart transplant, so long as I provided the sufficient amount of money. It was…it was out of desperation! What else could I have done!? Could anyone really expect me—ANYONE TO DO SOMETHING RIGHTEOUS!? OUT OF SYMPATHY!? Oh, no, no, no…not in this world.
The transplant succeeded…Caleb was dead…I lived. Despite it all, he was given a funeral to which I attended…in sorrow. In guilt of course, as pathetic as I was. The sun shined brightly and warmly, engaging me into a false feeling of ardor while already emerged into melancholy.
His presence appeared beside me in my thoughts, as if everything was normal. As usual, the boy began his inquisition, “Aren’t funerals supposed to be held, while raining?”
“No,” I responded with a soft chuckle, “You should already know that the world doesn’t care about us. Not in the slightest.”
Days passed…weeks, months, years. The little Caleb would be fourteen at this day—the older at forty-seven. Or rather…both of them are.
The grave lied empty—and while he was given a successful heart transplant, neither were killed and both lived. At whose cost?
A short story I wrote. Finished in some terms, but perfectly prone to any edits to which I'll address in this and/or the contest's thread: http://kh13.com/forum/topic/68716-1st-kh13-talent-contest-todays-category-writing/
This short story would be under the 'Own Story' subcategory, of course. Any comments, compliments, or criticism are all appreciated and feel free to praise or yell at me to your heart's content.
“Good morning,” they would tell me every day. Quite frankly, it was not, and never was a good morning, much less good of a day. Perhaps, at times, they would be correct saying “Good mourning.”
No one knew, of course, none but I, considering nothing could be done about it by anyone. Just myself…maybe. Desperately, I had recently moved from the United States to Europe. Financially, I managed, and I only really did so because the research I had planned on doing in my benefit…was deemed “unethical.”
That was understandable. While I never did anything to force one dead, I simply had the consistency of taking aborted or stillborn babies and…committing myself to stem cell research and extraction.
I was quite the scientist after all. In cryogenic preservation, I had an abundance of stem cells from newborns and fetuses, all of which I had implanted my own DNA into. A complicated task in which, I failed at times, but still had quite a plethora of, nonetheless.
Now living away from my family, I had nothing to do but my repeating research and experimentations, until I finally had enough cells preserved to create a life form, over time, of course. With my DNA in them, I would grow…me. A little Caleb born and raised by myself, bearing my same name.
Time had passed, and he was ‘born,’ a mere baby as all would start out. Raised differently than I was, Caleb grew into an intelligent boy, but a bit of a pretentious one. He’s even persuaded me into a few changes to my lifestyle.
In fact, I remember taking him to church, to which he crudely replied, “Why do we have to take our time to worship someone who never takes his time to do anything for us?”
We never went there again.
The boy was raised as I would be with my, hopeful, future son. We were never really ‘sports people’ and mostly remained inside pursuing technological and musical hobbies.
Out of a bit of fear, I homeschooled Caleb and he never attained an actual birth certificate of any kind. Even so, I never had to lock him away from all other life, and instead, he got along with other children in the neighborhood. Some, anyway.
“Dad….” Caleb had inquired one day, at the age of ten, “Why don’t we live with our family?”
Hesitantly, I didn’t answer for a few moments, and soon began, “…Because…you’re special, Caleb. They aren’t…but they want to be. We’re special, only when together.”
He looked down a bit, thinking, the calming aroma of arum flowers flowing through the air. “Do I…have a mom?”
“…No. You—we don’t need one.”
The conversation ended there…and that’s when I decided to officially diagnose myself. The chance was incredibly high…I knew I had it. That’s why I came and…did this in the first place!
Caleb was such a sweet boy, though. Even more so than myself, it was hard to imagine hurting him in any way…I almost couldn’t…almost.
As it turned out, I had it. As expected. Just as the cause of death of my mother, I was absolutely bound to have my heart fail. I became…desperate.
I strapped him down, he had so incessantly squirmed and cried but no one heard him. Just me. “You…you should know JUST AS WELL AS I DO! Humans are selfish and avaricious! Envious!” I yelled frustratingly.
His tears and whims saddened me…but overall…they did nothing! Guilt, and nothing else. I strapped his face shut as well…his heart had to be replaced with mine. I couldn’t do it myself…I know. So I took the two of us to a hospital…their ethical decision would drive everything to its triumph or its failure!
Waiting and waiting, trickling my fingers together for their decision as they clarified our DNA being the same…they accepted me for a heart transplant, so long as I provided the sufficient amount of money. It was…it was out of desperation! What else could I have done!? Could anyone really expect me—ANYONE TO DO SOMETHING RIGHTEOUS!? OUT OF SYMPATHY!? Oh, no, no, no…not in this world.
The transplant succeeded…Caleb was dead…I lived. Despite it all, he was given a funeral to which I attended…in sorrow. In guilt of course, as pathetic as I was. The sun shined brightly and warmly, engaging me into a false feeling of ardor while already emerged into melancholy.
His presence appeared beside me in my thoughts, as if everything was normal. As usual, the boy began his inquisition, “Aren’t funerals supposed to be held, while raining?”
“No,” I responded with a soft chuckle, “You should already know that the world doesn’t care about us. Not in the slightest.”
Days passed…weeks, months, years. The little Caleb would be fourteen at this day—the older at forty-seven. Or rather…both of them are.
The grave lied empty—and while he was given a successful heart transplant, neither were killed and both lived. At whose cost?