Sadly I don't own any of The Matrix or any of the characters blah blah
blah. I wish I did because they're the coolest. I've tried to use as few of
the characters as possible but its ended up with more and more working
their way in. It started as just my character though she fits in with
another so well but you'll have to read to see what I mean. I've put the
agents in because I love them. I love all the characters! I'd have everyone
in if I could but you know how it is. Okay rambling now but I hope you
enjoy my story. Please review, much appreciated. Thank you.
I lie there, on my bed, examining the white ceiling with my eyes. It is so bright that for most people it would burn your eyes, but it doesn't affect me so badly. Why? I'm not sure why. People have described colours to me; I've been shown them in tests. I understand colours, it's just they don't appear the same to me as they do other people. If you were to ask what colour the ceiling was to me, I would tell you pink. Well orangey-pink. I know its white, but try as I might I can't see white. It is as though a screen has been pulled over my eyes, as though I'm looking through a filter. Everything has that strange hue. That skin colour. Do you know what it really reminds me of? People. It looks how you would imagine a liquidised body. I laugh out loud at the thought. Shrill manic laughter, which I am instantly told to stop. I can't make any kind of noise these days without being sedated. Mental homes are all the same. I'm not mad - I know I'm not, but I can't convince the staff. I have visions, as well as the strange hue. The colours are normally pink, but in the dark I can see blinding blue flashes that light up the sky - even though I am indoors. The blue catches the dark metal that isn't there. The metal that is attached to my body. Everybody has this metal, but they can't see it. I can't see it clearly; there is no definition to it. It looks like two photographs taken on the same piece of film, one on top of the other, one with the metal and one without. It scares me.
The scariest thing isn't the colour though. They're my visions. Cold rooms made of steel, hard and unforgiving. Beings sweeping down upon me, emotionless, with the appearance of insects or octopuses. Beings taking me to these rooms and laying me on my front. I can see and hear and feel everything that goes on around me and they know I can, but I cannot move or wake myself from this nightmare. They adjust the metal in me. I don't know why, but every time I've had a vision the hues seem different, sometimes better sometimes worse. They speak to each other, not in English but I still understand it, I've heard it every moment of my life. I can't speak it but I understand it. They talk about signals, programs, problems, malfunctions, adjustments, experiments, pods, but the strangest words are something I've never heard of. The Matrix. I have no idea what it is, but I want to find out. There is something wrong with me, or rather, the world that I live in. The answer to my puzzle lies with the meaning of those words. I'm so confused and so alone. No one believes me. Well there is an exception to that statement, I suppose. The men. They don't have any metal in them. They stand out so much when they come. They contrast the clean white with their black suits; yet match perfectly the cruel precision of the place.
They scare me too.
I lie there, on my bed, examining the white ceiling with my eyes. It is so bright that for most people it would burn your eyes, but it doesn't affect me so badly. Why? I'm not sure why. People have described colours to me; I've been shown them in tests. I understand colours, it's just they don't appear the same to me as they do other people. If you were to ask what colour the ceiling was to me, I would tell you pink. Well orangey-pink. I know its white, but try as I might I can't see white. It is as though a screen has been pulled over my eyes, as though I'm looking through a filter. Everything has that strange hue. That skin colour. Do you know what it really reminds me of? People. It looks how you would imagine a liquidised body. I laugh out loud at the thought. Shrill manic laughter, which I am instantly told to stop. I can't make any kind of noise these days without being sedated. Mental homes are all the same. I'm not mad - I know I'm not, but I can't convince the staff. I have visions, as well as the strange hue. The colours are normally pink, but in the dark I can see blinding blue flashes that light up the sky - even though I am indoors. The blue catches the dark metal that isn't there. The metal that is attached to my body. Everybody has this metal, but they can't see it. I can't see it clearly; there is no definition to it. It looks like two photographs taken on the same piece of film, one on top of the other, one with the metal and one without. It scares me.
The scariest thing isn't the colour though. They're my visions. Cold rooms made of steel, hard and unforgiving. Beings sweeping down upon me, emotionless, with the appearance of insects or octopuses. Beings taking me to these rooms and laying me on my front. I can see and hear and feel everything that goes on around me and they know I can, but I cannot move or wake myself from this nightmare. They adjust the metal in me. I don't know why, but every time I've had a vision the hues seem different, sometimes better sometimes worse. They speak to each other, not in English but I still understand it, I've heard it every moment of my life. I can't speak it but I understand it. They talk about signals, programs, problems, malfunctions, adjustments, experiments, pods, but the strangest words are something I've never heard of. The Matrix. I have no idea what it is, but I want to find out. There is something wrong with me, or rather, the world that I live in. The answer to my puzzle lies with the meaning of those words. I'm so confused and so alone. No one believes me. Well there is an exception to that statement, I suppose. The men. They don't have any metal in them. They stand out so much when they come. They contrast the clean white with their black suits; yet match perfectly the cruel precision of the place.
They scare me too.