Clone. Taken from the Greek word klon. “Twig.”
I studied the boy etched in sterile ones and zeros on the bathroom mirror.
Chris Colburn. In a public bathroom mirror, his tiny picture surrounded by news articles, tampon ads, and movie trailers. But could it be Johnathan?
His face had faded from memory. And yet, these thin eyebrows arched like his and spelled out deja vu. The gap between these perfect teeth winked at me like an old inside joke. Got called “Twig” because, well, he looked like one.
The real Johnathan bought me lilacs one day. They smelled like a crisp breeze at summer’s end; better than any scented candle.
He stayed just as long.