Don’t make a clone and a homunculus of the same person. Seriously. Don’t do it.  It’s a bad idea. Really bad. 

Sure, it may [i]seem[/i] like a good idea at the time. Who doesn’t want to see the love of their life again once they’ve passed on? Nobody, that’s who. Most people just lack the means, which is a tragedy of modern society and the result of unjust distribution of resources, but let’s not get distracted here. The point is that it’s a bad idea. 

If you’re gonna make a copy of a person, make either a homunculus or a clone. Not both. See, when there’s two clones of a person, they recognize that they’re both clones from the source of DNA and genetically exactly the same. So, there’s no difference between them, and no arguments about who is the real person. The same goes for two homunculi whose bodies are built as a human-like shell to house a soul and split the soul of the person right down the middle between the two of them. They intuitively recognize that they’re two halves of the same whole. 

But when there’s a homunculus and a clone… Christ. They just won’t stop arguing. 

“I am a perfect genetic copy of the original Deborah Wood. You’re just an abomination built from dark magic! A cheap imitation!” Clone Deborah boasts to Homunculus Deborah. 

“Fuck you, bitch! I have Deborah’s soul! I’m as real a Deborah as there can be! You’re just a soulless husk!” Homunculus Deborah retorts. 

“Please ladies, you’re both equally Deborah,” I say sheepishly. 

They always do this at dinner. I fiddle with my fork absentmindedly with the two dishes of spaghetti both Deborahs have made for me. I’m careful to eat both dishes at the same time and take equal portions from each plate. Can’t show favorites. 

Homunculus Deborah’s spaghetti is obviously better. Clone Deborah's tastes blander and more artificial. Might be the soul that makes the difference, but I don’t dare say that.   

“That’s not an answer!” Clone Deborah protests. She has a bit of a chip on her shoulder because I made her first. She’s a been more insecure since I made Homunculus Deborah. Needs a lot of validation. 

I try the diplomatic route. “Look, while you two are not [i]exactly[/i] the same Deborah, you’re both equally valid iterations of Deborah.”

Both Deborahs huff at this, obviously unsatisfied. 

“But which Deborah is the better Deborah?” Homunculus Deborah asks, dripping with honeyed smugness. She seems to intuitively know she’s the superior chief and has a bit of an ego since she has Deborah’s real soul and whatnot. 

I know better at this point than to respond to that question and simply jam forkfuls of spaghetti into my mouth. There is more spaghetti than I can deal with, but come hell or high water, I have to finish it, otherwise they’re just gonna have another argument. 

Clone Deborah slams her fist on the table. “Why did you make her? Am I not good enough for you?” Her breathing is haggard and her eyes are beginning to water. 

Here we go again. 

“Deborah, I’ve told you this before. When you love something, you naturally want more of it. It’s not because you’re any less Deborah than the other Deborah.”

In response, Clone Deborah hurls her plate at the wall, splattering pasta sauce all over it, and raining plate shards down on my innocent white carpet.  

 “I’ll clean that up!” Homunculus Deborah chirps. 

“No, [i]I’ll[/i] get it!” Clone Deborah rushes over, and the two frantically attempt to pick up more plate bits than the other. 

“Back off, bitch!” Homunculus Deborah slaps Clone Deborah’s hand away from some plate shards.

“Fuck you!” Clone Deborah slaps her right back, this time on the face. 

Christ. 

“Break it up!” I yell. 

“She started it!” both Deborahs say in unison. 

Homunculi Deborah takes this small opportunity of false contrition to shove Clone Deborah into the wall, rattling nearby picture frames and dislodging several books from my research shelf. 

“Hey!” I grab Homunculi Deborah, but something else seems to have distracted her. 

“Honey, dear, what exactly is [i]that[/i]?” she points at a leather-bound book, her voice practically burning with acid. 
	
It’s a book titled, “An In-Depth Guide to Replicant Construction.”
	
Both Deborahs are staring daggers into my heart.
	
“Yes, care to enlighten us?” Clone Deborah picks up a particularly sharp shard of plate. 
	
I back away slowly, getting ready to run. 

“Ladies, ladies, please. I can explain!”