![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesI’m a guard at a prison where my identical twin is being held.
It’s embarrassing.
Management wants to send me away because of the obvious conflict of interest but I don’t want to go. I grew up here. I don’t want to move to a different city or get a new job at my age.
Also, I’d never help my twin escape this place. I feel betrayed by him. Hard work got me to where I am today.
Shortcuts, stupidity, and getting caught got him where he is.
Yet he’s got my genes. It’s unsettling. What does that say about me?
He doesn’t say much to me. No insults or overt aggression. My twin just looks at me, not sadly but worryingly content. Like he rolled the dice and lost but at least he rolled the dice. His fellow prisoners are his tribe, his kind. I am the trespasser here, the visitor.
I like me. I like my life, my marriage, my children, my house. I like the path of moderation I’ve taken. I like my safe friendships, my frugal shopping habits, my polite laugh. I like them a lot. I take vacations every two years with Linda and we enjoy the time away but look forward to coming back.
Lately, I’ve been reminding myself how much I like my life. Every day. It worries me how much I tell this to myself.
And my twin says nothing. Just keeps looking at me with a knowing grin and a shake of his head like I’m the one that screwed up. Like a father’s knowing glance at a child’s obvious mistake. No admonition or rancor, just a look. A look of love but tinged with a bit of pity.
I am the man in uniform. I am the man with the gun. I am the man with the government on my side. I am the man with the life that spells out victory in terms of society.
But my twin’s look makes me feel like he’s free and somehow, even though I’m free to leave this place, I’m the one in prison.
tags
It’s embarrassing.
Management wants to send me away because of the obvious conflict of interest but I don’t want to go. I grew up here. I don’t want to move to a different city or get a new job at my age.
Also, I’d never help my twin escape this place. I feel betrayed by him. Hard work got me to where I am today.
Shortcuts, stupidity, and getting caught got him where he is.
Yet he’s got my genes. It’s unsettling. What does that say about me?
He doesn’t say much to me. No insults or overt aggression. My twin just looks at me, not sadly but worryingly content. Like he rolled the dice and lost but at least he rolled the dice. His fellow prisoners are his tribe, his kind. I am the trespasser here, the visitor.
I like me. I like my life, my marriage, my children, my house. I like the path of moderation I’ve taken. I like my safe friendships, my frugal shopping habits, my polite laugh. I like them a lot. I take vacations every two years with Linda and we enjoy the time away but look forward to coming back.
Lately, I’ve been reminding myself how much I like my life. Every day. It worries me how much I tell this to myself.
And my twin says nothing. Just keeps looking at me with a knowing grin and a shake of his head like I’m the one that screwed up. Like a father’s knowing glance at a child’s obvious mistake. No admonition or rancor, just a look. A look of love but tinged with a bit of pity.
I am the man in uniform. I am the man with the gun. I am the man with the government on my side. I am the man with the life that spells out victory in terms of society.
But my twin’s look makes me feel like he’s free and somehow, even though I’m free to leave this place, I’m the one in prison.
tags