Autoéntēs

It all comes down to luck in the end.

How could it be otherwise? The two of you are the same person, with the same origin, the same skills, the same ideal. Neither of you is stronger than the other. Neither of you is smarter than the other. It’s luck, then, that decides that your knife slides between her ribs while theirs does not.

They fall, then. A single strike was all it took. You- the both of you- are merely humans. You may surround yourself with heroes from out of time, but yourself are so fragile. A single punctured lung is enough to do you in.

You don’t apologize. You don’t have the right to. You have crushed lostbelts, killed thousands of innocents, and today you just killed [yourself.] Today you killed a desperate pathetic schmuck who only wanted to live. Today you condemned a world filled with people you know, to save yours, because you deemed your own people more real than these.

God. Fuck.

The blood itches under your nails.

You turn around, then. You need to keep moving forward. You need to make all these deaths worth something. You need to keep moving forward-

A hand suddenly closes around your ankle, and pulls.

You fall, face-first, barely catching yourself on your hands. You roll onto your back- only for a heavy weight to land on your lap. You open your mouth to yell. Two fingers stop you from making sound.

“Eat.” Your other self intones, pushing their fingers deeper inside your throat. You try to push them off you, but your earlier fight has left you exhausted. You only manage to smear their blood on your palms. “I said eat!”

You won’t. You can’t. Your throat spasms around their throat. You’re struggling to breathe. You punch them in the ribs. They cry out in pain, but refuse to let go.

“Please.” There’s something odd in their tone. It’s demanding, but above all, it’s scared. It’s desperate. They want this more than anything in the world. “I- I’m dying. You killed me. Take responsibility. Take me with you. Please. Take me with you.”

Your eyes widen as you understand. How- how can they ask that of you? How can they ask that of you? For all your sins, for your thousand crimes- cannibalism is the one thing you have never done. Cannibalism is the one thing you refuse to do. You can kill you survive, you can trample over dreams and wishes, but this- you can’t. You won’t. Reducing your kin to food. Reducing your kin to something to consume. You can’t. You won’t.

“Please,” your other self begs once more. They’re crying. You are, too. You’re choking. “Take me with you. My flesh in your flesh. It’s the same anyways. Please. Just- don’t leave me alone.”

That last sentence makes you still.

“Please.”

You can hurt. You can die. But if you can do all of this- it’s because you’ve had people with you. People who protected you. People who laughed with you. People who made life, this miserable fucking life of blood and blood and more blood, who made this life worth it despite all its pain. You can hurt. You can die. But being alone- that’s the one thing you could never bear.

“Take me with you.” Their voice is weaker. Their fingers are trembling in your mouth. They don’t have long left. “Please. Don’t… don’t you understand?”

You do. You do. You wish you didn’t, you wish you could ignore this dying wish.

But you do, and so you stop struggling, and bite down with all you have.