Auction

I was looking at me whilst me stared back at I. It was confusing. The doorbell chimed, I opened the door and was faced with myself accompanied by Mr. Hart who ran the local homeless shelter. It was like staring into a mirror except without there being a mirror and I blinked at least a couple of times. “It’s amazing how they can duplicate people but they cannot duplicate enough houses for everyone. That being said he can make an excellent leek and potato soup. Didn’t realise you could cook.” In the catalogue I was Lot 49 entitled ‘William Asquith’s Genome’. The description read: Sturdy Bookseller of modest intelligence. An assortment of idiosyncrasies includes a penchant for stacking books horizontally rather than vertically. No hereditary illnesses. Has a 70 percent chance of long life barring accidents or the folly of others. An astute observation I think not. There was only one bidder in which he met the guide price of £60. Twenty percent went to the Auctioneers whilst the rest went to me. I hated Hart the self-righteous cretin. So I bought his genome and hung the cloth on my wall. I’ll create then enslave him. I’m a coward.