A Fistful of Clones
by Seaton Kay-Smith
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BLURB:
Henry
Madison is an apathetic young man with little to no ambition. When he loses his
job and his girlfriend in one day, he is destitute and signs up for paid
medical testing. The doctor creates clones of Henry and when these clones
escape and start causing havoc in Henry's life, he is hired in secret by the
strange doctor and trained to hunt the clones down one by one and kill them.
Henry soon finds out, however, that personality isn't genetic but made of the
experiences you have, and as time progresses, his clones become less carbon
copied than he was lead to believe, growing their own identities and
challenging Henry's perception of what it means to be Henry Madison and of what
it is right and what is wrong.
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EXCERPT:
The midday sun sat high in the sky, that glowing orange orb
of light and warmth. It cooked the streets and sent steam rising from the
tarmac, warping the landscape beyond the crest of the road.
Henry walked along the main street dressed in his job
seeker’s best: a pair of black jeans and a collared shirt rolled up at the
sleeves to accommodate the weather. The main street of Duelham was quiet, only
a few people wandering around: couples and families mostly, some kids eating
ice-cream and other kids pointing at the ice-cream-eating kids, shouting,
pleading to their parents or guardians for the day, “But they get to eat ice cream!”
Henry spied a Help Wanted sign lying in the window of the
local bookshop, and entered. The bookshop, dealing in second-hand books
primarily, was dusty and smelt of mould, like a damp loaf of bread. It was a
comforting smell to the poor and out-of-work Henry. He was not above eating
damp bread loaves.
The manager, a man of about forty-five, balding and thin,
with braces holding up his pants, watched Henry walk up the “Self-help” aisle
and towards the counter. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked, pushing his
thin-framed glasses back up to the top of his nose as Henry arrived at the
register.
“Yes, I was looking for a job.”
The manager’s tone perked up. He was looking for help,
that’s why he’d made the sign. “Okay, great, do you have any qualifications?”
Henry thought about his illustrious career as a human being
and what he had achieved. “I’m a Bronze Coach in swimming,” he began, before
finishing with, “but that doesn’t really—”
“Apply,” the store manager said. He looked at Henry and
changed tack, giving him an opportunity, a chance to impress. “Why is it that
you want to work here?”
Henry’s stomach grumbled. “To earn some money?” The slight
inflection Henry gave to his statement made it seem like he was unsure, but the
point was made.
The manager’s expression changed to one of confusion, then
his mouth twisted into a bemused smile. “Okay, tell you what, bring in your
résumé and we’ll keep you in mind.”
Henry nodded, defeated. What else could he do? “Thanks, I
will.”
Leaving the bookshop, Henry cursed the manager whom he was
now sure was a villain. He didn’t have a résumé, he’d have to write one up. He
needed money now; he was hungry now. Hungry enough to eat a horse but, short of
a horse, he’d accept an apple. Ideally an apple the size of a horse, but he
wasn’t going to hold his breath.
Entering a fruit shop in search of that apple, he fiddled in
his pockets and counted his change: thirty-five cents. He looked at the apples
and weighed them one by one until he found an apple that he could afford. It
definitely wasn’t comparable to a horse. Perhaps a seahorse.
He paid for the apple and left the store, ready to sate that
feverish hunger growing inside of him. He took a bite and, rather than filling
him with satisfaction, it filled him with anger. Henry had purchased a floury
apple. The worst of the apple textures, a consistency akin to having wet sand
poured into your open mouth. He could feel a rage building up inside of him. So
many dreams and hopes piled into the white flesh of the apple in his hands, the
crisp green skin giving way to utter despair. His blood vessels pumped at
double speed, beads of sweat began to express themselves from his forehead, his
muscles tensed and ached, his vision became blurry, and a wall of dizzying
white was all he could see. He threw the remaining apple into a wall, exploding
it in a sticky, juicy mess. “Fuck!” he screamed.
Still he felt no sadness for the end of his relationship or
his current poverty-driven indictment, just mountains of rage and sorrow for the
poorly composed piece of fruit he’d wasted his last thirty-five cents on. Hell
hath no fury like a person who’s just eaten an apple that was no better than a
shit onion.
Regaining his composure, Henry walked away, feeling nothing
but slight concern for his sudden and unnecessary outburst. He didn’t know why
he got angry sometimes. He would have to beat that emotion into submission too.
There was no need for anger. It achieved nothing.
On his way home once more, Henry’s eyes happened upon the
poster he’d seen the previous night: Paid Medical Subjects—No Questions Asked.
There was no street light shining on it now and yet still it seemed to glow
somehow. He ripped it from the wooden pole on which it was taped and followed
its directions to become a Paid Medical Subject.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
You can get in touch with Seaton on
Twitter. @seatonks
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GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE
Seaton will be awarding an eCopy of A Fistful of
Clones to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.
Hi! Thanks for having me on your blog! Very much looking forward to any questions and or comments! Ciao!
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