Chapter Fifteen - Existentialism, More or Less

“Thank you,” the Dreamer clone who was beginning to think of herself as the Pamphlet Clone said.

She plastered on a smile as the man walked on, his attention on the folded piece of paper he had in hand. She stared at him until he rounded the corner and moved out of sight. Or, more accurately, she was staring at the pamphlet he held.

That was her last one.

She stared at her hand and the tentacle that was on the end of her misformed tentacle arm.

She was out of pamphlets.

“Oh,” she said, but there was no one to hear her, even on the otherwise busy street; her single syllable of vocalized emotion was drowned out by the shuffle of feet, the clack of hooves and the rumble of carts.

Life, it seemed, went on despite her realization. At least, for others.

Her purpose in life was giving people pamphlets.

She was out of pamphlets to give.

Did that mean that it was over?

She let her arms drop. For some time now, she had been thinking, thinking between handing out pamphlets, thinking while she sat next to the cafe’s door at night, waiting for it to be day again and for there to be people out and about that she could give her pamphlets to...

Why was she the Pamphlet Clone?

There were others. Dreamer made a lot of clones. Some died, some lived, some earned the coveted headpats, others never received them. Most of them had a purpose that they lived, and died, for. And that was enough.

Few of them, Pamphlet Clone knew, lasted as long as she had.

She... didn’t know why she wanted to last as long as she had. It was just something she wanted to do. Maybe it was because her purpose... made her happy?

She gave people pamphlets, and when she did, sometimes people smiled. They thanked her.

Not only did she matter in that moment, not only was she fulfilling her purpose, she was making people a little bit happy while doing that.

Of all the purposes she might have had... maybe this one wasn’t so bad?

But now it was over.

No more pamphlets to give. No more hiding and hugging her dwindling supply of pamphlets close to her chest in the alley when it rained to keep them dry, no more... no more anything.

Pamphlet Clone looked up into the sky. It was grey. Clouds all over, with only a hint of a sun behind them.

She wondered if, maybe, one day she might have run into a pamphlet that told her why. Why the sky was grey, why the rain fell, why she was who she was. But that wouldn’t happen now, because she had run out, as she would, inevitably.

“Hey.”

Pamphlet Clone turned. It was Charlotte, who was nice; she had taken one of her pamphlets once, had read the entire thing before her before giving the pamphlet back. At the time, she wasn’t sure what to think of that. For someone to give the pamphlet back was so strange. But now... perhaps that had been a small mercy?

To take in the information on the pamphlet, fulfilling the pamphlet’s purpose by being read and treasured and fulfilling Pamphlet Clone’s own purpose in giving people a pamphlet, and yet still returning things to a neutral state afterwards.

It bothered her, but it wasn’t a bad bother it just... maybe she could be replaced by nothing more than a mere sign.

“Hello,” she said. “I don’t have any pamphlets anymore.”

“You’re out?” Charlotte said. “Oh, that’s not fun. Why don’t you get more?”

“Get... more?”

Charlotte nodded, a quick smile on. “Here,” she said as she reached into her purse. She removed a small coin, flat and silvery. “Go by the printer on Venom’s street. There’s a shop there that prints them. I think they should still have the template.”

She placed a hand on Pamphlet Clone’s head. A quick, gentle headpat on her way by.

Pamphlet Clone barely felt it. She was eyeing the coin.

Had... had she been deluding herself?

She blinked fast, to get rid of the sting in her eyes, even as she hugged the coin close. “Th-thank you,” she said. But the door bell was already done ringing, and Charlotte was already in the shop, talking with Abigail and Dreamer.

Pamphlet Clone started to walk, walk and think.

She... she hadn’t realized.

Of course, her purpose was still the same but... but if she didn’t want to end it, maybe it didn’t have to? Not if there were more pamphlets to get, more of them to hand out to people.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Why had no one told her?

In the end, she knew why.

It didn’t matter to anyone.

She was Pamphlet Clone, the clone that gave people pamphlets, and in the greater scheme of things, that didn’t matter. She was, to the universe, a one-off joke that should have ended a long time ago, but here she still was, puttering along, and looking for more pamphlets to give.

She had choices she could make too. But she had been denied, by her purpose, by Dreamer, by the universe itself--denied the ability to have certainty that her choices would matter, that they would further her purpose.

Pamphlet Clone had not thought to get more pamphlets, because she was blind to the choice that she could have made, and even now, pressed towards a choice that seemed to make her... tentatively hopeful, she wasn’t sure if the end result would be adequate to her.

Wouldn’t she just run out of pamphlets again?

Was that life now? A cycle. Grab the pamphlets, hand them out, get more.

Was that satisfactory?

She didn’t know, but for now... maybe it was enough that she have something to do?

The printing shop wasn’t anything too nice. A small building with a lot of posters on its front and a big signboard above it. Something within whirled and clanked and clunked, a satisfying music, a mechanical beat that thrummed in time with her own heart.

A sign hung by the door. Open.

She stepped into the shop to the sound of a jingly bell and looked around at all the signs and booklets and little display pieces. There weren’t many pamphlets here. They seemed, she guessed, to focus more on signs than anything else.

She could appreciate those. They had their own merits, though... no, she didn’t want to be the Sign Clone. She knew that she would rather be the Pamphlet Clone, even if she wasn’t sure what it fully meant to be that. It was still her.

“Hello,” she said.

From the back came an older man. He had a cap on, and big bushy brows that shaded clever, if rheumy eyes. “Hmm? Oh, hello,” he said while rubbing ink-stained hands on a dirty apron, his voice was a little loud.

“Hi. I’m the Pamphlet Clone, and I want more pamphlets.”

“What was that, dear?” he asked, his head tilting to the side. “You said you were Pam?”

She considered it. “No, I’m the Pamphlet Clone. I want... pamphlets. Please?”

“Ah!” he said. “Yes yes, I can help you, Pam, my dear. Now, do you have anything in mind?” And with that, the man reached under a counter and placed a thick book onto the top. When he opened the covers, it revealed dozens of pamphlets, held in place by a piece of twine affixed to the binding.

“Oh,” she said.

“I have double-sided, single-sided, bi-fold, tri-fold, and even some unique shapes,” he said. “Landscape size-for more information, and eight and sixteen fold maps, though I don’t suppose those are technically pamphlets. Brochures too, if that’s what you’re looking for. Folk confuse the two all the time, which is only fair, I always saw them as two sides of the same flyer. Haha! Don’t worry Pam, we’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Pamphlet Clone... Pam. Maybe she was Pam. If this man, this expert in pamphlets said so. She swallowed, her throat thick. There were choices. So many of them. Some right, some wrong, and some strange.

She tried to breathe, but couldn’t seem to remember how.

Then a hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up into caring eyes. “Are you okay, Pam?”

“I... I don’t know why I am,” Pam said.

“Hmm? Oh, well, I suppose it’s a lot of options, ain’t it? Hey, how would you like to see the machines that make the magic happen, hmm? I’m sure that’ll cheer you right up!”

Pam nodded. She would like that, she really would. “I have this,” she said, holding up the coin for the man who made the pamphlets.

“That’s awfully nice of you, Pam,” he said with a grin. “But tell you what. I’ve got some scrap paper out back, a few mismatched sheets. How about I show you how to make your own? That way you can save yourself a few coins for candy and the like.” He winked at her.

Pam nodded. She would like that too.

Maybe her purpose wasn’t certain, maybe things would be confusing still, maybe there would always be too many choices. But then, maybe today wouldn’t be a bad day despite all that.

***