Identity Thief -

Elias backed toward the window. He looked at the man who was currently living his life, wearing his clothes, and possessing his name. He realized he couldn't fight for a life he had stolen, because there was no "Elias" left to save.

He’s me, Elias whispered to the steam rising from his cup. He’s doing my life better than I did. Identity Thief

The thief didn't jump. He didn't look guilty. He slowly looked up, adjusted his glasses—Elias’s glasses—and offered a small, pitying smile. Hello, Arthur. Arthur? Elias stammered. My name is Elias. Elias backed toward the window

Elias backed away. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but when he tried to unlock it with his thumbprint, the sensor vibrated in rejection. He tried his passcode. Incorrect. He’s me, Elias whispered to the steam rising from his cup

Desperation drove him back to the library the next morning. He didn't go through the front. He used the delivery bay, slipping in behind a crate of periodicals. He knew the blind spots of the security cameras; he had mapped them out himself during a boring summer shift.

The sound of sirens began to swell in the distance, cutting through the muffled quiet of the library. Elias looked at his hands. They were shaking. He tried to remember his mother’s face, but all he could see was a blurred photograph he’d found in a box years ago. He tried to remember his first day at the library, but it felt like a scene from a movie he’d watched too many times.