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Fleeting Interest

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Fleeting interest. A momentary flash of wonder sparking my mind, and I just had to indulge myself, else this intellectual itch just would not leave. We are clone, we do not have family, no siblings, nobody to care for us or love us. Unlike normal humans, we had nobody to brush our tears away and tell us that we were inportant, that were were precious. We had nobody to bandage our hurts, to encourage our efforts. We had no love.

Were we different? No, I knew the answer to that. We were conditioned to live on our own, work on our own, motivate ourselves. We only ever received punishment- but the punishment we might receive was everlasting. We were not made for bumps in the road to derail us for a short time. If we were wrong, we died. There was another to replace us moments after.

The clone creating scientists were brilliant- they dealt with the loss of genetically wired affection by imprinting our parental affection when young, as usual for humans, in nurses that took care of us. However, when we reached a school ready age, we were quickly broken of this caricature of love and forced to grow up and provide for ourselves. Most of us worked well, finding affection in the other clones, the elders, to assist and make us feel cared for. We only ever had each other. It was Pavlovian training of stimulus and conditioned response. Eventually, we stopped craving attention from adults.

But not all clones got the same treatment. Ikkyu, due to his bright personality, received much more help than, say, Rasputin. But now that we are older, Rasputin is greater because he was forced to rely on only himself. Did it confer upon him the personal motivation to succeed above others? Was he simply like that, or was it an environmental factor?

What of Ikkyu? His original was a quiet, focused man, working on Buddhist beliefs and understanding them as best he could as well as intellectual pursuits. But this Ikkyu was anything but. Perhaps it was the influence of Napoleon. Napoleon was quite loud and brash, but did it really cause such a deep impression upon Ikkyu? Come to think of it, who was older? It wasn't clear. We simply existed. We didn't have a past beyond the history books.

Of all the clones, however, none captured my interest in such a way as Hitler. Yes, Adolf Hitler, the second most hated man in the universe, just after Judas, who, incidentally, was required to be the villain of the Christian tale, else, how else would the pure Christ be sacrificed for the world's sins? But I digress.

Hitler was the most affected by the loss of human contact, mainly because he had none after he was cut off. No clones desired to speak with Hitler once they learned of the stigma of his name. The result was astonishing, but hardly surprising. He was lonely and stayed on his own most of the time, choosing to provide himself with solitude than intrude upon others, as I had heard him say once. He said he was paying for another's sins. What an interesting outlook. It must surely be because he was alone because of his name. Though how the "sins" transferred to Hitler was beyond me. I never was one for religious discussions.

I decided to test whether this theory was correct and compensate for the loss of kindness by giving an overwhelming facade of love. Would this give him hope? Would it pull him from his hermit lifestyle and turn him into somebody as outgoing as Ikkyu or Napoleon? Or perhaps would he get as weepy as Florence? Whatever would happen was beyond my knowledge, and so, the only way to find out was to test it. I started by addressing the most painful of his self-inflicted wounds.

Your original's sins, Hitler, not yours, never yours.

He melted like butter, too surprised to resist when I hugged him. He was wary (did my eyes give it away?) but he didn't push me away. He embraced me, held me, begged me not to mock him and say things I did not mean. But I was simple and to the point, as I always am. I faked a blush, meeting those vibrant blue hues and let my own drop.

You are the breath that gives me life. You are the passion in my heart.

I stammer the words just enough to be believable, and he falls quickly. He needs attention, I learn. He needs to feel loved and soaked it up as a sponge soaks up water. And like a sponge, it affects the surroundings when it can't handle the excess, and he spreads the happiness by socializing more. Not much more, but it is there. He compliments Elizabeth's hair, Florence's bandage wrapping skills.

Slowly, I built on it, fostering affection and caring on his part, and I watch him bloom like a flower. Of course, that is far more poetic than the actual process, and makes it sound natural, but the analogy fits. That is, if a flower could die and then be revived. Either way, it was significantly different. The alternate hypothesis, that he would not only take the kindness and run with it, but positively explode and, in a sense, overdose from it.

I went far for my theory. I kissed him. I gave him physical affection of all kinds, from soft brushes to full-fledged sexual relations. I gave him my mark, and when he requested that I harm him while I fill him, I complied. I made him think that I wanted him happy.

The night is ours.

It was ours. I made it ours. And I know he will never forget it. Whether that will tear him apart more afterward or soothe the sharp cut of reality is not in my knowledge, nor do I care. I got the information I wanted, I recorded it faithfully. It was not my fault that I was created to analyze minds and that I saw fit to analyze his. It simply was.

I told him my research once I had enough data. He simply took it with that false smile of his, said it was alright. I saw the tears those brilliant blue eyes held back, but I simply gathered my thrown clothing from about his room and left. My job was done. I had nothing to regret.