In my defense, building the pod-o-pod seemed like a good
idea at the time.
I mean, what could be better than a man-sized pod, where I
could record podcasts whilst suspended in amniotic fluid? I’d get a better
sound quality on my recordings, as the amniotic fluid would act as a
soundproofing agent, AND I’d record in comfort and style unparalleled in the
podcast world!
It was the wave of the future, for voice actors, podcastors
and audiobook narrators alike!
Procuring the amniotic fluid wasn’t easy, I’ll give you
that, and the methods I had to resort to included a number of broken laws and
shady characters, but once I had it, it was smooth sailing. I was living the
dream!
Or so I thought.
I don’t know if it was the fluid, the fact that I was
suspending myself naked in it two or three times a week, the electronics so
near the liquid, or some combination thereof but within two weeks I had a
developing, vaguely humanoid mass trapped in the pod, growing and taking shape.
I watched it develop, over the course of the next several
months, and as it did the truth of what it was becoming became harder and harder
to deny.
It was me.
The pod was growing an exact duplicate of me, down to the
finest detail, and I was watching, day in and day out, as my new, identical
twin gradually took shape.
I was horrified, but too transfixed to look away.
Until it… he… I? Until the version of me inside the pod
opened his eyes one Sunday, and stared right at me. Our eyes locked, and he/I
put one hand to the inner glass wall of the pod. He/I seemed as fascinated with
Me/He as I/He was with Him/Myself. I didn’t say a word, just stared at my new,
perfect doppelganger for I don’t know how long.
And as I did, I wondered: Did he have my memories? Or was he
merely a physical copy, with the intellect of a newborn? Or, perhaps worse, was
some darker intellect lurking behind those eyes, eyes so like my own, an
intellect plotting toward some nefarious purpose known only to my accidentally conceived
twin?
I could have waited until He/I/It was born and asked, I
suppose.
Instead, I went to Canadian Tire, to buy an axe.
Does that make me the evil twin? I can live with that.
Afterward, I dissolved the body in lye, as I’d seen done on
a television show one time. I diluted the mixture when I was done and poured it
down a sewer grate. I have no idea what that’ll do to Calgary’s sewer system,
but I do know that that’s the city’s problem, not mine.
I’ll never be accused of any crime for the way I handled
this, never suspected of anything untoward. The victim, after all, was me, and
so far as anyone knows I’ve never been murdered. I’m still alive and walking
around, the original Munsi.
I can’t stress enough to you that I am the original Munsi.
Still, in spite of the fact that there’s no chance of legal
consequences, I can’t help thinking I may have acted hastily.
I mean, I didn’t KNOW the doppelganger meant me harm. I
meant it harm, certainly, but it might have had a more gentle temperament than
I. I’ll never know, I didn’t give it the chance to show me.
I was afraid to.
But I try not to worry about it too much. I did what I had
to do, and I destroyed the pod-o-pod afterward, just to be on the safe side.
Maybe my clone was harmless, but there was no way of knowing until it was
potentially too late, and I couldn’t subject the world to that sort of risk.
I know what I did I did for the safety of humanity, and
whenever guilt at the actions I was forced to rears it’s ugly head, that’s that
fact which I focus on.
After all, I can live with the possibility that I ended an
innocent life, but nobody would survive if the world was overrun by podcast
people…
