Freud
Into the Mind of Clone Freud
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
I closed my eyes sighing deeply as the meaning of Shakespeare's words dug into me as though he spoke directly to me. I could not help but bite my lips as his words sunk into my flesh and made me quiver at the thought and understanding of his words. How silly of me the clone of Sigmund Freud to get worked up over such silly yet moving words. I should have been discovering unknown territories in the field of psychology at the moment, not dilly dalling over a man who was not even cloned's works.
I could not take my mind off of his words. Was it nobler to die or to live? Was being a clone noble or a calamity? I did not want to think of myself as not a person, but something that was made, developed, engineered. Yet, it was impossible not to think so, I was not born to a mother's flesh, but created in a lab.
Oh, the humanity in this alone could drive a man mad. I had seen it so very often, my fellow clones becoming something that was so horrible I wished only to shut it out, but I could not, I was a scientist, I was here to observe, I was a psychologist.
I had to wonder if that alone was one of the reason's Mozart tried to kill himself. I knew though that like me the pressure was getting to him, as well as to the rest of us. How could we, the clones ever truly out shine the Originals?
That is what the scientists wanted to hear, that we were the future of modern science. Yet, truthfully I doubted that many of us would do anything, spectacular. We were not given full capable knowledge of our Originals, we have to learn everything about them, their discoveries and life, and then on our own start anew, try to pick up the pieces that our Original's had left behind, meaning we were as likely to be amazing as anyone else whom studied that person, the only perk we had were our faces.
Even that did not mean that we were set in stone to be whom we were created to be, Marie Curie proved that, with her obsession with Mozart and his god'awful music that he played. I would not let anyone know it but even I found my Original rather boring. He had gone down in history as a great Psychologist that is for sure; but at the same time he had also gone down in history as a cocaine addict, crazy, bitter, not to mention a sick perception of his mother as nothing more than a sexual outlet.
I was expected to be smart, and I was. I was expected to believe in all that my Original did but, I did not. I was smart enough not to let on that I was dissatisfied with my Original or perhaps I would end up like Marie Curie. Poor Marie,she did not last long after the scientists found out that she was not happy with who she was. She was a scientist's clone, not a musician... So she like the rest of the flops was terminated.
I wonder if it is any less wrong to terminate a clone as it is a human? We breath, we live, we have hopes and dreams, as do any human. Yet, as I sit here staring down at this stupid book that I have been trying to read for hours, I can't help but wonder about the penalties of straying away from whom we were created to be.
Clones are dieing all around me, Kennedy, Einstein, Joan, and not to mention Mozart whom almost killed himself. How was I suppose to live with all of the hurt that I was feeling? I know I should feel none, and be void, but I can not help but wonder if life is going to hell.
That is a funny thought, is life going to hell in the moment that things go bad, or has it silently been going to hell from the moment you took your first breath?
Either way the things that were occurring here at the school were horrible. I felt responsible being the only level headed person left to take charge and take care of people. I was one to stay in the shadows, but with the current school problems, after the attack I felt it was necessary to take charge and help others.
How very Original Freud of me.
Perhaps, even at the cost of other's lives this event, this sicking event, could help me for the better? So as I walked to Napoleon's room to comfort him, in his loosing of Joan, I felt a little better with where things were going. Hell if the other past clone's were killing the newer one's exactly as the Original's had died before, I have a while to wait, my Original did die when he was over eighty years old.
A sigh of breath for my acking mind.
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Sorry, this has no perticular plot other than to get into the mind of that character from Afterschool Charisma, I actually really like Sigmund Freud as a Psychologist.Which is why I was ecstatic when I saw he was in the series. I was thinking about making more of these, perhaps slash. Not sure, I do not know who I would put him with I was thinking Mozart.