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Misconceptions: Tantomile
I hate him.
Cats ask if we’re twins, friends, or even mates.
None of the above.
He’s an abomination; freak of nature born from a test tube
filled with my blood.
“Let’s see if we can clone a cat.”
He was what happened.
An accident, freak, atrocity.
Even those who created him could not understand him.
“Why is he male? We cloned a female!”
Endless queries, invasions of privacy,
all of that changed nothing.
Whatever he was, he was not me.
Not even close.
He had all of my abilities, but nothing to control them.
The humans said he was normal, for all he was not me.
I knew better. No mind, no control.
Nothing to control his abilities.
What was I to do?
I had to take over his body; his mind that was so blank.
Had to do it. No other way.
He was too dangerous, and my kind can’t kill.
(It’s one of the reasons I hate my powers sometimes.
Killing him would have been a wonderful way out.)
I named him.
In some strange way, he is my son.
Is that why I felt so responsible?
I named him.
Maybe I thought it would give him some sort of identity.
(Coricopat. Not a bad name.)
I couldn’t stay at the lab.
It just wasn’t an option,
not with two bodies to feel pain with.
I left.
Don’t ask me how I did it.
I needed help though;
Couldn’t manage by myself.
I tried releasing control of him.
Once.
A maelstrom.
Like a kitten, not knowing how or what to do,
but a kit as powerful as me.
I couldn’t leave him.
Still can’t.
I wish I could.
I joined a tribe.
They still think we’re twins.
We’re not.
I hate him.
Control: Coricopat
I hate her.
She’s my jailer,
my mother,
my keeper.
I don’t remember being born, having any sort of childhood.
She remembers me being born from a test tube;
aging faster than she does.
I know I’m not natural.
Still… Should she deny me life, because of that?
She says, often, that I’m not her.
Then why does she force me to be her?
(No, that’s not right. She doesn’t allow me to be me!
It’s MY body, not hers!
But she took it,
and I can’t take it back.)
I wish she knew I was here.
She doesn’t.
I’ve heard her thinking.
She doesn’t know I know what she thinks.
She doesn’t know I’m here.
I wish she did.
Would she be so cruel if she knew I’m me?
I remember…
Not being born, not exactly…
But I remember realizing that I was me.
I remember that she let me go once.
I remember that I was younger then,
I was scared to be free.
I tried to be in control,
but I couldn’t.
I didn’t know how.
She was always controlling me.
I never got a chance
to even try and do
what she did to be in control.
She took control of me again,
rendered me into a mute passenger in my own body
for the second time!
And I couldn’t stop her.
She always thinks that I’m as powerful as she is.
I’m not, not if I can’t even be in control of
my
own
body.
She’s my jailer,
my mother,
my keeper.
I hate her.