This story is written like a bunch of journal entries made by the main character. The dates are put above the entry in Italics, and there are (possibly) more to come. If you would like me to read it how I picture it, let me know and I will find a time.

The story begins now.

March 3rd, 2024

Left. Right. Up, Down. The sounds of a clicking keyboard bounced off the walls. Two days ago. I had only just started playing two days ago, and my parents already call me addicted. At least I would like to think so. In the game, I'm shooting people (that's how you collect points). In my massacre, I got 5000 points. I think I'm done for today.

March 4th, 2024

I go turn on the T.V. The news is on, so I quickly change the channel, back to cartoons. No good 'toons are on. Back to the news. Another mass-murder in a mall or something. Wait. I pause the show. This can't be possible...

March 4th, 2024

The next thing I knew, I was packing. Driving. For some reason, my "fight" instinct isn't working, so I guess were taking off. I don't know why I'm leaving. I didn't do anything wrong. I must have been controlling a real clone. Killing real people. Not to mention the clone looks exactly like me. No wonder it was so realistic! So the real question is, why am I debating whether or not I should be driving, when my focus should be on the road? At least in the game I got to go shopping in an empty mall... well, do dead people count?

March 7th, 2024

My focus was not on the road. So I have been walking for two days, and I am extremely exhausted. I can barely function. Why is luck so bad to me? I can't do anything without luck kicking me back to the start. On the bright side my face was on the news...

March 10th, 2024

The police are here. Everywhere. I'm in a subway station with my hoodie covering my eyes. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I'm racing to the exit. Now I realize how suspicious that made me. I also may have stolen a scarf from a sleeping old lady and used it as a disguise. I really need to get out of here. If I get arreste-

March 30th, 2024

They arrested me. They let me have my journal back, because they thought it would keep me sane. The whole world has turned on me. It feels like the earth is spinning backwards now that I am in jail. The memories come back, more and more. ­But there's something wrong; They're memories of murder. Me being a murderer. Shooting all these people. But these memories can't be mine... can they?

                                                                                                            - Alike

                                                                                                           END OF ENTRY