The Double
Hudson Miller
“’There Must Be Someway Out of Here’, Said the Joker to the Thief” Existence is a curious thing. One minute you can be happily floating in oblivion, the next you are plucked from the comforting darkness and blinded by all the gloriousness of consciousness. Well, that’s how it goes for most people anyway. Our hero was not brought into this world because of the love of a man and a woman. Our hero was brought into this world because of the hatred a man had for himself. When you first come into consciousness life stretches out before you with infinite possibilities, and fantastic promises. That is, of course, unless you were born into the head of Yakov Petrovich Goliadkin. Mr. Goliadkin was nothing to write home about. He goes about his insignificant life completely devoid of any ambition or wherewithal to advance his lot in life. He works as a mere office clerk in a not-too-prestigious office, he can barely talk women, and has the most curious and annoying habits. He is by no means assertive, and lets the scum of the earth walk over him. Even his man-servant Petrushka has no respect for him. He is a homely as a mule, with about as much hair as one… well except for on his head. He is as short as he is fat, and the clothes he wears are for a man much fitter. This was the life our hero was birthed into, doomed to share a body with a lay about, a slubberdegullion, a man born under a Threepenny, Halfpenny Planet, never to be worth a groat. For most people, being born into such a predicament would incite a great deal of ire. But not our hero, no, he thought about this situation calmly. He had a plan. “So this layabout calls himself Goliadkin, eh?” our hero thought to himself “Then that’s my name too I suppose. Well Mr. Goliadkin, it’s time I took over this mess.” Our hero was no layabout, quite the contrary. Once he got his bearings he immediately set to work laying the groundwork in the subconscious. He would plant doubt in the back of Mr.
“’There Must Be Someway Out of Here’, Said the Joker to the Thief” Existence is a curious thing. One minute you can be happily floating in oblivion, the next you are plucked from the comforting darkness and blinded by all the gloriousness of consciousness. Well, that’s how it goes for most people anyway. Our hero was not brought into this world because of the love of a man and a woman. Our hero was brought into this world because of the hatred a man had for himself. When you first come into consciousness life stretches out before you with infinite possibilities, and fantastic promises. That is, of course, unless you were born into the head of Yakov Petrovich Goliadkin. Mr. Goliadkin was nothing to write home about. He goes about his insignificant life completely devoid of any ambition or wherewithal to advance his lot in life. He works as a mere office clerk in a not-too-prestigious office, he can barely talk women, and has the most curious and annoying habits. He is by no means assertive, and lets the scum of the earth walk over him. Even his man-servant Petrushka has no respect for him. He is a homely as a mule, with about as much hair as one… well except for on his head. He is as short as he is fat, and the clothes he wears are for a man much fitter. This was the life our hero was birthed into, doomed to share a body with a lay about, a slubberdegullion, a man born under a Threepenny, Halfpenny Planet, never to be worth a groat. For most people, being born into such a predicament would incite a great deal of ire. But not our hero, no, he thought about this situation calmly. He had a plan. “So this layabout calls himself Goliadkin, eh?” our hero thought to himself “Then that’s my name too I suppose. Well Mr. Goliadkin, it’s time I took over this mess.” Our hero was no layabout, quite the contrary. Once he got his bearings he immediately set to work laying the groundwork in the subconscious. He would plant doubt in the back of Mr.