It all stated with a accident and than after a plane, then I turned insane its as far back as I can remember.
After a very brief introduction, we were asked to build one of the best model airplanes that we could think of, it was in honor of the Wright Brothers. Hours past as I became to fidget with the straws, paper, and glue. Our teacher looks at us and began to get frustrated “I said build airplanes not squares!”, he would say but it wouldn’t help, all he did was put more pressure and I hated pressure. That was our school project, we were supposed to finish it in school, but took too long so unwillingly we took it home to work on.

Just as I expected my grandfather was home. He was a airplane pilot back in his days. And thought, maybe he could help. So I went to ask my grandfather for some help; I walked up to him and in a calmly fashion asked “Grandpa can you help me with my airplane project?” I gave my best smile. Ever since I broke my leg on that car accident my Grandpa treated me different it had been months since then and now he only makes me feel bad. And as plain as my plane he refused me like I was a bum on the street asking for ‘some spare change.’

A couple hours had past I sat there sadly holding my paper full of glue with straws
sticking out, it looked as if I attempted to build a teepee. So, I sat there watching television with my grampa; he sat on one end of the couch I sat on the other. Time was passing, and
enthusiasm dying, my hopes of finishing my project had dimmed down. Until my mother and
father pulled into the drive way. My father was an engineer, and my mother was. . . she was. . . well I know she did something. . . any ways, I went up to my father and as he started to walk into the garage I asked him as plain as my plane “Dad can help me build my model air-plane?” as I looked at him I was holding my teepee-like-model-airplane. I gave my best puppy look, but he just scratched the back of his neck and gave me a heart crushing turn-down “Later son, go ask your grandpa.” I tried to plead and tell him grandpa won’t help me, but he blocked me out and angrily shouted “I am busy right now!, I will help you later.” he said it in such a fashion it made me sad. So then I went to my mom, she was in the kitchen making supper, so as you can see it was this point that I didn’t even bother to ask. It has always been that way. Ever since my accident.

I ran away, far away. We lived in a town where there is many fields, so I ran along with the tall green grass. My back-pack filled with clothes, food, money, and of course the symbol of my rage; my attempted airplane.
I felt so mad, and oh so much pain. I climbed the highest hill, made myself a shelter and made a deal with the Satan; be in my heart, instead of the God. I screamed out my agreement to the devil, It was my way of being really mad. Every time I was mad I would get mad at God (this was because my family were Christians) so I ask God to get out of my life and ask the Satan to give it a shot. Since it seemed that God’s ‘tests’ were harder than living with Satan. “A ride on the wild side, why not” I thought to myself after I wiped away my angry, solemn tears. Thinking to myself, I got a certain satisfaction from making agreements with Satan, and pretended that God was watching, and I was mocking him. It felt good.

I was ready, after a night or so, I was ready to go back home.
My food supplies were low. My clothes were filthy. My money came of no use. And my
airplane, well it was the same way it was from the first day I felt home. Every night for about
three nights I went to bed in the shelter I starred into the sky and held the retched plane in my hand (I wanted to crush it. But I was compelled to savor the moment, It was like I hand power in the palm of my hand.) I felt as if I had taught my parents a lesson, I couldn’t wait to see their scared and worried look on their face.
Its had been three days, since my run-away.
So on-ward I journeyed my way home.

This trip took me a lot longer than the first time; from dawn, to dusk. I would say it must have been at least ten-kilometers from the hill, to my house. As I approached the house with a good hundred paces more to go, I felt scared, that this run-away might actually back fire. I cautiously walked to the window on the side of the house which peered to the dinning table and unto the living room. To much of my surprise they were eating and it seemed like they were acting like I never existed, I even saw laughter, which stuck my little heart like a bolt of lighting. Horrified tears came rolling down my cheeks like a water fall. So I let those tears pour, than brought myself to the front door and rang the door bell. My heart raced, my palms got sweaty, and those tears just kept on flowing. When my Gramp’s opened the door, I could swear I almost gave him a heart attack; he gasped for air, clutched his arm, and pulled out his asthma-pump. He slowly backed off as I cautiously walked in past the door. Gramp’s yelled for my mom, and dad. “My boy!,” entered my dad. My mother then came into the porch way, “Oh my God. . .” she gasped and collapsed on the floor. Then the oddest thing happened, I heard a little voice, it sounded familiar, very familiar, too familiar. It was me. “Who’s at the door?” he said, just before I could see my reflection come out from the kitchen and unto my sight. And at the sight I felt like I was floating and watching that dilemma.
My eyes widened, I was in shocked. There was my reflection, a clone of me. Tension rose
until my dad spoke, and I entered my body once again. “I think it is time we have a talk, my
sons. . .”

We were brought into my dads home office. My mother had finally awoke, and was
escorted next to my dad and my duplicated sat next to me. And my Grampa sat behind it all,
out of the conversation; he clutched his hands together, bowed his head and it looked like he
was praying. While my Grampa appeared to be praying my weak mother, and serious father look at us both.
At one point my mother looked at us and her eyes became reddened, and she quickly turned
her head away, followed by her attempts to control her self.
Now my father spoke in a serious tone, and it always had the effect of frightening me.
“You two are my sons” he said. Every time he spoke he took his time, followed by a sigh. We both sat there and listened.
“My boys, you both are clones.”
“You two are. . .are cloned from the original.”
He then pointed to me “You are the first clone.” He pointed to my reflection, “and you are the
second.” I listened in disbelief, I felt so real, but they were saying I was cloned. It was like the were saying that I was not there boy or I am fake or we just keep you around to keep the
memory. I still didn’t say anything. About this point my mother bursted into tears and my father held it in and rubbed her back and my grampa walked out of the room. Then my father continued “So now you return!. . . You were gone for three years!” he looks to me and said. I was gone for three years!? I thought to myself in shock and disbelief my heart kept on racing and there was nothing I can do to stop it.
Hours past as they told us about the original, how they couldn’t bear to live with out their son.
He then looked at me and said “you,” he sighed “you were cloned when you had that car
accident. You were tricked into believing that you only broke your leg.”
They showed us are clone number at the back of our necks, and how they were visible only
under a certain light. Finally they had came to a conclusion that we all will try to live a normal
life, and continue on and always be grateful. That quick turn in conversation cheered me up, I still remember that feeling. Soon it was time for us to go to bed, we got separate rooms. It was only for a “while” they wanted us to “live in the same room, try to live and get used to each other.” So there I was brought to the guest room it was my “temporary room”, my mother brought me some food then told me how I was gone for three years and was never found. They thought that I had been kidnapped, so made another clone. She tucked me in and closed the lights. And than I began to lay there and think to myself, things don’t add up. Its funny I only remember being away for three days not “three years.” But maybe I was away for three years because they told me I was moving into my teens and only then did I noticed the difference in myself.
One thing did make sense though; It would explain why I was ignore so often. I was only
around for the memory. No wonder why I was always being rejected.

The next morning was the worst morning of my entire life I awoke freezing, wet and shivering. Outside on the field that was close to our back yard I laid there in agony. From there you could see my house from the open field of tall now yellow grass. When I woke there laid before my eyes a blade with thick red ooze on it, and I was afraid. I found that when I woke the wet feeling was actually drenched blood stains, my body was entirely numb; numb from the cold, and numb of fear.
In a matter of moments a police dog had found me curled up in a ball. I looked at the dog, and the police man struggling to hold the dog back to stop it from tearing me to pieces. The dog’s bark set the police into a frenzy four police officers came running up to where the dog was. They were all out of breathe and in a panic, from the sight of what they saw. They saw me curled and crying, drenched in blood, with the murder weapon close by my side.
Even though it felt like a dream, I remember it vividly, and will always remember it until the last of my days.
After all had calmed down; the dog stopped trying to viciously rip me to pieces and the officers decided to handle me cautiously. And I stopped crying, for my heart was about to give out. I was treated like an alien. Finally a officer stepped up and put a blanket over my clothes. And from crying and so much shock, I past out into the officers arms.

Breaking News: In the town of St. Alberts their has been a family murder. The family members that were killed were Adam, Eve, their cloned son, Clone Two and a seventy two year old man - Paul. The family members were dragged one hundred feet from the house after being cut and stabbed repeatedly, by their cloned son Clone One!.
I could hear the news babble on in my half sleep, and I awoke. I awoke to people surrounding me, they greeted me, and seemed nice at first. They were detectives. Soon after they had a calm talk with me, they got frustrated, and got more offensive, asking me tons of questions, over and over, question after question, I got extremely tired. And blacked out.

Months past, they took me to scientists, psychiatrists, and to some extent concluded: “Clone One (that’s what they called me) has a glitch in his gene, he has frequent conscious black-outs that cause, manic memory loss, and aggressive behavior. Clones are going through the process of being illegal, they are an abomination to the human race. When Clone One has black-outs, he is still awake but has no recollection of what he is doing in this state, hence memory loss. Furthermore in his black-out state he has aggressive behavior. Hence conscious-black-outs only his sub-conscious is operational.” And in the news it was being broadcast all over the world; “human cloning is an abomination” and they were probably right.
However Christian foundations proclaimed: “Clone One is an abomination (they all seemed to
agree on that I was an abomination -- I felt like I was the Abominal Snowman -- I didn’t know
what the hell they were talking about). We are to believe that his evil doings is a curse by God. Only God can give a soul, not man-kind, we believe that this evil that has come over this clone is a curse, a curse on all clones, an act of God. Clone One has no Soul!.”

After years had past I got older in this stench jail cell of mine, after all I didn’t have a soul, so why not treat me like an animal. Like my model air-plane that hangs from my ceiling, I was a reminder of what should never be, a symbol of evil, maybe so. But now I made peace with myself, and all things, for now God is in me, and no longer Satan.

Autobiography,

(Signed:) Clone One
Trying to improve. Still learning.
Comments and criques, welcome.
wwowoow!! its a top-flight! i loved the phrase
I asked him as plain as my plane

its superb, outstanding, peerless, unexceptionable...wait i have to refer a dictionary!
hey CLONE one!! you write too good! i liked your autobiography! well done...
keep writing!
Teachers: We supply a list of EFL job vacancies
thoroughly enjoyed that one!! Poor cloney I know how he feels ***