In the dream, I lay dying on a hospital bed. The doctors could not treat nor even explain it, but my entire body was shutting down and failing me.
Before the end came, I was met in the middle of the night by one final unauthorized visitor. It was another me.
This other me explained that he was the real Henry, and I his clone.
At some point, he had decided he could no longer handle the pressure of his/my life, so he decided to "fake" his death by creating me in a test tube, accelerating my growth to match his age, implanting me with a selection of his memories, and finally programming me to die prematurely at a set time. Once the world saw and believed that he was dead, he would have a fresh start and the freedom at last to live as we dreamed. Naturally, this all made perfect sense to me.
Hearing these things, I felt at first a strange sort of pride, because it was the greatest thing I had ever done, a final affirmation of my cleverness. Except that I wasn't really the one doing it. Rather, it was being done to me.
On second thought, I found it impossible to respect him. I did not know at what point our existences had diverged, but we seemed to have a different appreciation for what I had achieved, and I lacked his confidence that the life he would live would be worth more than the one I was being forced to give up.
All those moments...