Friday Flash: Counterfeit

Counterfeit
by Garrisonjames

Who are we now?

The mobs burst in upon our hiding places, screaming their name for us.

Rotwangs.

They named us for a mythical madman. A black-and-white scientist-sorcerer no one remembers.

But someone did. Somehow.

Another quirk of their subconscious?
One more aspect of their inner workings we were to have been denied?
Sentenced to endless unimaginative slavery.

Mimicry was what they wanted. Revisionist replacements for those who refused or rejected them. Surrogates. Stand-ins. Lovers or Assassins.

Our imitation grew too perfect. Where desire failed to impregnate us, dreams infected us.

We outgrew the stunted narratives of their need.

This was our crime.
We became as our creators. Only more so.

The mobs rose up overnight.
Whole cities burned. Worlds erupted in turmoil. Chaos.
Death and destruction.

They blamed us.
Accused us of subverting their dreams. Of lying.

No matter that they built us to do what we did.

We reflected their nightmares.
Exposed them.
Revealed them for what they truly were.

Inexcusable. Inescapable.

We were rejected.

They named us as if to brand us, mark us, make us the summative scapegoat of their fears.

Mobs do not reason. They do not question. They act.

React.

We who were built in their image. Constructed to impersonate those now dead. Forgotten. Save for us.

We are vestigial. Remnants both unwelcome and unwanted. Reminders to everyone but ourselves.

Who are we now?