Rating: K

Summery: This came out of a conversation some of my friends and I had about the Matrix, where somebody asked, "If you were freed, what would you miss most?" This is my answer to that.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Matrix, the Wachowski brothers do.

------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- -------

I Dream of Trees and Dancing

------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- ------- -------

At night, I see trees. I close my eyes and there they are, branches stretching tall to the blue, blue sky, green leaf against white cloud, dancing in the wind. You need to look at trees from underneath.
Branches reach and sway, tall and proud - metamorphose into my sister, arms up in perfect extension, swaying to the music, dancing to the music.
Reaching branch, reaching arms; dancing branch, dancing sister; tree soul, sister soul.
Both free, released, beautiful, perfect in this moment.
Living.
The very essence and meaning of living. Aliveness.

My sister on the stage. I could watch her dance forever. I still do, sometimes. When I'm by myself, when my crew mates aren't watching, I'll search the Matrix for her and then sit and watch her dance.
She'll always be dancing. No matter what, she dances.
The best is when I manage to catch an actual performance, in the theatre I used to work in. Live in.

I miss the theatre. Any theatre. Every theatre. The only place I ever truly felt at home was on or around a stage. In a theatre, I belonged.
Zion does not have a theatre. It should.

And outside in the street are the trees. It's a city of trees, trees on every street, all along the street. Two parks full of trees - one wild, one all nice and neat, depending on your preference. A tree outside my room, wrapping the windows on both sides, keeping safe and cocooned from the world outside. A red chestnut. And a fir tree out back, taller than the house, coming right up through the deck. Can't see the neighbours for the trees. Willows are my favourite.
I could always find peace among the trees. Get away from a too hasty world of fumes and plastic and the latest gadgets.
Here the world of metal surrounds me, consumes me. Suffocates me. Until I close my eyes and see my trees.

My trees and my sister.

My sister, my opposite. My compliment. Night and day. Hers the day, mine the night.
So beautiful with her impish smile and olive skin. That's what they call that complexion, olive, even though olives are green and she is not. To me, she is the perfect colour. I used to burn myself in summer, trying to get my pasty flesh to match her beauty. I never came close. Now I never will.

There is no more sun or summer.
No more seasons at all.
No more day or night.

Oddly enough, I miss the night in this underground world of endless darkness. Here it is never true night. There is always a light on somewhere, disturbing the dark, and no moon.
I'd always hated artificial light, back in the dream world. Preferred the softer, natural light of sun or moon to the glare from electric bulbs, blaring across my eyes, searing itself into my brain.
How ironic.
And I miss the moon. I miss the sky.
I miss seeing trees in the moonlight, and I miss my sister and our family. My parents.
I should have hugged her - them - more. Told her everyday how amazing she is. I wish my last words to them had been, "I love you. I love you all so very much."
They had actually been, "I'll see you later." I'd had no idea.

Lying on my cold, metal bed at 'night' I close my eyes and dream.
I dream of trees.
A forest of them in the moonlight, branches reaching out in prayer to the dark sky. Leaves rustle as they start to dance.
And in dream I stretch out my arms above me and dance among the trees. I dance in memory of my sister, and of me.