Young Writers Society

I am an Echo. The Manson family over in Florida paid thousands, millions for me to be made. Rachel Manson is her name, my original. What’s my name you ask? Well I have been labelled many things so take your pick: echo, clone, second Rachel, fake. After all I am nobody until Rachel dies.

For as long as I can remember I have been learning, listening, imagining Rachel’s life. We write to each other, she sends her diaries so I know her deepest secrets. My whole life revolves around learning everything about Rachel so that one day I can step in and live her life for her.

Cloning has been going on for hundreds of years now. Science has got it down to a fine art. The only difference in appearance between my original and me is a spiral tattoo behind my left ear. Every echo has one, showing they are the property of the SinCorp Labs. Ironic don’t you think? They sin against God by cloning His creations and are proud of it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe in all the religion crap, but one does wonder….

Cindy, my minder and teacher, tries to stop me from thinking about where I come from too hard. But I can’t help it; questions swirl around my head and demand to be answered.

Every day after my lessons, general school subjects, life lessons, and Rachel impersonations, I sit out on the swing in our backyard, drinking in the fresh weather of New Orleans. But today is different, oh yes, today is different. The original is coming. Cindy fluffs around, prepping me, quizzing me, reminding me how to act. Like I don’t know all this. Gone are my worn converse, ripped jeans and tank top. Cindy has laid out a freshly washed blue skirt and white lacy top. Yuck. But I can’t and won’t complain, even though I wish I could. Cindy is only doing her best for me.

All too soon the ring of the doorbell echo’s through the house, no pun intended, and I know, this is it, I am going to meet my original, the girl I am living for. What will she think? Do we hug? Uncertainty sends my thoughts into a swirl of turmoil as I wait patiently on the sofa, listening to the polite pleasantries Cindy and the Manson’s make in the hallway. Oh no here they come, I can do this, I tell myself.

Red hair, brown eyes, lacy top, we a mirror image, she walks in oozing confidence, followed by her multi-millionaire parents. We stare at each other, from this angle it looks like she is staring down her nose at me like I am dirt on the sole of her foot. I am. This is what this world has come to, Originals and Echo’s; people like me only exist when rich people are selfish enough not to go through the hurt of losing a loved one. Cindy is standing nervously behind them looking at me, pleading for me to behave and do what I am supposed to. It is her life on the line, these people could easily order for her to be killed for not producing a convincing echo for their perfect daughter.

“Hello Rachel.” Her eyes harden at the sound of her own voice coming out of my mouth. No response, just deathly silences as they assess me, looking at how well SinCorp did in making me a clone. “You will never take my place Rachel.” Her voice is icy and sarcastic and it pierces my heart sending ice trails through my blood. I don’t flinch; I am somebody even though I am just a replica of some prissy rich girl.

“My name is Mia”