Some identical twins want independence. Not Francesca and me. We were indistinguishable on the outside and on the inside, we shared an identity. Before the accident, we communicated telepathically.

We should have taken the bus home that day. When Byron offered us a ride, I couldn’t resist.  His car didn’t have seat belts and it was always breaking down, but there was nothing wrong with Byron. I thought he was perfect.

Without a word, Francesca climbed in back. I knew she disapproved.

As he drove, Byron continually turned to me. He flirted and I responded. Our eyes were momentarily locked as he ran the red light. Francesca leaned forward and grabbed my shoulders, violently pulling me back, as we crashed into the driver’s side of a car. I would have gone through the windshield had she not clung to me. As we made impact, the metal lever on the back of my seat ground into her shin and her right patella shattered against the door.

The morphine gives her relief and she now walks with a cane. Yet, our connection is lost. As I ran my finger over the indentation on Francesca’s tibia, I knew what I had to do.

I grip the hammer over my right leg. We will be identical again. This will save us.

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