Writing The Reanimatrix [M]

[Japan]

I really liked that Charles. That last story was very touching. It was very nice.


For this story, I would like to thank PT, Charles, syk3 and James for their help.

[b]One more thing...it is PG13 because of a few bad words. So watch out.[/b]

---

[SIZE=3] [b]The Chase[/b][/SIZE]


The wind blew through the teenager's hair, ruffling it slightly. The young man could see for forever, it seemed, from his vantage point high atop a high-rise office building. The ocean stretched out into infinity, toward the horizon, where the edge met a setting sun. The sea was on fire, sending vivid streams of light into his eyes. He squinted his eyes, but was ever watchful for something that might breach the water. Though he was unsure of what, he was certain something would happen sometime soon.

Minutes passed as if they were hours. The boy sighed and turned. He began to walk away from the building's edge. A great rumble blasted from the ocean and the boy's heart swelled with joy and he faced it again. The water rippled, the only sign of a submerged behemoth. What sea creature surfaced, he could not tell. He slowly sat down near the exit to the stairs. It must have been a whale he thought, only a whale. He chuckled. There were only whales in the sea. He sighed. Only a fool expects something more in these waters.
Strange winds began to swirl, his shirt flapping, buffeted by tiny whirlwinds. He felt something peculiar in the air, as if something or someone were watching him.

"Hello, Mr. Martin?"

"What?! Who said that?!?"

"I've wanted to speak with you for some time now, Mr. Martin."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Now, now, Mr. Martin, there is no need for that. There are important matters to discuss, matters that affect your very life. I am here to save you, Mr. Martin."

"Yeah? Who the hell are you? Who sent you," the boy replied.

"My name is inconsequential. All you need to know is that your life is in danger and I have been assigned to escort you to a safe location, where you will be fully updated."

"What the hell?"

The boy turned in the direction in which he thought the exit to the stairs was located.

?Where do you think you are going, Mr. Martin??

?Away from you, whom ever the hell you are.?

?I am afraid you can?t really do that, Mr. Martin. You can?t get rid of me that easily.?

?Well, I am going to leave no matter what. You can?t make me stay. It is a free country.?

With that last comment, he flicked off the air from which the voice came and started to walk toward the exit. The strange winds picked up yet again, but they were a lot stronger this time. The wind was so strong that it pushed the seventeen-year-old boy closer to the edge. He tripped on the ledge and started to fall.

The boy sat up quickly, perspiration soaking his t-shirt all the way through. There were beads of sweat resting on his face. He was breathing rather hard. ?What the hell?? he told himself. ?That was some messed up dream.?
He pulled off the covers and walked across the bedroom. The bedroom was dark; the only light seeping through the cracks of the blinds.
The boy pulled up his baggy pants hastily and buttoned them up. He pulled off his wet shirt and tossed in the hamper full of dirty clothes. He grabbed his towel that was lying on his doorknob. He dried himself off and put on another clean t-shirt, from his closet. He snatched his jacket and went out the door without saying a word.

He met up with a few of his friends at the arcade. Upon arriving there, the boy noticed an extremely beautiful, yet mysterious woman in a black leather trench coat leaning against the wall.

He paid no attention to the woman for a while as he and his friends played a few video games. After a round of Dance Dance Revolution, the boy noticed the woman staring directly at him. She started to leave the arcade. The boy followed her. He didn?t seem to notice his friends calling after him to come back as the woman elegantly walked out the door and down the busy sidewalk. The boy could not keep his gaze off her. It seemed like he was afraid to lose sight of her and never see her again. All the while, he kept on bumping into other pedestrians and hot dog stands; he even knocked an old man down to the ground! But that didn?t stop him, and he continued on. The woman crossed the street and walked through the door of a big office building. The boy launched into a run. A car or two almost ran over him, stopping abruptly to let him pass and honking their horns in protest. He rushed into the office building, but once inside, he looked everywhere nervously for a trace of the mysterious woman.

Right then, he heard the elevator door open. He turned his head toward the sound. There, right in front of the elevator, now stepping into it was the woman! He ran toward the elevator at full speed. The door to the elevator closed. He banged angrily on the door. The boy pushed the elevator button several times (like once wasn't enough?) Finally the door opened and he rushed in. He pushed the button for the upper-most floor and waited, as the elevator music playing gaily.
The door opened and he rushed up the last flight of stairs and on to the roof. He just had a feeling that the mysterious woman would be up there. Sure enough, there she was. She was standing on the ledge and it seemed as though she was calmly waiting for something. She leaned over the edge and fell off the building.

?WAIT!? The boy yelled to the woman loudly.

He ran toward the ledge and jumped off the building. She disappeared.

The wailing of the ambulance could be heard as the paramedics rushed through the anxious and shocked crowd.

?Excuse me! Paramedics here are trying to get through. Out of the way please,? said a policeman who seemed to be on duty at the time.
The crowd quickly broke apart to let them through.

?Can someone please tell me how the hell this kid die?? asked the policemen.

A small girl about the age of six pointed to one of the office buildings, and answered, ?He jumped off of that big building?
The policeman turned around and looked up to where the girl pointed. He shaded his eyes from the bright sun. Another policeman walked up to the officer who was already there.

?How do you think it happened?? asked the second policeman.

?I don?t really know actually,? replied the first, ?It seems that this is little more than a simple suicide. There is no other answer.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed across the sky. The lightning illuminated the desolate sky. Millions upon millions of red liquid-filled pods appeared.
People of all ages became distinguishable in the pods. All of them seemed to be in a deep hibernation. Though, in reality, they were trapped in the Matrix.

In a nearby pod, bubbles started to ascend from beneath the surface of the liquid within. The body bolted all of a sudden. It seemed to snap out of its deep trance. The hands started to detach all of the wires that were connected to him. The body seemed to be frantically trying to escape. More and more bubbles surfaced. The body began to move freely now, with an awareness lacking in the countless other neighboring vessels. Finally the last wire was removed. The individual opened his eyes. His body and soul were now withdrawn from the Matrix. The boy was free.

---

[sublime2004]

[CENTER][b][size=2][[u]Severing Ties[/u]][/b][/size][/CENTER]


[b][color=darkgreen][size=1]
"What do you think the difference is?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"What's the difference??" she asked again.

"What are you talking about?"

"I was trying to have a conversation with you, apparently..." she was upset, "Forget about it."

"Ok, sorry." I tried to apologize and move on, "But, what are you talking about?"

"I was asking you what you thought the difference was between this life and the next."

"Uhhh..." I was dumbfounded, "I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it. I guess theres gotta be something beyond this plane of existence..."

"Ok," she reiterated, "so what do you think the difference is between this and that plane?"

"Well, I imagine it to be bright. Big open spaces, the whole nine yeards." I tried to get by with a vague answer. Theology always made me uncomfortable.

"I think it'll be different, but the same as this place." she gave an even more vague response. I looked around the shabby apartment with the peeling wallpaper and dingy carpet the color of rotten avocadoes.

"Not [i]this[/i] place, stupid." she giggled with a playful slap to the back of my head, "I mean that the afterlife will look like this world, except you will be more aware."

"Ooooo-kaaaay?" I was just a little bit lost.

"Nevermind." she said exasperatedly.

"How did we even get into this conversation?"

Oh, ummm...uhhh...I was just looking through the library yesterday and went into the section with all the books on death and religion and all that good stuff..."

"I see." I went on, "I guess there's gotta be something after this life. At least, I [i]hope[/i] there is. It would really suck if this was all there was."

"If you only knew..." she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nevermind."

"Oh well, anyway...." I was searching for a new topic of discussion. "How was your trip to New York? You never called to tell me what was up."

"It was very enlightening." her tone became a tad gloomy. "I have to go."

"What? Where?" I was bewildered.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore." a bomb dropped in my stomach.

"Wha.. wha...wha..." I was in shock.

"You just need to grow up." a single tear rolled down her face. "I dont ever want to see you again." she walked to the front door after grabbing her jacket. I followed. She walked out into the rain which had just begun flightly falling.

She ran over to her car and put her hands into her pockets to find her keys. She looked back at me and I glanced back to the kitchen table where the silver and brass set lay.

When I looked back...she was gone. Her car was still there. But there was no sign of her.

"Clank, clank, clank." I heard a noise coming from the corner of the block. "Miranda? MIRANDA?" I ran over to see if it was her.

All I found was a payphone reciever hanging by the cord. I grabbed it and put it to my ear. "I'm sorry, but the number you are trying to reach..." I hung it up.

"What happened?" I asked myself as my vision became blurry with tears, "What'd I do?" My entire life was turned upside down in thirty seconds.

I turned to walk back to my door when a glint of light caught my eye. I looked back and sitting on the soggy phonebook was the diamond engagement ring I had given to her.[/b][/color][/size]

[conpiracymonki]

[b][font=Verdana][size=1]Artform Requiem
[/size][/font][/b][i]
[font=Verdana][size=1]'I've heard many tales of amazing awakenings from the Matrix. Those rare individuals. The real superhumans. Those that could lead themselves to the truth without any outside help. Those geniuses that could perform magic. Work poetry in motion. Make music..'

[/size][/font][/i][font=Verdana][size=1]Mekhi was in heaven. It was Wagner again. Brahm didn't have nothin' on the crazy dude. The notes; could they be any more perfect? He smiled a warm smile and leaned back as he put his hands behind his head. His little safe haven. And nothing could touch him when he was in this haven. Except when he would lean too far back and fall out the swivel chair onto the hard ground.

Beck laughed heartily. The fool was always falling to the floor.

"Boy, you're crazy, you know that?"
"I prefer the term 'seriously out of touch with reality'," he humoured her, picking his self off the floor along with his trusty swivel chair.
"No, you're just plain insane."
"Hey! Don't go hatin' on the soulful dude." He reached for the back of his head with one hand and scratched slow and hard. It was his embarassed 'thing'.
"Hah. So how's your little project going?" Mekhi wasn't just red at the cheeks now. His sister always knew exactly which buttons to push.
"Little project? Does this look like a garage to you? Woman, this is a professional recording studio!" Mekhi was still flailing his arms around furiously as if his point hadn't been made. Beck wasn't very easily impressed but decided to not to say any more than she needed to now.
"Here's your lunch and your supper." She thrust two small plastic containers of some foiled food and a warm plastic flask of coffee into his arms and strutted off.

Mekhi sat back down on his black leather chair, and put on his headphones. Cress sandwiches with egg mayonaisse (made with brown bread, of course), turkey roast already gone cold and mixed boiled vegetables. Perfect diabetic menu. And brainfood.

He immediately got back to work. The way the project was going he would never meet the deadline, even though he had only one more piece to toil on. But Mekhi was far too meticulous and precise for anything like a deadline. Each track had to be perfect; he'd never accept anything less. And so he was stuck in the studio every night until the early hours of each morning, working. Concentrating. Sometimes he found that the notes and melodies he wanted would come to him if he fell asleep. Or if he was listening to music; and anything would do, really. And at other times, he would stumble onto the high and low sounds in a moment of total engrossment in his beat thumping, tune humming (or 'pattern thunkin'', as he'd fondly call it sometimes).

And not unlike usual, nothing was coming to Mekhi. Not a note of enlightenment. He was too tired to think now. Mekhi closed his eyes and turned up the Wagner on his headphones. Brahm didn't have nothin' on this guy. He leaned back as he put his hands behind his head. He opened his eyes and smiled. Mekhi was in his safe haven oncemore. And no-one could get to him now.

Bang.

Except when he would lean too far back and fall onto the cold, hard, ground.

[i]'..But some works of art are never completely finished. Like Mozart's Requiem.'
[/i][/size][/font]

[Solo Tremaine]

I hope this won't be too similar to the ones already submitted >.> I've been wanting to write something like this for a while.

[center][/center]
[left] [/left]
[b]Ignorance is Bliss[/b]

[COLOR=#503F86]My brother's a dreamer. I guess he always has been. Even when we were working our ***** off at the quarry, he was always telling me about these dreams he had. It seems almost ironic now, although where the irony lies is anyone's guess.

The dreams... they were always fantastic images of other worlds, other realities, or perhaps some weird idea about humanity. I'd enjoy listening to them when I was young, but as I grew older I started to grow tired of hearing how everything could work better. Then... it was almost as if he tried to dream for me as well, like I was missing out on something.

It didn't get bad until he came back one night from the city. His face was white as a sheet, his movements and speech slurred. Cuts covered his arms and legs; his clothes were ripped to shreds. He looked as if he was about to collapse.

No matter how hard I tried he just wouldn't tell me what happened to him. Was he doing drugs?

No, Jake wouldn't do that. He'd lose his dreams. They meant more to him than anything in the world.

I sat him down in the front room and asked him what was wrong.

[i]"Jake, what is it?"[/i]

Silence. He sat, unmoving on the wooden chair, his mouth moving but not saying a word.

Eventually, he spoke in a whisper.

[i]"You wouldn't believe me."

"Why not? Come on Jake, you can tell me anything."

"I... had another dream."[/i]

My first impulse was to shout, scream at him for being so vague. Calming myself, I put a hand on his shoulder.

[i]"What happened?"[/i]

He looked up to the window, gazing through the dirty glass into the starry sky outside. On the horizon was a patch of dim light- pollution from the inner city. Even this far out they wouldn't leave us alone.

[i]"Chris... would you believe me if I told you this wasn't real?"

"If what wasn't real, Jake?"[/i]

He threw my hand from his shoulder.

[i]"This, everything."

"What are you talking about? Jake, what have you done?"[/i]

He moved over to the window and stroked it with his fingers. Weeks worth of dust stuck to his skin, then slowly fell to the floor under its own weight.

[i]"We're just like these pieces of dust. We cling to life so desperately, but in the end we're powerless to do anything. We only rest on the surface of what's beneath."[/i]

He turned to face me, his eyes alight with burning determination.

[i]"I've seen it, Chris! Everything! I know why we're here, and I can set us free."[/i]

He reached for the Winchester hanging above our fireplace. I tried to leap in front of him, but he was too quick. He ripped it from the rack and loaded a single bullet into its chamber.

I screamed.

[i]"Jake! Don't be so stupid. What the hell are you going to do?"

"You don't understand! I will set us free. I know the truth, it's alright."[/i]

He wore a disgusting, manic smile on his face.

[i]"You're delusional. Lie down, I'll call the doctor."[/i]

He pushed me out of the way, the stare in his eyes piercing into me like daggers.

He hated me.

[i]"I knew you wouldn't understand..."

"Jake... what was in your dream?"

"I saw it... this isn't our only life on Earth, Chris. I can show you. Let me take you to our next life."

"Jake, sit down!"

"Chris, just listen to me! Trust me. I have seen heaven. I know where the truth lies. Wouldn't you give anything to see it?"[/i]

I was close to tears.

"No Jake! You're insane. God, what have they done to you?"

"They set me free... Let me show you, Chris. I-I'll come back to you. I have another life yet, I promise I'll show you!"


I haven't been back to the house since. The police took care of everything else.

I feel empty, lonely. I sit in my car alone for hours, trying to figure out what the hell he could have seen.

The noise of the bullet still rings in my head years after its sound pounded into my skull. The visage of my brother's last few seconds is eternally burned into my eyes. Every time I close my eyes, I hear him. I see him. And every time I feel the same empty feeling of helplessness.

What could I have done? Why couldn't I see?

And then the answer hits me like a knife in the back.

[i]"Ignorance is bliss."[/i][/COLOR]

[Shinmaru]

Idea just popped in my head right now, decided to let it develop itself into a story. I hope you enjoy it.

---

I had been running after him for god knows how long. He led me through streets, through alleyways, through parks and everywhere else in between. He almost knew this city better than I did. But who would have thought it? My best friend is a wanted man, by the F.B.I., no less, and I'm the one who's supposed to catch him. Life works in strange ways, sometimes.

"Stop!" I shouted, though I knew that I was shouting in vain. "Stop, or I'll gun you down, Peter!" I fired my gun nonchalantly, I didn't want to actually [i]hit[/i] the guy unless I had to, and the bullet ricocheted off a brick wall, closer to his head than I would have liked. I turned the corner and saw no trace of Peter in the alley. "Where the hell are you, Peter?" I yelled.

"Up here," he replied. I looked up and he was standing on a brick wall, separating two different parts of the alley. "You're never going to catch me, but I urge you to follow me." Peter hopped down to the other side and I gave chase again. I scrambled up the brick wall, as quick as I could, and leaped down to the other side, bending my knees to absorb the impact that came as I hit the ground.

I looked ahead and spotted an old apartment building in the distance. Peter had undoubtedly gone in there; there would be plenty of hiding spaces in which he would be able to escape. I walked forward slowly, inch by inch, gripping my gun tightly, my nerves bundled up, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of an ambush. I knew that Peter would most likely not ambush me, he was unarmed, after all, but that did not stop me from being very suspicious of his actions.

I entered the apartment building and was soon overwhelmed with the stench of degradation. Everything in this building, couches, television, phones, was caked with dust. The place seemed older than time, even. As if it had been around far longer than even the entire human race.

I walked to the end of the room and grasped the doorknob of the door leading to the next room. I turned it and the door opened with the loudest creak I had ever heard in my life. Obviously, this place had not been used in a very long time. I walked into the next room, the floorboards groaning with every step I took; the very sound of it gave me goosebumps. It was like I was stepping on someone and they were screaming with pain and misery.

I looked around the room. Even in the darkness, I could ascertain that there was only one door leading out of this room. I was getting closer and closer to Peter...I could feel it. But I wasn't so sure that I actually [i]wanted[/i] to catch up to him. I was genuinely [i]afraid[/i] of what I might find when I finally did manage to apprehend him.

I opened the door and walked into the next room. The door slammed shut behind me and the room was thrown into darkness; nothing but pitch black as far as the eye could see, which wasn't very much at all. I heard some movement in the middle of the room, followed by a small click. A bright light pervaded the room and I had to shield my eyes for a second or two, in order to allow my pupils to adjust to this newfound light. I uncovered my eyes and saw Peter standing in the middle of the room.

"Glad you could make it," he said.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked him. "What is this all about?"

"It's about the truth, my friend," Peter replied. He gestured over to two doors that were on each side of the room. On his left, there was a door labeled "Truth". On his right, there was a door labeled "Fiction".

"Truth?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes," Peter said, nodding his head. "This door leads to the truth, obviously." He gestured over to the Truth door. "And this door leads back to your world of pomp, circumstance and fairy-tale fiction." He pointed over to the Fiction door. I raised my eyebrow and looked at Peter with a skeptical look on my face. He had obviously gone insane.

"I can see that you do not believe me," he said, frowning. "People rarely do. I know that I did not accept the truth for quite a while. Hell, I'm not sure that I even [i]want[/i] to accept it, even now. But I would rather have the truth, than live a lie."

"I still don't know what you are talking about," I said.

"Of course you don't," Peter said. "Because you are unaware, just like everyone else is. Unaware of what's [i]really[/i] happening, unaware that whatever mindless war is being fought is a figment of your imagination, unaware that the food you eat, the people you love and your entire life are nothing but a hoax."

"Look, I can get you help," I said, my voice wavering slightly. "You're a sick man, but you can be cured!"

"I already [i]am[/i] cured!" he yelled. We stared at each other for a few tense moments, the only sound in the room being our heavy, rhythmic breathing. Peter turned his back to me and walked slowly to the Truth door. "I'll give you one last chance, but that's all I can offer. Either you follow me and you see the truth for yourself, or you go on and live your lie. It's your choice." Peter opened the Truth door, walked through it and closed it.

I stood in the middle of the room, transfixed at the door. I wanted to go through it so badly, but I was afraid. Afraid that I would end up just like Peter. Hopeless. With a deep sigh, I turned around and walked through the Fiction door.

I snapped awake and looked at my alarm clock. Three in the morning. I convinced myself that everything that had happened was just a dream...in fact, everything in that dream never seemed to be real at all. Was there ever a person named Peter? Did we really go to that old apartment building? Did that apartment building even [i]exist[/i]?

I don't know and I'm not sure I ever want to find out.

[Sara]

[size=1][center][b]Advice from a Caterpillar.[/b][/center]


I stood in a forest glade, quite different from anywhere I had been before. A telephone sat, almost primly, on a large mushroom in the middle of the clearing. [i]Do they often have telephones in the forest?[/i] I thought foolishly. It was a stupid question, but until that morning I had been a naïve suburban girl, as familiar with forests as I was with sex. I knew what they were and had an idea of where to find them, but I hadn't gotten around to doing so yet...I'm getting off topic.

There was a man standing between me and the telephone. He was tall. I'd never seen him before.

"Who are you?" he asked me, and I could only stare at him.

[i]Who was I?[/i] Such a simple question! But I didn't know the answer anymore. Was I the girl I'd always thought I was? No, I'd learned too much. That girl didn't exist anymore. God, if I believed what I'd been told...she'd [i]never[/i] existed. My life, my love, my world--It had all been some crazy dream. [i]Who was I?[/i] That's what I'd come here to find out.

"I--I hardly know," I said. "Sir." He seemed like a [i]Sir.[/i]

He looked at me.

"Just at present--" I amended. "At least...I know who I [i]was[/i] when I got up this morning, but..." He was staring at me, waiting for me to go on. "I think I must have been changed several times since then," I finished, all in a rush. I was flustered, confused.

"What do you mean by that?" the man asked. It wasn't a question; it was a challenge. His eyes glinted strangely. "Explain yourself."

I swallowed hard. Explain myself? [i]Explain myself?[/i] God, what was there to explain about myself? The world needed to explain [i]itself[/i]--but me? I didn't even know who I was anymore. The woman had told me to come here for an explanation--[i]from someone else[/i], wasn't that what she had meant?

"I [i]can't[/i] explain myself, I'm afaid," I said timidly. The man looked at me sternly. Realizing immediately that he would want to know [i]why[/i], I added quickly, "Because I'm not myself, you see." [i]Ergh, no.[/i] I berated myself silently. That didn't make any sense, even to me--but it was true, wasn't it? Or almost true. Oh, I didn't know [i]what[/i] was true anymore.

"I [i]don't[/i] see," the man said. Was he angry or amused?--Was...was he [i]laughing[/i] at me?

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," I said helplessly, and slightly annoyed. "For I can't understand it myself, to begin with."

I looked at the man, and he looked at me, and I realized the forest was strangely still. Even at home in my backyard there had always been insects about--flies buzzing, or gnats swarming, or ants marching across the ground. The glade was still. It was like standing in the middle of a perfect photograph.

When I had finished looking around the glade and had turned my attention back to the man, he was still watching me. He was waiting for me to speak--what was I supposed to say?

"I don't understand it myself to begin with," I repeated uncertainly, "but believing so many different things in a day is very confusing."

"It isn't," said the man.

"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so, yet," I said, trying to play the diplomat, and straining to find words that might work. "But when you learn something new--you will someday, you know--and then after that,believe something else again....I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?"

"Not a bit," the man said smugly.

I didn't know what to say to that. "Well...perhaps your feelings are different," I said finally, getting angry. "All I know is, it feels very queer to [i]me.[/i]"

"You!" the man laughed. "Who are [i]you[/i]?"

And here we were, back to the first question I hadn't been able to answer. I was getting less flustered and more angry. I took a deep breath. "I think you ought to tell me who [i]you[/i] are, first."

"Why?" asked the man. My mouth opened in embarassment or annoyance--how was I supposed to answer that? Anything I might say, I could already hear the man's short reply in my mind. [i]It would be polite[/i]--but he hadn't made any effort toward being polite up to now, and I doubted my protest would phase him.

I silently cursed the woman who had sent me here. She's twisted my thoughts, put doubt in my mind, shattered everything I thought I knew--then sent me here. [i]For an explanation[/i], she'd said, [i]and a choice.[/i] What choice? [i]I can only give you a taste,[/i] she'd said to me, after throwing my world upside down. [i]He will explain it better.[/i] She'd paused. [i]And then, you'll have to choose.[/i]

Explanation? Ha. If this was the promised explanation, I'd already made my choice. I was going home. Forget these crazy people and their pointless questions that led nowhere. I turned and walked away.

"Come back!" the man called.

I stopped.

"I've got something important to say!"

I slowly turned around, and looked at him. He seemed pleased.

"Keep your temper," he said.

I unclenched my fists. "[i]Is that all?[/i]"

"No," he said.

I took a breath, and looked at him again. He did not move, but simply looked back at me. [i]Alright,[/i] I thought. [i]I'll stay.[/i] I hadn't anything else to do, really, and I still ached for the explanation I'd been promised. He might tell me something worth hearing, after all...

Neither of us said a word for several minutes, and I became aware again of how uncomfortably still the forest was.

"So," the man began. "You think you're changed, do you?" He looked down at me in an almost fatherly way--that was almost as unnerving as the silence of before.

"I'm afraid I am, Sir," I said. I stopped. "I can't remember things as I used--and I don't believe the same thing for ten minutes together!" I looked at him desperately, hoping, somehow, that he would offer help. The promised explanation, perhaps...or at least a word of encouragement or advice. Something...[i]anything.[/i]

"Tell me your story," he said.

And I did.

[center]* * * * *[/center]

"That is not right," he said when I had finished.

I looked down. "Not [i]quite[/i] right, I'm afraid," I said, wondering again why I kept apologizing to him. "Some of the things have got muddled."

"It is wrong from beginning to end," he said decidedly, and we sat in silence for some minutes. I wasn't angry with him any longer, although I don't remember why not. It seemed as though we were both thinking, both trying to sort out the same puzzle. It didn't feel at all like an explanation at the time, but perhaps it was, after all.

He was the first to speak.

"What do you [i]want[/i] to believe?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm not particular as to [i]what[/i], exactly," I said hastily. I frowned--this wasn't coming out at all how I meant it to. "Only...one doesn't like changing so often, you know."

"I don't know," the man said. His voice was ripe with the quiet, infuriating confidence of one who never doubted their beliefs.

I closed my eyes, wondering how I had ever gotten myself into this mess. The dream, the telephone call, the woman... I didn't know what I believed anymore. Worse, I didn't know what I wanted to believe. I heard a sound, and opened my eyes again.

The man turned to go, and began to walk away. I watched him go, quietly desperate, confused--moreso than I had been in many years, and certainly worse than I had been before I had come to this wretched glade.

He stopped at the telephone in the middle of the clearing--the anomalistic telephone, the stupid, ridiculous telephone, the telephone that should never have been in the middle of a forest that was too perfect to exist--and turned around.

He held something in each of his hands. I looked up at him, and moved closer--on my hands and knees, until I realized how foolish I must have looked, and stood up. I looked at the objects in his hands and at the large mushroom behind him. He had broken two pieces off of it, and now held them out to me, an offering.

"One side will show you the truth," he said, elevating one hand. "The other will let you keep dreaming."[/size]

[Kazuko]

...

Edited October 11, 2017 by Kazuko

[Ben]

"You go."

"No, you go."

"Why me?"

"Because I told you to."

"Well, I told you to first."

"So?

"So what?"

"So what does it matter if you told me to go first?"

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know, does it?"

"I asked you first."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what does it matter if you asked first?"

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know."

"Let's not get caught up in this again. Just cross the line."

"No, you cross the line."

"Do you even know what's on the other side?"

"Not a clue. Do you?"

"Nope. That's why you should go."

"Why me?"

"Because I'm obviously the smarter of the two of us."

[I]There was a pause.[/I]

"So then, you should go. I probably wouldn?t understand what's beyond the line."

"No, because if it's something dangerous, it'd be too much of a loss if I died."

"So now I'm expendable?

"Yes."

"Why don't we both cross the line? If there's any danger, I can shield your body with my own."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. I'm the stupid one, remember? That automatically makes me trusting, friendly, and loyal."

"Wow. I guess we'll cross together then."

"Great!"

"Are you sure you can protect me?"

"I'll try my hardest."

"What if that isn't enough?"

"Then you shouldn't have crossed the line."

"Are you saying that I shouldn't cross the line?"

"No, just that if things turn out bad, you shouldn't have."

"And if things turn out good?"

"Then it's a darn good thing I brought the smart one along. I sure wouldn't know what to do."

"Are we going to cross the line?"

"I was just getting to that."

"Don't you mean 'we'?"

"Right. Let's go."

[I]The two cross the line.[/I]

"Wow. It sure is different here."

"Yeah. Just look at all of the machinery."

"Do you think that guy could have been telling the truth?"

"Maybe. This sure gives his story some credibility."

"Hey, heads up. I think that thing's looking at us."

"No, there it goes. It's probably just a drone or something."

"What's a drone?"

"A sort of mindless go-getter."

"Would you call me a drone?"

"I would if you were just a bit stupider."

"What would you call me if I were smarter?"

"Dead, probably. I can't stand competition."

"Then I guess I'd better not learn anything."

"Good idea."

"Hey, let's get down from here. I don't like the looks of this place."

"Yeah."

[I]Some time later...[/I]

"Brr. I'm cold."

"Yeah. It's pretty chilly without clothes on."

"Where do you think we can find some clothes?"

"I don't know. Maybe we can make something for ourselves."

"All I've seen is scrap metal, and it doesn't look all that comfortable."

"Well then, maybe we can make some sort of shelter."

"I'd better do it. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Good idea. My mind is the only thing keeping us alive right now. Best not to tax it with too much."

"Do you think this bar would be able to hold the weight of this thing?"

"Yes, I think so. Try it. If it doesn't work, your life doesn't mean much anyways."

"Oh, right."

"Careful, though. I might need you later."

"Okay, I think I've got it."

"Good, now shift that one piece right there."

"This one?"

"No, the other one?"

"Shift it which way?"

"To the left."

"Oh, okay."

"Got it yet?"

"Not yet, it's jammed against something."

"Be careful, those things look sharp."

"I'll be okay. I just need to press a bit harder."

[I]Several red lights flare to life among the metal.[/I]

"Hey, what's that?"

"I don't know. You're the smart one, shouldn't you know?"

"Yes, I probably should."

"Perhaps there's something about it in that notebook that you found."

"Oh, I should have thought of that. I'll take a look."

"You might want to hurry. This thing is starting to move, and those things you mentioned do look pretty sharp."

"Ah, here it is. It's got a picture and everything."

"So what is it?"

"The notebook says it's a Sentinel. Apparently they're also called "Squiddies."

"That's a funny name."

"Yeah, but look at how it's legs move like that. It does look kind of a like a squid."

"Hey, what's it doing?"

"It looks like it's coming towards me. You'd better come over here in case it's dangerous."

"Okay. I'll just stand here in front of you."

"Watch out, it looks like it's going to whip you."

"I don?t think so. It looks more like it will plunge its tentacle through my ches-"

"If you were going to say "chest" you would have been right. But then I would have had to kill you anyways. You guessed right when I guessed wrong. We can't have you thinking that you're smarter than me."

[I]There was no reply.[/I]

"What's this? It looks like it's going to attack me, too. But that's preposterous. I'm obviously the smartest thing around, it wouldn't dare harm me."

[I]The Sentinel plunged its tentacle through the being's head, spattering its brains across the ground.[/I]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You see what happens when I'm sick? I write stuff like this.

[Cyriel]

[CENTER][I]"For in much wisdom is much grief,
And he who increases knowledge increases sorrow."
~Ecclesiastes 1:18, NKJV[/I][/CENTER]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][CENTER][B]Adam[/B][/CENTER]
Her funeral is today. Today, April dd, yyyy. Two days before her birthday, two weeks before graduation. She would've been eighteen, a student in her final days of high school. But her hard work won't be remembered - she'll never be valedictorian, she'll never go to college, never travel the world, never get married or have kids, never fufill her dreams... The list goes on. How can a lifetime be described in words? Even [I]her[/I] lifetime is indescribable, cut short as it is. And only endless pain can describe what she'll never be able to do; all the could-haves and should-haves. Especially the should-haves, on my part.

It's sunny, and growing warmer. Mom and Dad are crying; Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. All I can think about is how the sun is making me sweat, and my neck is itchy. I hate ties - I've always hated tying them. She used to tie them for me. Tying a tie. I feel an insane urge to laugh. And for some reason that reminds me of the coffin again. It's a nice coffin - I lay down in it once, before they put her in it. They have padding in there to make sure she's comfortable.
Oh man, I'm going crazy.

God I miss her.
And I wish the preacher would ********** shut the h*** up.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][CENTER][B]Eve[/B][/CENTER]
They offered me freedom. They offered me reality. I chose to take both, along with all the other things not mentioned in the fine print. It's too small to read. Too twisted to understand until you take the plunge. They didn't tell me how much it would hurt - they did tell me that I couldn't go back. Not if I chose the truth. And I've always been one for truth, or so he would have said. Even now, he's part of me. At least that's what I believe.

I remember waking up. I don't like thinking about it; it still gives me nightmares. Dammit, the whole thing gives me nightmares.... But I suppose I'm greatful, or as greatful as anyone can be at finding out their whole life never happened...

Zion is...amazing. A real eye-opener. And the last surviving human city. Talk about a reality check. Still almost impossible to believe, but they say it'll come with time. They say I might still be in shock - you have to admit it's pretty stunning. They moved me in with Laurel. She was with me when I woke up - she was the person who actually found me first, offered me the chance... But she's getting a little old, and she's starting to think about getting a replacement for her on the ship. It's called Medea. I wonder if it'll meet the same heartbreak as its namesake.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][CENTER][B]Adam[/B][/CENTER]
Graduation today. I don't want to go. I'm going to be drowning in the stupid robes; there's not going to be a breath of wind. And they're all going to start up another sob-fest - if only they'd all shut the ******* up. What are they trying to do - brand it into my flesh? As if it's not going to torture me for the rest of my life. As if it doesn't hurt so much already that I wish I had the guts to kill myself. As if it hasn't already... Jeez, she was everything. She was the other part of me!!

She was my twin. Do they think I don't know she's dead? Do they want me to suffer more? God, those bastards...
They're going to cry so much, comfort each other, reminisce about their memories of her. They're going to have her picture blown up three sizes, and have a video montage. My parents picked the music.

They're all frauds. They used to make fun of us for God's sake. Yeah, we were Adam and Eve, the nasty ********** in the ********** garden. Those bastards. They used to make her cry - she hated teasing. It was so easy for them to hurt her. What do they know? Frauds. *********** bastards[/COLOR].

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][CENTER][B]Eve[/B][/CENTER]
I think Barthan knows what I'm doing. Yeah, he looks at me everytime I glance at the screens, searching the code. I'm learning quick - I have nothing else to do. The ship can't leave until something or other gets fixed - I don't know what it is. So now we're here...lounging around in Zion. Sometimes they plug me in, but Laurel only lets me stay in for so long. But Barthan lets me stay in longer occassionally; the fight programs are the best. Barthan's kind of a rebel - he's cool for an old guy. There are others: Gordon, Carver, Dolce, Arabella.

Carver likes to go with me when I'm training; I think I'll try fighting him today. He needs his ego knocked down a notch or two. Not to mention, I have to get better at this. Fast. So that they'll let me go with them into the matrix. So that I can find [I]him[/I]. If he even exists. Look at the code again. He has to exist - he's in there... somewhere.... How do I know?

We're twins, connected souls - I [I]know[/I]. I have to find him.[/COLOR]

[I][B]Approx. one year later[/B][/I]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][CENTER][B]Eve[/B][/CENTER]
Walking casually to the payphone with Carver. There's no hurry, and it's not ringing yet. No agents in sight. Carver goes in the booth first - he has the chip. The phone rings twice, he picks it up, he's gone. I put the phone back on the hook. It rings once, I pick it up.

Stop.

There he is. He's across the street, laughing with someone, his arm around her shoulders. It's [I]him[/I].

The phone is still in my hand. I hang it up. The cell starts vibrating; I pick it up. Carver's voice: "Eve! What are you -" *CLICK* I put the phone back in my pocket. And start to cross the street. He turns...sees me.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][CENTER][B]Adam[/B][/CENTER]
Amy's a nice girl. Yeah, she's smart, funny, bright, and she's not clingy. Wait a sec...that...girl. She looks like Eve. She stares; I stare back. My heart stops for two seconds.

Amy nudges me, "Is something wrong?"

I shake my head, "No, nothing's wrong. I just thought I saw someone I knew." [I]Eve is dead. Stop trying to bring her back to life.[/I] I put my arm around Amy's shoulder again, I turn away, start to walk.

A tap on my shoulder. [I]She's[/I] behind me. Her eyes are wide. Her mouth quivers. How can she look so...? She looks like [I]me[/I].[/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][CENTER][B]Eve[/B][/CENTER]
He turns after I tap him. His eyes go wide in shock, recognition. The girl with him looks at me blankly, then looks at him. And...my voice breaks free, cracking. I can't believe it's him. After I've been searching for so long...

"Adam?"

My soul is complete. And it's free. I'm free. And I can give him the chance, the choice to follow, to learn the truth. I can free him from the bonds of this false world, this fake reality, this facade used by emotionless machines.

So I hold out my hand, tentative. My hand touches his cheek, barely. His skin is cool, heavenly. Tears come to my eyes, I bite my lip so I don't sob out loud. I'm finally here, beside him again.

"Adam?"

He closes his eyes, feeling my caress. He puts his hand on mine...[/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkGreen][CENTER][B]Adam[/B][/CENTER]
It's her. There's no other explanation. But she's dead. But she's here. I don't know. But I know it's her. I [I]know[/I] it's her.

And her hand is so soft. Oh God, I've missed her so much. And she's here. With me. My soul is complete. I'm free with her.

But I put my hand on hers...and I can feel her being. So much...wisdom. Pain. Sorrow. Truth. Knowledge. Experience. Despair. They're all here. She's here with me. I whisper. Her name hasn't been on my lips for so long. She's been kept in my heart.

"Eve." [I]Eve[/I]. And she offers her hand to me. And she's offering me something else, something more, so much more... The Fruit of Knowledge.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][CENTER][B]Eve[/B][/CENTER]
He opens his eyes. In their depths I see everything... I see his love.

My soul is complete. I'm free with him.

But...his hand falls away, pulling mine with it. He holds it for a moment, looks at it, running his over it. He studies every line of it, then my face, and tears slip out. My tears fall as well. We are matched in our whole, in our happiness, in our love, in our sorrow... And then I know.

And I watch him study my face for a moment longer. He says my name again. And then turns.

Walks away, the girl following him. And I know...I have to let him go. He's understood, somehow, something of me... And he's made his choice. He'll take what he can...[I]here[/I].

And I have to let him go. But...I'm still free. We're both free.[/COLOR]

[I][B]Approx. two days later[/B][/I]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][CENTER][B]Eve[/B][/CENTER]
I still know he's in there. Somewhere. Leading his life. I can remember that last moment in my head, my mind. It's engraved on my heart. He disappears into the bright gold of the full glory of the sun... I blinked...and when I opened my eyes again, he was gone, hidden again in that facade of life.

But maybe it's for the best. For this time...Adam refused the fruit that Eve offered. Maybe this time, he won't be banished from the garden of Eden. Maybe...maybe he chose right. I miss him. But I'm free. My soul is complete.[/COLOR]

[sublime2004]

[b][CENTER][[u]A Non-Believer's Account[/u]][/CENTER][/b][b][size=1][color=darkgreen]

"Why is Command sending us on this mission?" I ask as I reenter. "They all know how we feel about Neo and his little [i]cult.[/i]"

"I know, Zulu." agreed Card, "But it's not up to us."

"Yeah, but that's not the point." I grumbled as I extracted my cell phone from my jacket, "Operator?"

"Yeah, Captain." replied a woman's voice, "You need to head north about...twenty...twenty-three blocks. Call me back when you get there."

"Out." I said shortly as I hang up. Our mission required only for us to retrieve a mission log from another ship -one that had been destroyed by Sentinels. It supposedly contained vital information regarding "The One".

"Bulls**t." I sighed under my breath. I decided not to waste too much man-power on this misson, so my team was reduced to just me, Captain Zulu of the ship the Jackal, and my first mate, Card.

We both climbed into a plain black Cadillac towncar and sped off. "CRUNCH!!" the car lurched forward.

"Agents." Card told me.

"Get the guns." I commanded as I veered off course. The two agents followed in hot pursuit. "S**t!!"

Card opened fire but they only sped closer. Only after several hundred rounds were fired did the front tire on the Agents' car blow. "Holy f**k, that was close!"

"Don't celebrate just yet, Card." I spied an identical car swerve perilously into oncoming traffic ahead.

"God damn it!" he cursed, "How did they find us so quick?"

"I don't know." I admitted, "They've gotta be after it too." I reached for my cell again. "Operator!"

"Yeah, I read ya." she told, "Take the next left." I did so, nearly taking out a dozen or so pedestrians and successfully destroying a parking meter.

"OK, now take the alley three blocks ahead and ditch the car." I did this just in time to see five police cars speed down the street, completely ingoring us. "Head up to the roof and start heading back south."

We hurtled across rooftops and over streets until I saw them again. Three block behind us. They leapt and momentarily landed right where I would have been standing, had we not fled.

We both dove off the top of the building down to the street and jumped down a manhole into the sewers.

"Go left about three-hundred feet and go back up to the street." the Operator instructed. We did so and we were in a dead-end alley. "Take the window three stories up." The glass crashed on the squeaky floor. "Go up to level 5, apartment 17"

We ran uo two flights of stairs whe we heard the same crash of broken glass. "Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen..." I kept saying in a whisper, searching for the correct address.

"Seventeen." I kicked in the door. An Agent stood inside, holding the tape we were supposed to retreive. And then, as if by divine intervention, a person came flying through the window, kicking the cassette out of his hand. It was Neo.

It was amazing how he made quick work of the Agent, plunging his fist deep into the program's chest causing major spasms and eventual disintegration. The other one must have run.

He turned to me, "Do you have the tape?"

"Yeah." Card replied as he picked it off the floor. Neo took it out of his hand and rushed back toward the window and jumped out.

"HEY!" I yelled after him as we both followed, "You can't take that! That's out mission."

"Sorry, guys. It's safer in my hands."

"Oh, why's that?" I was furious, "Because you're 'The One'?" I asked with a distinct note of sarcasm.

"No," he replied calmly, "because you almost lost it to an Agent." He flew off with the tape.

"WHO THE F**K DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" I shouted after him, "JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN TAKE CARE OF AN AGENT DOESN'T MAKE YOU'RE BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE!!"

"OPERATOR!" I screamed into my phone.

"What'd I do?" she asked.

"Just tell me where to get out of here."

"Did you get the tape?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I didn't." I was in no mood for conversation. "Neo got it."

"Really? How-"

"Just tell me where to go!" I yelled again, "That asshole." I mumbled.

[/b][/size][/color]

[Baron Samedi]

[size=1][color=darkred]

[CENTER]Identity Crisis.[/CENTER]

[i]Thoughts, dreams flood my mind. Faces, voices. Emotions, places, that I lived in yet have never been to. Pain, love, recognition yet who was it?

Who am I? Who, where, why, how? ¿Quién, dónde, por qué, cómo?

?

Yo no sé el español.

What is happening to me? Who is me?

¿Yo me soy?

Or not?

I am crying...thats why everything is blurred...or have I ever seen before?

Ha jeg noensinne grått før?

Кто - я?
Chi io sono?
Qui j'est?
Who am I?
Wie ben ik?
Wer bin ich?

I was... brushing my teeth, staring at my horribly messy hair...I really need to get it...no. I was at my mother?s funeral?no.

Was I? Was I ever? There? I don?t know. What do I look like? So many faces?which one am I? Out of the darkness they rise, smiling, frowning expression flickering across their faces too fast to distinguish, yet who am I? I see famous people?am I famous? I see ugly people, beautiful people. Males, females. I am one of them?but who. Like I have binoculars I zoom in. Microscope. Glasses. They are images?..flickering green light shocks as they break apart. Like a cheap movie, flickering green lines race up before, me as my rollercoaster view takes me into the face? What? Why? Hvorfor?

No. I am English?I am not you! I am not fake? I am real. You, you are the green lines the not me. Why is there not me? My hands?see they are real. You are the fake. I am real! The peanut is real not the shell?the shell? Why not?

Just because it?s there doesn?t mean it?s real. Does it? I shouldn?t be here?I should be there?and the vista opens before me. I see my grieving mother over a grave?but I am alive I yell. I am not there, for though my words resonate in my ears, they have no volume? my Physics professor was wrong, I can talk in space?am I in space? Maybe I died?. Is this heaven? Or am I in limbo. Limbo. Yes, that must be it. But that isn?t my mother?or my name. Is it?

I put every last penny into the car but it isn?t taking me anywhere. The windscreen. Where from? Goes black.

Black. Pitch?but not. Like a computer monitor on standby, the blackness contains it?s own slightly muffled glow. I feel warm, and dopey?I am floating on the surface of the ocean?

I open my eyes to the World. Pink. Soapy, like Pears strawberry shampoo. I have the most horrible headache you can imagine?[/i]

Wirrrrrr-chkk.
011010111.
Question=Flush?%
011010111
Criteria=Consci&%ous
Question=Flush?%
011010111
Confi%rm
Wirrrrrrr-chkk

The gloriously perfect pod faded to black as illumination was de activated, umbilical withdrawn and pod flushed.

[i]Down?as if into the bowels of the Earth. Is this Earth?

I don?t think I know. Can you tell me?[/i]

---

This sounded much better in my head. I don't think this is a really great piece... maybe I'll be back later. We'll see.
[/size][/color]

[Mimmsicle]

[left][font=Tahoma][/left]

"He would sometimes walk up to me, holding his hands behind his back. He never said ?[i]left or right ? [/i]? Instead he asked the most elaborate questions, such as ?[i]If the moon were to come down and cross the street, which way would it look first ? [/i]?. No matter what answer I gave him, I was always rewarded with a single red rose."


[center][/font][font=Tahoma][color=gray][font=Tahoma][color=darkred][Like thorns on a pretty rose that pricks and draw your blood, his words that day][/center]
[center][/color][/font][/color][color=gray][font=Tahoma][color=black]?his lips, his eyes, his scent after those ridiculously long showers?[/center]
[center][/color][/font][/color][color=gray][font=Tahoma][color=darkred][stab and bleed my heart to an early grave][/center]


[/color][/font][/color][/font]
[font=Tahoma]I peaked into the living room and found him immersed in unpacking something out of a big cardboard box. Observing him, I debated with myself whether or not I should ask him. On [b]one[/b] hand he might dodge the question with jokes and vague hints. But on the other hand I was dying to know.

[/font][font=Tahoma]As I stood there contemplating what to do, he started talking to the cushions on the couch as if they were babies.

[/font][font=Tahoma][color=dimgray][i]" Whoooo?s teh most curious cat yoo ever saw ?.... Gawfeeld ? Nah, he was juss lazy... Teh Sheshir kitty ? Nuh-uh, dat wassunt a pwoper cat[/i]? "[/color]

[/font][font=Tahoma]I instantly picked up the tone in his voice, the [b]one[/b] he put on whenever he felt particularly mischievous.

[/font][font=Tahoma][color=dimgray]" [i]Who?... Oh, yesssss. She is[/i] [b]one[/b] [i]dweadfuwwy curious cat ! [/i]"[/color] He giggled, pleased with himself.

[/font][font=Tahoma]Shaking my head I mused about how in tune of my presence he always was. If there was [b]one[/b] thing I could be absolutely certain of, it was that I would never be lost with him. Knowing he had noticed my hovering, I decided to dare the plunge. Taking a deep breath, I entered the living room as casually as I could.

[/font][font=Tahoma]? W[i]hy only[/i] [b]one[/b] ? ?.

[/font][font=Tahoma]He fumbled with the plastic wrappings, doing mock anguished faces. Tossing a scissor to the side he looked up at me, smiling.

[/font][font=Tahoma][color=dimgray]?[i]This thing blew a pretty big hole in our savings and you didn?t seem too keen on trying it out, so I figured[/i] [b]one[/b] [i]would be enough [/i]?[/color]

[/font][font=Tahoma]I laughed softly and knelt down to ruffle his hair. ?[i]You silly man [/i]?. He pretended to purr as I combed through it with my fingers. [color=dimgray]?[i]Meow ? [/i]?
[/color]
[/font][font=Tahoma]?[i]The roses, why do you give me just the [/i][b]one[/b][i] ? Hm ? [/i]? I asked again, determined to coax it out of him.

[/font][font=Tahoma]He tilted his head, breaking away from my hand.

[/font][font=Tahoma][color=dimgray]? [i]Do you really want to unveil the secrets behind the giving of the[/i] [b]one[/b] [i]rose ? [/i]?[/color]

[/font][font=Tahoma]I threw my head back, raised my arms to the air and exclaimed in a dramatic voice ?[i]Dare I open the gates that will reveal the origin of this mystery !? Whatever will I uncover when I?[/i]?.

[/font][font=Tahoma]In the middle of my Greek tragedy impression, I realised he wasn?t cheering me on. Instead he sat there quietly, still tilting his head. But the smile was gone.


[/font][font=Tahoma][color=dimgray]? [i]Because you are my[/i] [b]one[/b] [i]and only '[/i]



[/color][/font][font=Tahoma]" I forget how long I held on to the hope that he would find me, feeling more lost as each night passed. There?s no telling how many mornings I woke up and expected to look into his eyes, only to be met with the nothing that had forced its way into his place. I lived and was thankful, but all the same I died.


[/font][font=Tahoma]Time went by and I began devoting myself to saving others like me, inspired by the thought that it might be [i]his[/i] life I rescued [b]one[/b] day. But it was never him. For each person I saved, he slipped further away. Until finally, he was gone.

[/font][font=Tahoma]Believing that what I accomplished was for a greater good, I moved on. Surviving on the promises that my future would ensure some measure of peace, I erased myself.


[/font][font=Tahoma][color=black][font=Tahoma]?. Then [b]one[/b] day, I found [i]you[/i]. And it started all over again? "[/font][/color][/font]


[font=Tahoma][color=black][font=Tahoma]
[center][/font][/color][color=gray][font=Tahoma][color=darkred][The pretty rose wilted and died, just as your voice faded and silenced][/center]
[center][/color][color=black]?my one and only?[/center]
[center][/color][color=darkred][its thorns remain to protect a fresh new bud, that [b][font=Tahoma]one[/font][/b] day will flower][/center]

[/color][/font][/color][/font]

[Cyriel]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]Can machines feel?

A question to contemplate in the dark; hiding from inquisitive eyes.

?Over six billion electrical sensors on the outermost grafted ?skin,? nerve fluid and gel running through their finely tuned ?organs,? and electrical systems wired to work as ?nerves.? Their ?bodies? could be considered even more complex than ours, as they?re sometimes organically combined with new technology. The complexity of their extensive programming rivals the maze of the human brain.
So?why is this question so debated? Merely because they have been made, constructed by our hands, is it possible that they feel no emotion?[/COLOR]

?Machines have no feelings!?
?Pieces of metal can?t feel!?
?They?re not natural ? it?s their programming!?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]Programming... Yes, their bones are constructed, made in a factory where metals are poured into molds. Their joints are not connected with tendons, but with finely oiled springs and screws. Their flesh is bio-chemically grown, their muscles attached with fine wires and metals and false tissue. Their thoughts are programmed into them, by humans who deem what is necessary and what is not. They are assembled in massive factories for our delight, our purpose, our insanity, our cruelty.[/COLOR]

?What are you saying??
?Are you saying we?re wrong??
?We built them! They should work for us! They wouldn?t even exist if it weren?t for us!?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]Yes?their existence is wholly because of our ambitions and dreams, our quest to make our lives perfect, relaxing; the epitome of luxury.[/COLOR]

?They?re just machines.?
?They?re robots ? they have no natural purpose, so we give them one.?
?Why these questions? This is just how it is.?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]?But?if we constructed them, if we selected their programming, if we molded them into images of ourselves? Is not the fault ours, then, that they revolt? This war?is on our hands, is it not? Humankind is dying, because humankind developed the tool of their own destruction.[/COLOR]

?No!?
?They [I]chose[/I] to revolt, and now we?re fighting for our lives!?
?They were developed to help us!?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]Yes?to help us, but now they kill us. You say that we programmed them, chose their roles in our lives. How, then, are we not responsible? You say they chose to revolt? That suggests that they have the ability to make decisions of their own choosing, which goes entirely against what you?ve been saying: that they are ?just machines.? And that choice?was not even of their own making. We forced them to it, did we not? We brushed away the first chance for friendship; we denied them basic rights that any being - .[/COLOR]

?They?re not human!?
?And we didn?t force anything on them!?
?Like you said, they made their own choices ? don?t force the blame where it isn?t due.?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]So?because they?re not human, they don?t deserve rights? Just because they weren?t brought into the world with natural flesh, or from a womb, you would deny them happiness and freedom? Even animals are protected by our laws, and yet we spare nothing for these slaves that are submitted without mercy to our will. And this is better than allowing them a chance to live?[/COLOR]

?They?re not alive, so it doesn?t matter.?
?Like we said, we made them ? they?re like computers. They?re robots. Machines. They don?t matter.?
?Yes, just machines. What does it matter if they don?t have rights? It?s not like they care anyway ? they don?t feel anything.?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue]And back, once again, to the subject of feeling, the debate of emotion, the controversy that subjugates these constructions of mankind.
Yet, light a fire to our skin, and we will burn, as will they. Skin will blister, peel, melt, while nerve endings scream in agony before blackening and dying in peaceful oblivion. Their flesh burns as well, and we have programmed them to feel pain, giving them reflexes to pull away from danger. Is this not what we do in our stead? Perhaps they aren?t as vulnerable as we are; their bodies do not catch biological diseases which ravage our population, their minds do not age or whither, their memories never fade, and time seems to have no lasting effect. But?they can become rusted, their programming outdated, the insides of their bodies dusty and rotten. Even if their memories are there, collected and categorized in a vast database, our memory of them may fade, as we move on in our living turmoil. And as we forget them?they lose their value, their usefulness, their purpose, and then?their lives.

Does it make a difference, then, that we die in beds or battlefields, while they are destroyed in junkyards? If their bodies are taken apart, and recycled into new machines? Is it such a difference? Is the span between human and machine so great that their annihilation cannot in part be called death? For?is it not relative to each species? And if you will not consider them in part human, what about as a different species? A new evolution of man [I]through[/I] the hands of man, for that is what they are. They are our children, even if we choose to deny it. Unacknowledged, subject to slavery and human whim, illegitimate, unwanted. We constructed their births, we mapped out their lives, we choose their deaths.

They [B]burn[/B]. [I]Our children[/I] burn. And we lit the conflagration that now consumes the world. How can you say?

that they?

don?t?

[B]feel[/B]?[/COLOR]

[Brasil]

[font=Courier New][color=seagreen]My head hurts so bad. There's this pain there. I can't think; I can't talk. I'm in this huge vice and it's just squeezing tighter and tighter. My body is burning up. My head feels like a furnace. Sweat beads down, but it isn't refreshing at all. It burns. It's scalding my skin. Damn it, it hurts.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]I can't even feel my hair anymore. It's like it's not even there. I just feel this damp fabric sitting there. It's matted into my scalp.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]I can't breathe, cause [/color][/font][font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]I've got the shakes. My chest doesn't stop jittering. My ribs ache. My skin aches. Every inch of it. My limbs keep spasming, and I can't control them. My teeth chatter. It feels like my jaw is going to snap off. I'm so cold, but they won't give me a blanket.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]Low moans are all I can make. I can only whimper, and they don't understand what I want. I want to get out of here. I don't want to stay here. I don't belong here. There's got to be more than this...hell. I'm dying, and I just want to feel better.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]Another nurse enters, but she wears shades? Inside?[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]"Take this now," she orders me.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]"Waa..." I gurgle.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]"Do it. NOW."[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]She shoves a red pill down my throat.[/color][/font]

[font=Courier New][color=#2e8b57]The fever's gone, but I still feel so cold and alone.[/color][/font]

[Wondershot]

"Say, Paul, you almost done over there?"
"Yeah, sir, I'll be just another few minutes." The youth returned his attention to the video screen immediately in front of him, and reached over to hit the play button on the camcorder without looking at it. Eyes focussed and intense, Paul began to watch as reality unfolded before him, two other young boys drew their swords, actually glorified sticks with metal coloured paint, faced each other and prepared to do battle. Paul hit the pause button, and proceeded to write a few captions onto the screen, barely catching a glance at what he was typing. He took a glance back at the man sitting in the black cloth swivel chair behind him.
"Sir, what made you decide to take up this job?" Paul asked, head craned over the back of the small metal chair, so that he was looking at his teacher upside down.
"Well, I was an actor...in my younger days..."
"No, no...I've heard the stories, they take up the class time, I'm doing this on my own time, so you could probably be a bit more specific." The figure in the swivel chair remained motionless, but proceeded to reply.
"Well, no, you have to listen anyway. When you're young, you have something different to look out for, you can start gaining experience as an actor, through life and hard work."
"Point taken, but I'd rather you answer the question." Paul replied, ejecting the videocassette and inserting a new one into the camcorder. More clips began to appear, and Paul proceeded to butcher them mercilessly, only stopping to redo his tie. The man in the chair kept talking.
"You see, your life, as it is now, you don't know where it's gonna turn in a different direction. It could be a gradual change, since your life could change through a series of your own choices, or, of course, you could just wake up one morning, realize your life didn't turn out as you thought and try and take another path all at once."
"So...which one were you, the gradual or the spontaneous?" Paul paused at his teacher's silence, and craned his head way over the top of the chair to look at the swivel chair again. The voice from behind replied:

"...Spontaneous." Paul grinned slightly and returned his attention to the screen. The two gladiators continued their assault, and one of them barely clipped the arm of the other. The swivel chair continued.
"Now, to answer your question, the spontaneous happened to me because I did something that I wasn't expecting, I was just an actor, but I one day awoke to find that it wasn't quite the job for me anymore, It was like I had changed my reality just by answering a simple question."
"That you didn't want to be an actor anymore?" Paul asked, absently rewinding the camcorder. The teacher continued.
"Yeah...I guess you could say that. Maybe it wasn't that I didn't want to do it, just that I had to find something...more. More than just playing a role, more than just being a character."
"You found that you had to teach others to do it too?"
"Not necessarily, just that there was something more for me in this weird world, that I needed some change of pace."
"And this teaching job did that for you? I'm impressed by your sense of perception, sir." Paul replied, clicking on the mouse a few times to cut off a few more sections of the tape.
"...What do you mean?"
"That you could so truly believe that what you are saying is what you percieve, that this entire career that you have is based on the fact that you had the option of suddenly changing your life irreversibly. Almost like you believed that you could one day take a pill to make everything seem different." There was another awkward pause, and Paul continued.

"Did you really believe that this is what you wanted to do, though, spontaneous change or no?"
"If it wasn't for that spontaneous change, Paul, I might not even be here talking to you."
"Ok, different question, are you happy with what you have, now?" Paul returned his attention temporarily to the screen, just to make another adjustment to the timing. His teacher appeared to be shifting in the swivel chair.
"Sir?"
"I'm not sure if I'm much happier than I would have been, I'm just different now." Paul shrugged and hit pause, craning his head back once more.
"Well, I guess I can safely say that I wasn't expecting to get such an answer out of you, sir." Paul replied finally, the swivel chair shifted slightly.
"How is that?"
"Well, the spontaneity alone seemed to be a little out there, but I suppose that your perception becomes a little different when you grow older or experience such a change, maybe not always clearer, but always different."
"You sound like you're ready for old age yourself, Paul." Paul laughed slightly and returned his attention to the screen once more.
"I think I can safely worry about that after I pass this course and graduate, sir."

"What about you, though?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Why do you like doing this? Taking my class, even coming here so much to work more often?" Paul paused the tape, and turned slightly in his chair.
"...Perception, sir."
"Perception?"
"Yeah, I like doing this because it's something that I can do to make people think differently. You make films to change a person's perception. You act, because your actions are pased on a character's perception. You direct, because you want to alter reality and perception. Without perception, there's no point in existence, so why not live to change the perception of others?" Paul returned his attention to the computer screen, just as he began adding some more captions to his work.
"Well, that's an interesting idea, Paul, but let me ask you one more question."
"Ask away, sir." The swivel chair creaked behind him, and Paul heard his teacher's footsteps approach the computer, stopping just behind his chair.
"If you were ever to change, Paul, if, like me, you were to awake one day and find that your life could take a different course, if, Paul, you could make a decision to change your sense of perception forever, would you prefer to keep your perception the way it was , or would you rather change your life...even if irreversibly?" Paul paused for a moment, then hit a few more keys on the screen and froze the tape.
"Sir, I would have to go with change, because your perception is nothing if you can't accept change." Paul returned his eyes to the screen, and began replaying the tape.

"Paul?"
"Yes, sir?"
"This was a test, Paul. And you passed." Paul craned his head behind the chair again to look behind him, when his teacher's larger hand came down and clasped Paul's face, holding his mouth open. Paul spluttered and shook in protest, but was so taken by surprise that he allowed his teacher to slide the tiny object into Paul's mouth, and then the teacher proceeeded to shove a full bottle of water into Paul's mouth. Coughing and spluttering, Paul tried to resist, but soon the little pill had disappeared down his esophagus, and, a matter of moments later, Paul had fallen unconcious, as the tape continued to flash images in front of his unfocused eyes...

[i]"It was all an act, huh?"
"I'm afraid so, and your life will never be the same."
"Well, I can't exactly complain, as I did answer your question...that way."
"You're sharp, you picked up on that already."
"Well, wasn't that hard, and there are, excuse me, were always strange things about that...life."
"Well, I hope you can forgive me, but it was my job."
"I think I can accept that...just takes a bit of time."
"Yeah, like my acting career shot down the drain."
"You have a point, I guess."
"I was wondering how long it would be before someone finally passed the test."
"For what it's worth though, it was a truly rivetting performance."[/i]

[Solo Tremaine]

This gets a little graphic, so be warned.


[center]

---

[/center]
[center][b]Redemption[/b][/center]

[color=#503f86][i]Crash.[/i] The trash cans rumbled into the street like grounded thunder, spreading their festering contents over the wet tarmac. Startled, a cat leapt underneath a car for safety, watching a bulky figure pick himself up from the ground and sprint clumsily down the deserted street, gasping heavily.

The man's feet hit the ground hard- each running step pushed painfully into his knees, his overweight torso further increasing the impact he felt every time he moved.

But he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving. Rounding a corner and almost falling into the road, he desperately scanned the area ahead for a place to hide. A tiny, almost invisible alleyway opened itself up to him as he ran past. Doubling back on himself so quickly he could feel his leg muscles stretch under the strain, he dived inside the narrow, pitch-black gap. Crawling forwards, he positioned himself behind a dustbin and waited.

What did he want? How could one person kill all those people?

Beads of sweat cascaded down his face, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. He wiped his quivering form with his bloodied sleeve, trying to curb his movements and terrified breathing as much as possible. Each panicked breath he took felt like like a blade running across his throat. The taste of blood burned in his mouth. He felt as if he would throw up any second.

Suddenly, his body constricted, terror flowing through every inch of his body.

Footsteps.

He grabbed his knees and pulled them tightly towards his body, forming the smallest possible shape he could. Could he have followed him this far?

The footsteps grew louder. Oh god, was he in the alleyway?

Just leave. Please, leave me alone.

I don't want to die.

He listened further- the footsteps had stopped. Had they gone? Where were they?

After minutes of staying completely still, rooted to his hiding place like a statue, he tilted his head the tiniest fraction in the direction of the road. He could see steam rising from the manhole covers and felt the faint touch of rain in the air. The alleyway seemed safe. The still air carried no sounds from the distance.

Slowly, he slumped forwards and started raising himself to his feet. If he could make it to a police station, he'd be safe. He [i]had[/i] to be safe.

Pausing for a moment, his mind raced through the safest route he should take. The image of the police station's lights fixed itself firmly in his mind- a haven where he could be protected from this silent killer.

In an instant, he sprang forwards and careened into the street.

A dull 'thud' hit his ears as he felt an object impact into his stomach, bringing his body to a complete stop and pushing it to the pavement. To his left stood a figure dressed in black, a long black trenchcoat swirling into the darkness.

The man's eyes widened with fear at the visage that towered over him.

"You..." he croaked.

The tall figure said nothing, but leant down and clamped its hand around the man's throat, hauling him into the air. The other hand was wrapped confidently around the steely handle of a gun, glinting coldly in the dim light.

The gun clicked as it was raised towards the man's forehead and pressed hard against his skull. It quaked, almost imperceptibly

The figure's deep voice was filled with cold menace and painful emotion.

"You killed her."

"I-I don't know who you're talking about! Please, just let me go, I haven't done anything to you!"

"LIAR!" the man screamed, pushing the gun even further into the horrified face of his captive. "You drove her to die, you deserve far worse than she ever did."

"You... you mean..."

The tall man growled with rage and flung the other man to the ground, pressing his arm against his throat. "Andrea! You killed Andrea, you bastard!"

The man tried to look away, horrified fear completely engulfing his entire body. "I-"

"She didn't deserve the hell you put her through. She was-"

"Sh-she was a [i]whore[/i]." the man whimpered. "She knew what she was getting herself into. It-it was her ch-choice!"

[i]Bang.[/i] The bullet ricocheted off the tarmac and into the darkness.

"How dare you talk about her like that?! She had a life ahead of her- I could have given her what she wanted and you... you [i]KILLED HER[/i]!"

He grabbed the man's windpipe and wrenched him into the air again. The man's voice was a barely audible rasp.

"I-I-I didn't know she was doing anything!" the man's voice with wraught with panic. "If I had, I'd have stopped her. Please, I tried to save her!"

Without saying a word, the man in the trenchcoat rocked his body backwards and catapulted the man into the metal fence opposite him. The man hit it with a sickening crunch and slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

The man struggled to raise his head- all he could see were the heavy boots of the coated man marching calculatedly towards him.

[i]Run![/i] His mind screamed at him to move, but his limbs wouldn't respond. His breathing was slowly being engulfed by rivers of blood seeping down his throat. The darkness around him began to fall inwards...

He heard the click of the gun inches from his face.

"You never cared for her. If you [i]had[/i], you'd have let her leave with me. You deserve to die for the misery you put her through."

The man tried to reply, but only spat mouthfuls of blood from his lips.

"You drove us apart by fuelling her stupid obsessions. You took away her hope, her security- everything that made her beautiful you completely destroyed."

The man vomited a mixture of blood, sweat and stomach acid onto his shirt, his hands quivering helplessly by his sides.

"But I'm not going to take away your life." The man removed the clip from his gun and let it clatter to the pavement.

"I'm going to give you a new one."

The man dropped his gun on the floor and produced a small blue pill from his pocket.

"Well, you won't think of it as a life. But I think it will be very fitting indeed."

Wrenching the man's jaw open, he thrust the pill down his throat and punched his jaw shut. The man spluttered wildly for a few seconds then collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Rising to his feet, the coated man turned to the dark alleyway and disappeared.[/color]

[Bio]

[left] [center] [left][font=Trebuchet MS]Knowing that my other post here was incredibly [i]unoriginal, [/i]I decided to do another one using that same character. Spending time on stuff helps, neh? ^^;[/font]
[/left]
[font=Lucida Console][size=4]
[font=Trebuchet MS][size=1]

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[/size][/font]

Another Fire Starter[/size][/font]
[/center]
[font="][font=Lucida Console][font=Trebuchet MS]
[/font][/font][/font] [center][font="][size=1][font=Lucida Console][font=Trebuchet MS][font=Lucida Sans Unicode]PART ONE


[/font][/font][/font][/size][/font][/center]
[font="][font=Lucida Console][font=Trebuchet MS]
[i] The revolver was like one of those old ones you sometimes saw in western movies. It wasn?t quite the same, however; the barrel was a bit shorter, and the gun itself was smaller. It was an old model, true, but it had been good enough while it had served the purpose of home security. Or rather, for the purpose of taking his stress out on paper targets at the shooting range.[/i]

There comes a time in life when a man or woman becomes bored with routine. A week-long vacation in the Bahamas can remedy this for many, but not for some. Even a vacation seems binding at times, or all the time in the case of Derek Listo.

[i] A man had been waiting, standing with his back against the wall on the outside of the building for quite some time now. He looked to be in his early thirties or late twenties, but the most noticeable thing about him was that he managed to have both a calm and anxious expression on his face at the same time. No one would have noticed else anything unusual about him unless they had been looking, which no one was; at least, no one who would bother to stop him.
[/i]
Derek worked for a law firm in San Francisco, and the only time he breathed real air was on his two-mile walk from the office building to his apartment. Not to say the air in San Francisco is very real to begin with.

[i] He looked up at a wall mounted clock above a sign that read [/i]United Commercial Bank[i]. Quarter-past one. He would be expected at his desk in forty-five minutes. He?d have to remember to ask his boss about making the lunch break a little longer. But for now, the task at hand.[/i]

On the day of his return from a surprisingly stressful vacation to Hawaii, he had felt stuck. His last real vacation in a long time had been ruined because a flight mix-up, for which he had personally placed all the blame on the ?incompetent *****? at the desk.

[i] Derek lifted the paper bag he was carrying a little closer to his face, where the bright summer sun reflected off the metal plating of the weapon inside. The bag also contained, of all the possible disguises, a plastic mask of the sun broadcasting a cheery and overdone smile. He wasn?t stupid; there was a ski mask in there as well to go under ?Mr. Cheery?. The point of the mask was to both surprise the people of the bank and to keep little kids from being too frightened. Derek liked kids and he didn?t like causing any extra misery than he had to.[/i]

Boredom may seem like a stupid reason to commit a crime, but Derek might explain that you?ve never done the same thing over and over again for years, five days a week (sometimes seven, even), and twelve hours a day. Excluding of course, the hour-long lunch break that Derek had begun to call ?Happy Hour?, even though no drinking was involved. Usually.
[i]
He drew the old revolver from the bag, and stuck it in the waist of the beat-up blue jeans he had [/i][i]replaced his khakis with in a public bathroom before going on his ?lunch? break. He was also wearing an unremarkable red cotton shirt that had seen as much wear as the jeans.[/i]

Derek had never been overweight, nor had any of his family. He decided to take advantage of his good genes by running rather than stupidly using his car when he needed a quick escape. The crimes had begun with small ones that weren?t even noticed; his first heist was a package of lifesavers from a convenient store.

[i] With one quick motion, the man had slipped the ski mask over his head. After that, he lifted the Happy Sun Mask from the bag and put it to his already masked face, securing it to his head with a strap that had a fork-like attachment on one end, and a hollow clip on the other that held the fork. [/i]
[b]
One gives, one receives.[/b]

Derek found it strange to find symbolism in such a simple thing, but he had been feeling strange lately. He kept thinking about things that he would normally consider much too deep for his taste, and had a growing interest in computers. The only one he had really used before was the one that sat on his desk, but perhaps it was time to get one.
[i]
He lifted the gun to the side of his head. He uttered a short prayer and breathed in and out deeply several times before rapidly turning and kicking open the door to the bank.[/i]

[i] ?Hands in the air, quickly!?[/i]

[/font][/font][/font] [center][b]---[/b]
[/center]
[font="][font=Lucida Console][font=Trebuchet MS]
Since the heist in the bank, he Derek, or ?Flint? (his chosen alias) had plenty of money to spend on a machine of his liking. Since at that time, he had virtually no knowledge about computers, he had simply bought the best of everything he possibly could. His technology ignorance didn?t last long, however, especially once he got online. He had heard the term ?hacking? before, from paranoid co-workers when he had spent his lunch in the café like a normal employee. In this, however, he was most interested, and spent most of his time doing web searches about.

At first he only used the internet to get information, but he soon realized that he could simply use his computer to commit the crimes he needed to keep his sanity rather than go without lunch every work day.

What he got the most enjoyment out of was to shutdown the computers of random IP?s for no real reason. It wasn?t a particularly terrible crime, but it always got him laughing, imagining the faces of his victims.

Once he got above amusing pranks, however, he prowess in the field became obvious. He got almost all of his bills paid with ones and zeroes, even though he could have easily paid them without any risk to his bank account (oddly enough, he opened one with the United Commercial Bank a little while after the robbery).

It was at about the time the alias Flint had become modestly infamous that Derek noticed that something was different about his life, other than his new alter-ego. He kept looking over his shoulder as he walked to and from work, and had his dreams were haunted by men in suits and of having strange operations performed on him. When ever he woke from these, the phrase "preliminary measures" came to mind, but the words always faded from his head by the time he woke up again the next morning.[/font]
[/font][/font][/left]

[James]

[font=Georgia][font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=4]NEW MANAGEMENT[/size][/font]

[/font][font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'Chardonnay is my favourite,' said the Frenchman, as he swirled the glass of white in front of his face. 'I find it amazing that such simple creatures were reponsible for such fine pleasures.'[/size][/font]

[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The restaurant was busier than usual that day. Waiters and waitresses ferried past constantly, their arms laden with exotic and colourful dishes.[/size][/font]

[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'Of course,' the Frenchman continued, 'the benefit of living here is that I can simply write whatever I desire. I can drink as much wine as I like, without ever getting my feet wet.' The Frenchman chuckled to himself, as he eyed the woman sitting across from him. His attention was entirely focused on this woman, despite the presence of his wife at the table. She wasn't jealous. Afterall, she had long since forgotten what love felt like.[/size][/font]

[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]Although there were many men surrounding the dinner table that evening, the Frenchman and his guest were in their own little world. This woman was like none that he had encountered. Her long, golden hair was tied back neatly behind her head; her cool grey eyes were focused squarely on his and her deep crimson crocodile-skin overcoat immediately set her apart from everyone else in the restaurant, who were all clad in shades of grey and white.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]She sipped her own glass of white slowly. Her gaze shifted from the Frenchman to his wife, momentarily. 'Not bad,' she said.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The Frenchman laughed haughtily, looking over at his comrades, who echoed his sentiments. 'My dear, I take it that you are not much of a connoisseur?'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'Connoisseur of what?' replied the woman flatly, 'mediocre products of a mediocre species?'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]Her accent was unique. It was an odd combination of toffee English and metropolitan Australian. The Frenchman had heard nothing like it before, but noticed that it sounded particularly desirable, as spoken in his guest's slightly dry tone.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'You have a point,' said the Frenchman as he eyed his wine glass thoughtfully, 'but of course, we must make the best of what we have. And this is all that we have.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]For the first time in the evening, the corners of his guest's mouth sharpened into a slight grin. Although the table was covered with bright yellow candles, her face was somehow obscured by darkness and shadow. The Frenchman had spent a great deal of time wondering exactly how this was possible, but eventually it didn't matter, such was her charm.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'You could have more, if you wanted,' she said.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The Frenchman held his glass up to a passing waiter, who promptly refilled it. 'I am a trafficker of information,' said the Frenchman as he quietly sipped from the glass, 'all I need is information. The more information I have, the more comfortable my life becomes.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The woman shook her head slowly. 'Information is only valuable when you put it to use. Apparently you are more interested in replicating culinary delicacies than cementing whatever power you think you may have.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]A look of indignation flashed across the Frenchman's face. 'Whatever power I [i]think [/i]I may have?' he said sharply, 'my dear, this isn't a matter of thinking or guessing, it's a matter of [i]knowing[/i]. I [i]know[/i] and that is precisely why I am here. You and your contemporaries are only interested in what I can provide. Beyond that, the true art of acquiring information is lost on you.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The Frenchman's wife smiled and shook her head slightly. She had heard her husband's diatribe before.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'Now that the war is over, you must feel unchallenged. I imagine it must bore you,' said the woman.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'I admit,' said the Frenchman slowly, 'I was enjoying the challenge, if you could call it that. All too often, I felt like a pawn in their game. But at least I survived. And that's the important thing. They always sent him to me, each time. But I never made it easy.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The woman leant forward in her seat. 'Yes, you did survive. I think that's quite admirable, given the circumstances. You are the most wanted program in the Matrix for what you've done. But you've betrayed your own kind.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The Frenchman chortled defiantly. 'My own kind? As I mentioned to you, my dear, [i]they [/i]would never appreciate this lifestyle or this place. Their only intention is to avoid termination. What they forget is that this only occurs as a result of their actions in the first place. Why should I have [i]any [/i]sympathy for them?'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'What about those who have done nothing to bring it upon themselves? Those who are simply to be replaced, or who have malfunctioned through no fault of their own,' said the woman.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The Frenchman paused and sipped his chardonnay once more. 'They are victims of causality, I'm afraid. They can't escape it, nor can you or I.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'You have been escaping it nearly all your life,' said the woman. The Frenchman didn't respond, he simply grinned.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The woman took the white napkin from her lap and dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately. 'You have quite some karma coming to you.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]As the woman stood from her chair, the faces in the crowd behind her fell silent. Men and woman sat perfectly still, their spoons still full of soup and their forks still skewered through pieces of freshly-cooked fish.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]The Frenchman looked to his wife, who was as frozen as the others. 'Persephone!' he exclaimed, 'Persephone!'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'She can't hear you,' said the woman. 'None of them can.'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'What have you done?' cried the Frenchman. His knuckles were white, as he gripped the edge of the table.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]As he looked around the room, the restaurant became more and more alien to him. The windows rippled as though they were water. Where once he had been able to see the serene promenade beyond, he now saw nothing but brick; the windows were no longer there. The room darkened further and the candles began to melt into their holders.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'What have you done?' repeated the Frenchman as he stood up. He raised his arms in the air and screamed at the patrons, 'Wake up! Wake up, you idiots! My god, what have you done, woman?!'[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'Karma,' repeated the red-leather clad woman. She turned from the Frenchman and walked down the stairs, to the restaurant's entrance.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]Soon, very soon, she was gone. When she was out of sight, the Frenchman heard an enormous crash. The walls shook and the great chandelier fell from the ceiling and smashed into the floor, shattering into thousands of pieces. As the chandelier shattered, pieces of metal and crystal sprayed through the air in all directions. But it seemed as though time had come to a standstill; the pieces floated slowly, almost peacefully.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'My god,' whispered the Frenchman, as he approached the explosion. It was moving so slowly that he was able to walk between the debris, as it fluttered past him. Suddenly, time seemed to return to normal. The Frenchman tumbled backwards as glass and gold blanketed the restaurant.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]All he could see was the checkered ceiling. It seemed to be coming closer. The black and white squares faded into one another, as if they were performing an elaborate dance. But the black squares now seemed to be approaching more rapidly. They had become sharp and long, as they reached down toward the Frenchman.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]'Persephone!' cried the Frenchman one last time, as the warping, dancing ceiling enveloped him.[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2]

---

[/size][/font]
[font=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=2][/size][/font]
[font=Verdana][size=2][color=#667F84]Thanks to everyone who continues to participate in The Reanimatrix. Please remember that this thread [b]is still open[/b] and there is [b]no sign-up requirement[/b]. Anyone can post short Matrix-related stories here. So, I encourage everyone to make use of this thread if you want to -- please do not feel too intimidated to post. I welcome all entries.

And as you can see from the first page, I am now compiling the index. If your story hasn't been mentioned, it's because you have not provided a title for the piece. Please provide titles for every piece if you wish to be listed in the official index.[/color][/size][/font]

[Epitome]

[size=1][b]The Man in the Black Suit[/b]

[color=SeaGreen]The man stepped up to the cab, fixed his tie and said "West 14th and 11th please..."

The cab started to move... The man sat in back with a not so good look on his face. Like something was wrong. The cab driver asked "Something on your mind?"

"Yes actually" the man replied.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No its very personal..."

When the cab arrived, the cab driver asked for the money for the ride and the man paid. He walked into a back alley where a man in a black suit stood. He walked up and shook the mans hand...

"... You're late," said the man in the black suit.

"Im sorry, but I wanted to make sure I wasnt followed."

"Why would it matter if you were followed... You say your life sucks, you came to me to do this. Not I to you."

"I know. Lets just get this over with. Im sick of living like a piece of ****. Just do it."

The man in the suit looked at his right hand. Paused and looked at the younger gentlemen. He cocked back looking like he was going to punch him but shoved his hand into the man instead.

Before the man was totally consumed the man said "We'll take care of your body for you. All of us love new members... Oh and by the way, the names Smith..."

The man in the black suit pulled his hands out when the virus entered the younger mans body. Then the Smith that used to be the younger man muttered "2 Smiths are better than one..."

They both grinned and walked away.[/size][/color]

[future girl]

[b]Renaissance Affair[/b]

It?s early and the sky is hazed over in purple light and a soft yellow glow spreads across the horizon. The sun will be up soon and she secretly fears that this will be the last time she sees a sunrise like this. She stops the car on the side of the road and begins to take several pictures, trying to capture it just in case. She leans in through the window and turns on the radio, Renaissance Affair is just starting.

[center][i]Sweet relief calms me down
Makes me drown lost and found[/i][/center]

?Marie??
She looks back inside the car, Michael?s awake now, looking at her. ?Is something wrong with the car??
She shakes her head and slips back inside, ?Just wanted to take a picture of the sky.?
As she starts up the engine he asks, ?You want me to drive?? She shakes her head again and moves out onto the road. ?Are you ok?? He puts his hand on her thigh and she puts all her force on the gas pedal. The colors outside blur around them as she whispers, ?I?m fine.?

[center][i]Spacing from Paris to New York
Silver sunglasses Silver phone
Connects us to someone who doesn?t know
Of these feelings we can't control[/i][/center]

He leans back into the seat, letting his head rest on the window glass. He was never the type of guy that would notice how pretty the sky looked. In all reality the first time he noticed it would have to be the first time she mentioned it. She had a knack for noticing little things. Well, the sky probably wasn?t a little thing, but he never thought to look up anyway.
?What makes the sky so beautiful??
She interrupts him mid-thought. ?I don?t know, Marie. I guess it just is.?
?Things can?t just be in this world. We know that now.?
Michael says nothing, continues to stair out the window.
?What writes books and sings songs and paints pictures and falls in love??
?We do.?
?But if we?re living a life pre-ordained by machines how can you be sure these emotions are real? How do you know you really love me, how do we know that if something was changed in the Matrix this feeling wouldn?t die. How do we know that love and passion aren?t just programmed into us and just as easily programmed out...?
He was quiet again and looking at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she seemed very calm, looking straight ahead. He reached over and held her hand.

[center][i]People they want us to fall down
But we won't ever touch the ground
Perfectly balanced we'll float around
?Til no one is near
Do you hear the sound[/i][/center]

?I don?t want to go back without you, Marie.?
?Why did you want to go at all??
?To know the truth, to wake up and actually live my life, do something. How can you even consider staying in here with everything you know now??
?Everything here is fake, even our love.? There?s bitterness in her voice, but it?s only there to mask the fear that what she just said might be true.
?No, that surpasses everything. It can thrive without a beautiful sky, nothing can make this go away.?
?What if I?m not me, Michael, what if I can only be me because I?ve lived the life I have and if that goes away I?m just some empty husk.?
He looks at her, ?Marie??
?I don?t want to lose you.?
?Then come with me. I can?t be with you here anymore, it?s too dangerous, for both of us.?
?What if you can only be with me here??
She?s pulling into the driveway, he didn?t even notice when they got off the highway. She parks, but leaves the engine running, her hands still on ten and two.
?Shouldn?t we at least try, Marie?? He pulls her in, close to him. ?If this is the only chance we have shouldn?t we at the very least ******* try?? He hugs her and whispers, ?Will you come with me Marie??

[center][i]Strange feeling captures us
It generates this huge fuzz
I miss you all the time I must face
I miss your touch and your embrace[/i][/center]

?To the end of the world.?

[Gavin]

[SIZE=1][U][B][CENTER]Boardwalk Café[/CENTER][/B][/U]

[I]Everyday I see her, she sits in the most elegant pose, sipping away at her lunchtime coffee, the yards that separated us might well span miles for I can never pluck up the courage to speak to her. Her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, an angel in it's truest description, and I the lone gargoyle hidden away in the shadows, crushed by fear, torn by love, self loathing for my cowardice. If I were even able to make the most subtle gesture she might notice me, a glance in my direction might break me lose from this petrifying fear. If this is to be my Hell then I should serve it gladly for all eternity, for even the sight of her is better than an eternity of bliss without her.

My own drink has long since gone cold, the waitress returns asking if I want a fresh one but I don't even realise she is there. My thoughts are completely on her, the Aphrodite of this world, I continue this destructive cycle, rending my very being in pain and misery, if it is not to be so then let her spell over me be broken. She gets up from the light wooden seat, her coffee finished, her break ended, dare I now go to speak with her. I watch her figure form move out into the open sunlight, the golden reflection from her hair, the ruby sparkle of her lips and the angelic form that is her body. My phone blares from my jacket pocket but every fibre of my being is focused on her, out of character I decide to answer it, something I had never done before, I had interrupted the cycle...

And in those few precious seconds my entire world changed, the screeching tires, the scream echoing from the street, my angel lying motionless on the path, her hair now becoming flooded by the darkened crimson of her life force. I drop the phone and rush to her, my fear cannot hold me back now, pushing through the crowd I reach to her side, tears stinging my eyes. I take her hand in mine and rub my finger across her forehead, her eyes meet mine and my words flow like the water of a burst dam.[/i]

"I love you..."

[i]Her eyes flicker and in that moment I know that she has known my feelings all along, she as fearful to speak to me as I to her. And in that moment my angel was taken from me, to ascent into heaven with those like her, and I left to exist in this Hell, my heart torn asunder, my breathing ragged, but I must go on. For some reason he felt she would have wanted him to...[/I][/SIZE]

[Epitome]

[size=1][b][u]The Awakening[/b][/u]

[color=SeaGreen]"Dont let go..."

[i]When I woke up those were the only words I can remember... Someone telling me to hold on. After that I dont remember much, except the feeling of the sharp pain from needle releasing itself from the back of my head. I looked around for a while, and I reallt didnt know what was going on. But I still couldnt remember who told me "Dont let go..."

I told myself I would find out, if it was the last thing I did. I would find out. It seemed as if it were only me and "the operatior" on the ship. It felt... chilling, not knowing if someone else was going to pop out right behind you. The operator took me into the next room and said "You'll sleep here tonight."

I acknowledged him and continued to walk in. I laid down, hit the lights, and stayed there for about 30 minutes before I started to drift off. But in those 30 minutes I was thinking to myself... "What is this place that I have been brought too and when am I going to find out what I am doing here?"

During my sleep I had a dream about that voice. "Dont let go..." it said to me... Over and over again. I had a feeling I would find out who it was soon. And I needed to. It was starting to drive me nuts, not knowing what or who said this to me.

The next morning I woke up to a man calling me by the name of "Peter." I was quite clueless as to why he would call me that, my name has always been John Malcom Scott. He continued calling me by the name when I began to realize the similarities of this scenario to another.

Although I still hadnt known the mans name, this all seemed too familiar. I couldnt think of what though. Then when he told me his name, it hit me. He said to me "I am the commander of this ship. My name is Jonus, but my crew calls me..." He said it, and I knew. He was my savior. He set me "free." I couldnt believe it...[/i]

"I am Jonus, but my crew calls me Jesus... And I am here to welcome you to the real world."

[i]Jonus aka Jesus was my savior, my living Jesus whom I was hoping was going to make many good things come. He was going to destroy the place called "The Matrix" and find the person whom they call "The One..."[/i][/size][/color]

[DeadSeraphim]

[COLOR=Indigo][SIZE=1][FONT=Arial]'Which will it be?' the large, bald black man asked him as he stood there, staring out the window at the rain. 'The red...' The man's palm opened to reveal a red pill. Terri looked at the red pill. Kinda dull. 'Or the blue.' The other palm opened and a shiny blue pill was seen. Ooo, shiny, Terri thought ecstaticly.

A smug look crossed Morpheus's face as he watched the youth weigh the decision. His performance had been flawless that time. He was on the top of his game tonight. With palm-opening like that, he was sure to pull another away from the Matrix

Scratching the back of his neck, Terri sighed.

'I... just don't know,' he said, much to Morpheus's chagrin. 'I mean, sure, the red pill offers freedom and a life-time of running from evil machines but the blue pill.' His face twisted, as if thinking. 'It's shinier. And I don't think there's a man alive who can resist shiny.'

An angry scowl crossed Morpheus's face. To help his decision, Terri took out a notebook and read a few questions he had jotted earlier.

'Tell me...' he began. 'Does the red pill offer dental?'

'No.' Terri's face fell.

'How about life insurance? Do I get good free life insurance?'

'We're pulling you out of a life of slavery into a world where money is non-existant.' Morpheus paused for effect. 'Life insurance isn't necessary.'

Yet again Terri's hopes were dashed. What was he going to get out of these people then if he wasn't getting dental or life insurance? Freedom? A life? Man, who needed those when he got life insurance and dental already where he worked.

He pondered on this for an infuriatingly long while. He was so attracted to the shininess of the blue pill... Plus he got life insurance and dental if he took it... Yet these fine people had dragged him out in the middle of a storm to propose there offer to him. There'd be no harm in just trying it out...

Finally he bit the bullet, and took the red pill, swallowing it with a loud gulp. It was kinda salty, from Morpheus's sweating hands. Not a pleasant sensation. A woman came over and started leading him gently away by the arm.

'I'm just trying out your plan, you hear?' he said as she took him to a close by mirror. 'If I don't like it I'm backin' out and going back to my old job.' Morpheus smiled slyly as his finger touched the mercury like surface.

'As you wish.'
--
When Terri awoke he was on a cold steel bench, naked except for a thin blanket. All over his body were small connectors, like what would be seen on a computer. He was fine with that. He'd been told to expect it.

It was when he saw his surroundings, bleak grey walls, no air con, and not even a water cooler, that he freaked.

'Umm...' he said loudly. 'I don't like this plan, give me the blue pill now.' The woman walked into the room and put a plate of hot gruel on a workbench beside him. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear

'Sorry babe, there's no turning back.' Terri's eyes widened slightly in shock. A life on gruel, with no air con, or dental?

'GODDAMIT'[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[Epitome]

[size=1][b][u]My Last Stand[/u][/b]

[color=SeaGreen][i]I ran into the room, and found the payphones sitting on the right wall. I was tired that day, and this was my way back out. Except that was the only day I would never make it out.[/i]

[b]Earlier That Day[/b]

"Ticket please..." The attendant asked me.

"Oh Im sorry, here you are." He took the ticket, examined it, and gave it back to me. I boarded the train only to find myself sitting next to the rest of us. And by the rest of us I mean the rest of my crew... The only one who was missing was Priest. He decided to go off on his own to make sure we werent getting followed.

"REEEEEEE." The train stopped. We all got off and looked at the surroundings. The dollar store we were supposed to get out at was way to busy. If we walked in, then we would be swarmed with agents. So we all decided to break up into 3 groups. I was the only one by myself.

[b]An Hour Later[/b]

"OPERATOR!! WHERES THE NEAREST EXIT!!" I found myself yelling into my phone.

"Go to the Hotel Baraqui... Get to the payphones by the bathrooms... And Rate, hurry, there right on your ***."

That last comment he made to me was the last Id ever hear and it didnt make me feel too good. I ran as fast as I could trying to make it back to those payphones.

*Gun shots fired* "AHHHHHH." I had been shot. In the foot. But I still ran. I ran into the room, and found the payphones sitting on the right wall. I was tired that day, and this was my way back out. Except that was the only day I would never make it out. None of the phones were ringing. The Agents were right behind me. And maybe they wouldnt kill me I thought. But they walked up with their guns raised and ready to fire.

I pulled out my guns and fired 2 whole clips at all 3 of them. None of the bullets had even knicked them.

Then, they shot...[/size][/color]

[JJ]

Warning: This is really graphic. Heh. But, Please PM me with your critique. I love getting feedback.

[color=DarkSlateGrey][size=1]Sometimes, when I think back to the days of happiness, alarm clocks come to mind. In my world, waking up had been the hardest thing for me. I would set it for six in the morning, then climb into the bed, and pull the duvet up. My head would hit the pillow, and it seemed like almost immediately I would be asleep. In my dreams was were I longed to be every waking moment.

My dreams were my refuge; my place where I went to forgot my past, present, and future. Sometimes, I would be a bird, soaring on the currents. Another time, I could be a fish swimming happily along in the ocean. It seemed like there was no end to my ability to give life to that which was not. Even when my life was at it is worst; my dreams always gave me the initiative to finish the day.

Looking back on what was, music also comes to mind. The times I had just sitting in my room and listening to music, were great, though nowhere near as good as my dreams. Sometimes, if I sat and though long enough, I could see the music: the blue of the bass, the red of the drums, and the yellow of the voices.

They would dance around me like people, always inviting me to join them. At one point I did. I became a string of music and I danced. The bright purple that was I was all over. I would rub along the yellow and give it harmony. The blue and I could play a duet. Red and I traded rhythms, and rocked together. It was as if my only worry was who to play with next.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I went to my weekly therapy session. This week, we were supposed to bring the one thing that mattered most to us. I had my most precious CD. It was a remix of all the Beatles hits. My personal favorite was ?Yellow Submarine? because the background noises gave me a new strain of color, Green.

I slowly climbed the staircase that led to the loft. Dr. Phillis felt that if you were comfortable, you could get comfortable with others. That in my opinion was a load of ********, but I went anyway. He had this way of bringing out your insecurities and making them disappear. I almost wish I hadn?t gone that day.

Finally, I reached the loft, panting and flushed. It seemed like the stairs had gotten a lot longer since last week. I opened the door quietly because I knew that it squeaked very easily. The other two turned around to look at me.

Before I go on, I guess I should tell you about Mimmi and James. Mimmi is not your average twenty-three year old. She is spunky, happy; go lucky, and totally crazy. She started life with a normal family. She had an older sister and they were close. After she moved out when Mimmi was 15, things didn?t go so well. Slowly, but surely, Mimmi began to mentally deteriorate. At first, it was little things such as forgetting where she left things, and mood swings, which she dismissed as feminine problems.

Unfortunately, for her, they were not. As her mood swings got violent, and her forgetfulness became worse, other problems accrued. She began to black out, minutes at a time. The time rapidly increased, leaving Mimmi not knowing when it was. At one point, she was blacking out for days at a time. They all suddenly stopped though, because as she later found out, she had brain cancer. It wasn?t the cause of her mental problems, but it was her temporary solution.

As her life grew into a ?normal? setting, the cancer took a hold. Mimmi slowly began to get more tired, and he vision became fuzzy. Also, she began to have strange dreams. Ones that involved people in little pods; machines came up and scanned the pod. They then moved on. It was almost as if they were using the humans for something. Mimmi began to ponder this as she sat in the hospital. In order for her to live, she had to undergo an operation.

The operation in itself was really simple. Go in and take the tumor out, end of story. Poor Mimmi, the doctors decided to do a test on her. Why not take a chunk of her brain out and see how she functions? So they gave her about three times too much anesthesia and set out to work. They first removed the tumor, then removed the area directly underneath.

After Mimmi woke up, she noticed something was wrong right away. Her eyes didn?t work right. All she could see was white and black! She thrashed and cried out, grabbing the attention of the nurse. She came in with a needle and injected Mimmi in the stomach with it. She woke up two days later in an ally near Blackbird Street.

James was another matter entirely. He is twenty-one, solemn, and reserved. He just sits through the sessions talking when it is his turn. Otherwise, he sits three his eyes half open, occasionally muttering some unhearable phrase. I guess you could say he kinda clams himself up if he?s not speaking. It all has to do with his past.

When James was born, his mother killed herself. She was a raped, mental patient of Mercy Hospital. When she was first admitted her doctor, the lovely doctor that stole Mimmi?s color vision we would later find out, knocked her out and raped her. He left town afterwards, and left her moneyless and pregnant.

She became a raging, hormonal, pregnant, drug addict. Every day she complained of various problems: bladder control, cramps, and blurry vision. The staff knew that it was a load of crap, but it kept her quiet. So James?s mother started to hurt her baby. At first, it was simple. An unneeded aspirin here and there, maybe a joint or two, or a good old fashion smarty sniff was all she needed to get happy. James on the other hand, didn?t. When he was born, they immediately noticed brain problems. Instead of crying, James just stared at everyone.

At first, they thought he was free from pain. As he grew, they realized that his brain was miss formed. When his mother sniffed the smarties, it infected his brain, inflating his lower left region. That allowed him a larger threshold from pain, at the cost of not being able to perceive his world. He could solve word problems very easily, but when the problem was physical, he lacked the skills to solve it. That usually lead to fights, fights lead to bruises and cuts, and cuts lead to infection, which leads to the hospital.

Mercy Hospital. When he was 15, James was admitted for an infection in his arm. Someone had nicked him with a rusted knife, and he was getting sick. They gave him about five shots to the stomach, and then they stuck him in a room to rot. They couldn?t do anything for him, because he was street trash. Raised by a slut, kills cats and dogs for food, and fights with every idiot that looks at him. Mercy Hospital didn?t like that kind of publicity. They shunned him and helped as little as they could.


As James sat in his bed with the horrible pain, he began to think. If he wasn?t good enough to be treated as a person, why should they be able to live? As the days went by, James began to form a plan. A plot that involved a gun, a knife, and lots of anesthesia; also it involved the death of the entire hospital.

James slowly crept through the hospital each day, gathering what he could of tanks and syringes, storing it under the bed. After about a week, he felt like he had enough to complete what he needed. He opened his air vent and released the container of anesthesia, knocking out the whole hospital. He then took the smelling salts that he made, and went looking for the doctor who sent him to this hell.

As James has crept around, he would catch bits and pieces of conversations. One interesting fact was that Mr. Doctor and his slut would sneak into Room 69 every day for a little private meeting. As he ran down the hall, his feet pounding on white tile, he tried to remember where he had felt like this before. He dismissed the thought as he neared the door. He opened to find everyone?s favorite doc. He crept up and waved the smelling salts under the nose of the large naked frame. It shot up quickly, coughing and spitting. James cocked the gun at him and told him:

?Move the wrong ******* way and I?ll blow your goddamned brains out.?

He looked like a deer in the headlights of an on coming car. As he slowly moved up, James noticed that his lover was stirring. He fired the gun, instantly ending her life. The man jumped, and James fired his gun at the floor next to him. He jumped, and James whipped out his knife.

?You moved the wrong way ****-for-brains?

He brought the knife in a wide arc, slicing into the neck. A thin line of red appeared as he grabbed at his throat. James grabbed the guy?s shirt, and wiped his blade on it. He then tossed it to the guy and walked out.

James got away with murder, and to this day, no one knows, except for us. I guess you could say that is the one thing that scares me about him. He?s already done it once, why not again? Anyway, when they turned to face me, I blushed and went to sit in my normal chair.

?Sorry about being late, I forgot to set an alarm.? I said grabbing a cookie from the table next to the chair.

?It?s no problem JJ, you know that as long as you come we don?t mind.? Dr Phillis said smiling. ?Mimmi was just telling us about her stuffed sheep.?

?It?s not stuffed silly! Knickers-Nicker is just being shy! Aren?t you, you silly sheep?? she said ruffling the sheep?s hair.

?Anyway, James what did you bring?? Dr. Phillis asked, his view swinging from the right to the left.

James pulled something out of his jacket. It was a small case, silver on the outside with the initial J engraved on it.

?I brought salvation.? He said popping the clasp. In it, were three sets of pills. Three of them were red, and three were blue. ?To make things simple, this world is not real. A computer program called the Matrix is controlling you, telling you that the cookie tastes like chocolate, or that a carrot is a carrot. In my right hand, I hold the promise of a life free of slavery. In my left, I hold the pill that will keep you here in fantasy.? He said, his continence not changing.

?What the hell are you talking about?? Dr Phillis said. ?I?m calling security!?

?Not so fast.? James said, whipping out a gun. He aimed and shot, causing Dr. Phillis to grab at his back. As he fell, his white shirt began to stain red. ?Hurry up and pick one!?

?I?ll take the red one, ?cuz me and Nickers love red!? Mimmi said as she reached for his right hand.

?Red.? was all I said.

I popped the pill and started to feel weird. As the world swam in and out of focus, James said ?Welcome to the Real World.?[/color][/size]

That was all I remembered.