He seemed to be submerged in a sea of despair, hands unable to grasp anything.

As his lungs gasped for air, his chest pounded in anxiety while his breathing hitched.

Surrounded by an expanse of unfamiliar faces, the weight of their hushed tones and knowing glances ate away at the last of his sanity. Their figures blocked out the light and plunged his mind into utter darkness, panic beginning to seep in.

He could pick up their voices reverberating in his ears, deafening and powerful. The space held no warmth, just the frigid stares of those he’d soon forget. The weight of their decision pressed down on him as those before him deliberated, an indistinct murmur in the dimly lit room that would shape his destiny, ultimately deciding where he would go and who he would become.

The boy was a nobody, a blank slate, lacking the definition of a human. A person who wasn’t even a person. Although he had distinct features, a name solely for him, and blood rushing through his veins, he was still only a thing to be used.

His kind could not dream or become someone important.

He lifted one of his hands and watched it tremble uncontrollably before him. A torrent of undefined feelings, ones that threatened to consume him, struck him. Fear? Rage? Uneasiness? Though too young to understand the complexities, a sense of uncertainty settled upon him.

Unable to hold down the water they’d offered, his throat emitted a harsh, rattling cough. The sound became thick with dryness and desperation. Suddenly, he wondered if the sound of glass shattering would grab their attention, if then they would finally see him. The desperation in his thoughts broke what little stability he had left.

A hollow ache settled in his chest with one question: would his unspoken feelings ever breach the wall of their indifference?

He knew they wouldn’t listen to a tool, a being forbidden from wanting anything. That need to want, it went against his existence, his purpose.

It was then that he heard someone calling his name from somewhere in the room. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a sudden gust of wind.

Despite their shouts, he only heard a dull roar in his ears, a deafening white noise that blocked out their voices. He was merely an observer. A boy with no family, no connections, and no free will was as good as dead, right?

Even though he was alone in the world, he was still human, right?

He’d once had what he considered a father figure at the facility where he grew up. A man whose presence had brought some comfort to his bleak childhood. Although his memories were spotty at best, he did remember the man’s last message, a quiet yet profound, “Someday, you will become important to someone.”

It was ironic, considering he was useful for only one thing.

Giving his life.

His body.

His existence had no meaning.

“Keon?” a man called out, breaking him from his reverie.

A multitude of dark figures surrounded the boy, closing in on him in a rush. He felt crushed under the weight of their stares. Tears blurred his vision as the darkness closed in, each heartbeat echoing a mournful rhythm.

It was at that moment that someone guided him away with a hand on his shoulder, their fingers digging in. Keon’s mind was a shattered mess, incapable of comprehending what was happening around him.

The hands of time would continue to move forward, whether or not he moved with it. His life now belonged to someone else.

After all, he was only a puppet. His existence was fleeting.

At the tender age of ten, he knew what the future held.

A slow, meaningless life.

What set him apart from the humans? What made him different?

The man with no face bent down and whispered into Keon’s ear. The words he had spoken would be ones he’s carry with him into adulthood: “A clone has no voice.”