“New Year, new me,” he said, raising a glass in his empty apartment and counting the chimes in his head. The door flew open on the twelfth chime and the next him entered, slight and tall, dirty blonde hair sheared close to his head, a mirror image of himself. Where this one, or any of the others, came from he never knew. Who he replaced, he never knew. Why? Not a clue.
All he knew was that in a few more years he would be free, with a pardon for his crimes and a lot of incentive in his bank account to keep him from committing any more.
But when the new him entered, it was time to leave. His bag was packed – a simple travel pack, all he was ever permitted to take.
He stood, drained his drink, nodded at the new him, and left, closing the door more gently behind him than it had been opened.
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