Lyn Thorne-Alder (aldersprig) wrote,
Lyn Thorne-Alder
aldersprig

Talking to... a story for the pre-Giraffe Call

To @Dahob's prompt here - http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/561317.html - written on the bus yesterday.

Farrah came home from work to find herself already there.

Under cover of an umbrella, she unlocked the door to her small cottage. She was humming So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish as she dropped her purse on the table and popped open a beer. The rain was till pounding as she turned around to find herself looking herself in the face.

“What-”

“Who-”

Farah shook her head. “Okay, no, forget who. How?”

“That’s what I’d like to know! How’s you get into my house?” The doppelgänger’s voice sounded… squeaky? Strange, anyway.

“Your house? This is my house.” Farrah set down the beer on her kitchen counter. “Where did you come from? Is this some sort of joke?”

“Again, exactly what I’d like to know. I used a key. My key, since it’s my house. You?”

It was about then that Farrah realized what was wrong with the other woman’s voice. It sounded like listening to a recording of herself. And her face – the doppelgänger even had a zit, just where Farrah had gotten one this morning, only on the right side of the nose, not the…

…no. No, that was the mirror talking. Farrah’s was on the left side of her nose, and so was this woman’s zit.

“Even if someone had some reason to replace me,” she reasoned out. Who replaced mid-management at libraries, even in sci-fi stories? No one, that was who. “They wouldn’t have bothered with the zit.”

“If replacing me was even possible.” Her double picked up a similar line of thought. And no surprise at all, there. “It wouldn’t be… well, yeah, it wouldn’t be me. So… are you a clone? No, the zit. Evil twin?”

“Zit. Also: no goatee. Fetch?” It was like talking to herself. It was talking to herself.

“I don’t think so. Check me for seams?”

Seams… stitching… trousers. Trousers of time? “The fork?”

“Fork?” Her alternate self raised her eyebrows. “Flatware? …Oh. Oh. With the lightning?”

Thundered rolled outside, as if to punctuate the point. There were two routes to Farrah’s house from work; she’d taken the left-hand one today, just as the storm had broken. “Shit.” She shook her head. “I guess the right turn really is faster.”


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/561923.html. You can comment here or there.
Tags: giraffecall, giraffecall: result, verse: misc
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