"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"

My existence is twofold,

Doubled.

A clone oh-so-bold,

Overtaking me. I’m troubled.

Away from me,

Does my identity toil.

Ironically care-free.

The world ahead to spoil.

She is me, and I am her –

Though I am neither, however it may be.

The line between merely a blur,

Although clear enough to see.

She despises my presence,

Devoted to my extermination.

Am I the original substance?

Or am I, too, a secondary incarnation?

What is the purpose of origin if it is unknown?

How does it matter, my inception?

Memory is power, mounted upon a throne.

If no-one is provided with the information,

Does that not render it non-existent?

Don’t worry, I’m still me –

Lurking in shadows, ever distant –

Whoever else there may be,

Frolicking a pseudo reality.

My body wholly abandoned,

Running from life, becoming ‘free’ -

A notion of belief ever underhanded.

Dependent on actuality –

Artificial realm under its legislature,

Many a synthesised entity.

Fictitious in nature,

We are all but real.

She is from my jealousy,

Manifesting what I’d feel,

Had I the empathy.

Destined with near companionship,

Yet eternally alone.

I drag her down when I trip.

Although, by birth, she was fairly lofty, she found herself far too ambitious, too reckless, too arrogant. She practiced day-in-day-out, looking to the only way to change one’s social standing and living conditions – the social ladder. An agonisingly tall ladder, leading upwards, where it was said that the superiors resided. Anyone could choose to climb the ladder, for the chance to promote themselves – though not without the looming risk of plummeting and reaching rock bottom. She thought she was ready, that she could make it to the top – not even choosing a possibly safer option of climbing merely a few ranks above.

The ladder, while pristine and coruscating, was quite slippery in nature, having a perfectly polished sheen and texture. It was made from an unidentifiable metal, its rungs perfectly cylindrical. With her moderate skills and inferior equipment, she thought it was achievable. She started in a moderate, respectable position, what was said to be an easy starting point. Not the best, of course, but not necessarily bad, either. As she climbed further, the spacing of the rungs became erratic, and the rungs lost their perfection, littered with sharp bumps from the welding process. The flesh of her hand was torn open, her blood quickly dripping and joining that of those who made the same, reckless decision.

The rungs began changing in shape, becoming more difficult to grasp. She was tired, now, her endurance not nearly enough for such an arduous ordeal. A few droplets landed on her shirt, surprising her. Looking upwards, she was met with an onslaught of rain. The next obstacle to overcome.

The awkwardly shaped rungs grew slippery, the challenge growing ever more difficult with each passing second. Shortly after, the rain ceased suddenly. For a short moment, she thought that she had made it, that she had reached the very top of society, that she could live in luxury for the rest of her time here. That is, until the ladder began quaking and trembling.

Her hands faltered, and she reached out, holding tight. Slits in the surface of her skin came apart, the force too much for the weak coverings that formed. Blood seeped out once more, a slippery layer causing a fault in her grip. As she struggled to climb further, her efforts were ever the more futile. She would give up, here, the pain and difficulty far too much to bear. She decided against trying to get any further, instead just letting go entirely – allowing her body to fall down the distance, like a limp ragdoll.

She released all tension in her muscles, allowing herself to enjoy the freefall before the pain that was to come. Expecting, awaiting, anticipating the end, she truly allowed herself to be free. After all, even if she could not find herself capable of reaching the peak, she could attain a different form of freedom, so she believed.

As her body struck the ground, she found herself quite surprised to notice that she did not happen to fall nearly as much as she felt as she had climbed – and she was fortunate enough to have started as high as she believed. The pain she was met with, however, was incalculably worse than she could have ever expected. She struggled forth, attempting to pull herself up from the ground. Her body was frail, weakened by her struggles upon the ladder.

Despairing and suffering, she gazed upwards, to the place she once called home. It was then she truly understood her arrogance, her recklessness. As her strength returned to her, she eased herself from the ground, limping off to the side – dragging herself from the blood painting the ground beneath the ladder.

She chose to aim towards minor goals, making her way up the ladder by smaller increments – rather than continuing with the same abandon as before. She scavenged for food, water, barely surviving on the scraps thrown down as waste by those above. Healing from her wounds, only just, she began her endeavour once more.