#obrp

“You will find us in the midst of crowds, on college campuses, nail salons and suburban home fronts. You will find us running organizations of complex designs, getting sicker than sick with no help for the cause. You will find us drinking coffee and wondering just how many of us are out there. There are more than you can count. You’ve seen our face, you’ve thought nothing of it. We are one family, one of many. We are dying. We are our last hope.”

Cosima watched the cursor flicker over and over, her online penmanship looking very much like Baudelaire in New Times Roman. She didn’t think herself as staunch and piggishly romantic as the French poet had been, but her writing seemed two steps away from Fleurs du Mal. She rested her chin on a hand, biting her bottom lip in anticipation and she stifled a cough. 

This was a last ditch effort.

Somewhere out there was another clone like her, someone who was using their given intelligence in the same manner as she was. Someone out there who must have been brought up in the same way, with the same stresses on education that her parents had placed on her. Someone else whose years of pouring over books had weakened their eyes but not their resolve. Another Leda, just like her. Her twin, her seestra. 

Sarah and Helena had dodged the bullet genetically by splitting in the womb. It had canceled out the designed infertility, which gave Cosima more questions than answers. And she was getting so tired that brain fog felt as if it was always on the cusp of rolling in. She was simply not getting anywhere. She coughed heavily, pushing the cannula back up into her nostrils to grasp at the oxygen it provided. She’d only wear it in private now; she wanted everyone to  think she was getting better. And she disliked the looks.

She was supposed to be saving them all, but she couldn’t even save herself and time was fleeting now. She felt a little like John Keats, on the brink of writing “Bright Star”... she supposed the looming figure of Death made poets out of almost everyone.

“Find me.” she whispered as she typed, “ Find me, Seestra” 

when I don't even know, what I don't know

do I just think till can't no more

how do I find peace when I have no clue what it is

something will always be on my mind, whether I want it to be or not.

feeling like a fish, no water, and I still manage to swim. 

a bird, broken wings, still flying

healthy, but still dying. 

a winner, but no trophy.

a killer, no weapon.

I'm in a ring, facing myself as the opponent. 

In a war, giving myself plenty of casualties.