The Xeroxed Man

by solaris2001

Staring blankly into the flickering monitor at rows of bright green numbers, he paused as, glimpsing his reflection in the smeared glass, a feeling that he could only describe as profundity married to quiet horror rolled over his brain, down his spine, and into the pit of his frenetic stomach. He came from heroic stock, history’s great but unsung adventurers separated from him by only a generation, a war, and a continent, but his life bore as little resemblance to theirs as the faded copies of copies pinned to the frayed fabric walls of his aging cubicle to their originals.