"Absolutely brilliant!" says Lisabet Sarai, author of Incognito and Fire, about Lambda finalist M.Christian's controversial manlove horror/thriller.
He looks just like you. He acts exactly like you. He takes away your job. He steals your friends. He seduces your male lover. None of them can tell the difference. Every day he becomes more and more like you, pushing you out of your own life, taking away what was yours … until there’s nothing left. Where did he come from? Robot? Alien? Clone? Doppelganger? Evil twin? Long lost brother? Then you discover there are still more "yous." Can you be sure you are the real you? And how do you fight to take your own life back?
An absorbing new approach to the question of identity, Me2 is a groundbreaking gay chiller you’ll remember for a long time – no matter who you are, or who you think you may be.
(Despite rumors that this book was written by an impostor - but, rest assured, this is the real 'M.Christian.' Accept no substitutes!)
Epilogue 1
Me
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair.
* * * *
Me2
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
* * * *
Me3
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
* * * *
Me4
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn't
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
* * * *
Me5
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn't
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
It made sense. It explained what happened. I'd just seen someone who looked like
me, someone who'd modeled his life in the same way. At work I'd been mistaken for someone who looked like me,
someone who'd modeled his life in the same way: a me that Ebony had mistaken me
for, a me who for some reason was a slightly better worker than I'd been. At the community center, the dyke had
done the same, mistaking me for ame who was slightly more caring and willing to
volunteer than I'd been. He hadn't
been a doppelganger, he hadn't been an evil self; he'd just been a person who
had chosen to be a type like myself.
* * * *
Me6
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn't
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
It made sense. It explained what happened. We live in cookie-cutter apartments on
cookie-cutter blocks, furnished with mass-produced furniture, assembled to look
like rooms from mass-produced magazines or cookie-cutter TV shows. They look alike, so much alike that I'd
mistaken his place for mine, and cleaned up. Of course the key hadn't worked. Of course the super let me in; he wouldn't have been able to
tell him from me or me from him. He
hadn't been an evil self, he hadn't been a me from a parallel reality, he'd
just lived in an apartment just like mine, because we'd both chosen to be the
same type of person.
And perhaps somewhere else in
the city, in the state, in the region, in the country, in the world, another
version of myself, a Tommy Hilfiger who used to be a Boy of Summer, was sitting
down at that same moment to hear from other Tommy Hilfigers who used to be Boys
of Summer that what had happened to him was very much like what had happened to
them.
* * * *
Me7
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn't
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
It made sense. It explained what happened. The man who'd called, who suggested I
might have a good time – a misdialed phone, the mistaking of one name for
another, the mistaking of one face for another. All looking alike.
All acting alike – or mostly acting alike. He hadn't been a me from a parallel reality, he hadn't been
a me from the future; he'd just been a person who had chosen to be a type like
myself.
And perhaps somewhere else in
the city, in the state, in the region, in the country, in the world, another
version of myself, a Tommy Hilfiger who used to be a Boy of Summer, was sitting
down at that same moment to hear from other Tommy Hilfigers who used to be Boys
of Summer that what had happened to him was very much like what had happened to
them.
* * * *
Me8
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes they wore,
the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn't
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
It made sense. It explained what happened. It hadn't been someone from a loop in
time, it hadn't been an incubus wearing my face. He'd just been a social image who'd been looking for what
I'd been looking for: ourselves reflected back at ourselves, a fleshly and
bloody copy.
And perhaps somewhere else in
the city, in the state, in the region, in the country, in the world, another
version of myself, a Tommy Hilfiger who used to be a Boy of Summer, was sitting
down at that same moment to hear from other Tommy Hilfigers who used to be Boys
of Summer that what had happened to him was very much like what had happened to
them.
* * * *
Me9
(Unavailable, but if he weren't this is what he'd have said)
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together.
The same, down to clothes they
wore, the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that's redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself, who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn't
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
It made sense. It explained what happened. He hadn’t been a demon, he hadn’t been
a long-lost twin. The man who’d
killed me had just been someone who looked like me, who’d shopped at the same
place, for the same look, to create the same kind of life.
And perhaps somewhere else in
the city, in the state, in the region, in the country, in the world, another
version of myself, a Tommy Hilfiger who used to be a Boy of Summer, was sitting
down at that same moment to hear from other Tommy Hilfigers who used to be Boys
of Summer that what happened to him was very much like what had happened to
them.
* * * *
Me10
I saw them in the Starbucks. Me and me, sitting together. The same, down to the clothes they
wore, the styles of their hair. There
were differences, but only because one was sitting on the right and one was
sitting on the left.
Then there were three, sitting
together in the Starbucks. I know
that’s redundant, but that’s the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself, who came in and sat down at the same
table. Differences, naturally, but
only because there was one sitting on the right, one on the left, and one in
the middle.
They told me then, about what
was happening. At first I didn’t
want to understand what they were saying.
But then my brain went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury
to wanting to work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and
then finally from deep darkness to understanding.
It made sense. It explained what happened. He hadn't been a long-lost twin, he
hadn't been an identity thief. The
man I'd killed – and the man who'd been arrested for the crime – had just been
someone who looked like me, who'd shopped at the same place, for the same look,
to create the same kind of life.
And perhaps somewhere else in
the city, in the state, in the region, in the country, in the world, another
version of myself, a Tommy Hilfiger who used to be a Boy of Summer, was sitting
down at that same moment to hear from other Tommy Hilfigers who used to be Boys
of Summer that what had happened to him was very much like what had happened to
them.
* * * *
Me11
We sat in a Starbucks. Me and me and me, sitting together. The same, down to clothes we wore, the
styles of our hair. There were
differences, but only because one was sitting on the right, one was sitting on
the left, and I was sitting in the middle.
The three of us: sitting in a
Starbucks. I know that's
redundant, but that's the way things have been lately. One sitting on the right, one sitting
on the left, and the me that was myself.
Differences, naturally, but only because there was one sitting on the
right, one on the left, and one in the middle.
I knew what was happening to
them. Like all of them, I hadn't
wanted to understand. But then our
brains went from refusal to belief, from belief to fury, fury to wanting to
work things out, wanting to work things out to deep darkness and then finally
from deep darkness to understanding.
There was no escaping it: it
made sense. It explained what
happened.
Just as there was no escaping
that somewhere else in the city, in the state, in the region, in the country,
in the world, another version of myself was sitting down at that same moment to
hear the same kind of story from the same kind of person. Put some of them together and they make
one book, put others together and you get a different book. It was all a matter of perspective.
One thing I couldn't see from
my new viewpoint was where it would go from here–
No comments:
Post a Comment