This morning he needed to wake, but couldn’t. He began to flail as if drowning in sleep. Our son could do with some help. I leaned over him and whispered, “My darling, calm yourself. The day awaits, a life awaits you, this world is yours for the taking.” I kissed his forehead. “Wake up, my beamish boy. Wake up.”
He is me. John Junior is my clone. Four hundred thousand pounds, he cost us. Worth every penny, I think. Ironic, isn’t it? I couldn’t reproduce, but I reproduced myself. If that’s not creative, I don’t know what is.
We want a girl next. It’s Lily’s turn, I suppose. A brother and a sister, like Mummy and Dad. Though me, I wouldn’t mind another Melody. I think she deserves it. We’ll see. We’re just a bit short of cash right now. But I’m not worried. We’ve got Euro snacks. Crisper chips. We’ve got Edible Plant Vaccines. Something’s coming up and we’re going to make real money, and then we can do what we want.
§
THE END
Table of Contents
MONDAY 7.45
MONDAY 8.15
1
2
MONDAY 10
3
MONDAY 11.30
4
5
MONDAY 12.45
6
MONDAY 2.30
7
8
MONDAY 4
9
WEDNESDAY 8
2002 - Wake up Page 20
