Author: Rachel Sievers

We stood there unable to say or do anything. Looking was all that our minds seemed capable of at that moment. I wondered if it was because we were the same person. Maybe we would have the exact same amount of time in shock and horror and then we would both speak in unison.
“How is this possible?” The other me said, apparently prone to a quicker mind and mouth.
I groped for words still stuck in my throat and when they did emerge they were clogged and dry making my voice stranger than my exact copy, “I don’t know,” I said dumbly. It was becoming clear I was the lesser model of the two. “Maybe twins separated at birth?” The more intelligent me suggested. The hope in his voice made me grasp at that possibility until I saw the scar.
“How’d you get the scar above your eye?”
“Skateboarding, when I was,”
“Nine,” I finished.
“Oh, no,” the other me said.
“Yeah,” I finished.
We both knew what this meant, and it was not good. As a species we have known for hundreds of years that multiple universes exist. Like a paper accordion folding in on itself, sometimes these universes fold in and become collapsed and one will transfer to another, like an old press and stick tattoo.
“Do you think there are others?” I ask.
We both look out at the city street beyond the entryway of our high-rise apartment. Everyone else seems to be going on with their life undisturbed.
“No, I think it is just us,” the other me says. Well, at least that is good news. If it was a planet wide cross over there would-be large-scale population control, maybe even planet wide death if the crossover numbers were bad enough.
“At least it is just us, we better head to the Department of Human Resources and get this sorted,” I say. I know that there is a fifty-fifty chance that one of us will be put down, but I can’t imagine it is me. I would know if I accidently crossed over. But there was a chance, and if I just took matters into my own hands there was a one-hundred percent chance I would make it out.
The pain that exploded across the back of my head was sharp and hot, damn if I wasn’t the slower copy.