by KJ Kabza
KJ Kabza’s work has appeared in F&SF, Nature, Daily Science Fiction, Buzzy, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and others, and has been reprinted in The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror 2014 (Prime Books) and The Best Horror of the Year, volume 6 (Night Shade Books). He is thankful that the only person who has ever locked him into a room in the hopes that he’ll produce a salable work of art is himself. Find him on Twitter @KJKabza or visit his website at http://www.kjkabza.com.
They don’t allow me in the house. They’re still sore with me over last year, when I snuck out and got a haircut in an unauthorized style. Well, what can I say; if I had to look into the mirror and see that predestined face one more time, I’d shatter it — the face or the mirror, I don’t care which.
So instead of giving tours in the house, I stroll around the grounds in period clothing, so the tourists can take photos and draw me into false conversations about my life. This solution is exceptionally stupid. I am 28 years old, and she didn’t even move into this house until her husband died, so how can I convincingly pretend to be her?
On rainy days, they shut me in an office without windows, in front of a notebook and a computer. They hope I will write something. And this, above all else, is the real reason why I hate them. Because I have ideas, so many delicious and vivid story ideas, but the other clones talk, and I know what would happen if I wrote anything down. They’d stamp ROWLING ESTATE on it and take it away.
Same as they do with the Shakespeare clones. And the Byron clones. And so on.
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