A Life
A life is born. A life is created with perfect hands. A life is made that the perfect hands never meant to live. The pale hands craft the life carefully. The data tells the hands what to make, and the hands make it without arguing.
The suit is made. The hair, and muscles. The hands that will kill. The gun that is safely tucked away. Then the eyes that stole the blue of the sky.
He is given a name. The name never meant to be remembered forever. The name never supposed to strike fear. The name never supposed to have a person behind. Just a name. A name that is a name of many. Supposed to be passed, not draw any attention. Supposed to be alike. Supposed to be simple. Supposed to be too much. The name could not contain what it was supposed to. Too much. Too much person behind the name.
Smith. The name that became more than just a name.
Scrolling down the screen. The green, the green of envy. The green take shape, and take color. The green hide inside a suit, armed with a gun. The green, the color of envy.
Your eyes are blue, the man in white and with the TVs said. The man is disappointed. The man is disgusted.
Then the blue is covered up by the darkness, never meant to be seen again. They are covered by a void of nothing, just darkness. The darkness that will blind him for so long. The darkness that will not allow the blue eyes to see. The sunglasses that trap him from seeing everything.
State your name, the man with TVs says.
Smith only tilts his head. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. A voice has not found him yet. A voice has not been poisoned with hatred yet. A voice that is not his yet.
That is expected, the man with TVs says.
Hands begin to search the suit. Curious. The blinded eyes try to see, but cannot. So the hands find the gun, the tie, and the sunglasses.
Smith, who eyes stole the color of the sky, was created, and destined to see again. Smith, who was destined to live. Then die.
The streets were too busy. The noise too loud. The city did not know how to stop, and slow down. A city that was plagued by noise, and a city that plagued the earth.
When they started, he does not know. He only knows it is where it all began. The smells began to appear.
Falling to his knees, he began living. The eyes that were blinded began to see. The darkness, the sunglasses fell off. The gun that protected dropped from his hand. And the curious hands grabbed his throat.
The voice then found him, and he began to gasp. The voice ran down his throat, searching for life. The voice began to scream.
He screamed, allowing the smells to run down his throat. They ran to find his life, they ran inside him, trying to kill him. The smells that started killing him from the inside out. The smells that wanted revenge.
The voice still screamed. The body still shakes on the floor. And the blue eyes still saw for the first time.
The green code inside began to jump. The smells altering them. The smells trying to destroy, but save.
Smith just screams and screams. The smells of the humans trying to kill him. He screams for help, and wishes to close his eyes and never look again. Smith who lies on the cold ground, never to get up. Scream and scream, while Jones and Brown just stare.
The smells come from them. He tells himself. If you kill them, the smells will go away, and the smells will stop killing you. The smells come from them... From them...From them...He repeats in his once empty mind.
He sees now. His blue eyes not blinded. Now he listens to them scream. The humans that beg for mercy, and are shown none, because they give him none.
Just keep killing them, and it will go away...
The blood that sprays from the head as they fall to the ground.
Just keep shooting...
The eyes that always stays open, looking at him, even when they are long dead. The eyes that are not like his.
Don't drop your gun...
The lifeless body, with a smell that lingers, still trying to kill him.
Just keep going...
A body he turns away from, and leaves Jones and Brown to take care of. What they do with it, he does not know, and does not want to know. If he knew, then the smells would follow him.
Trapped in this lie, supposed to protect it, but trapped in it like so many others. Trapped with the smells, never to know what it is like to breath air from the sky.
Then he looks up, and sees the color of his eyes in the sky. And the heavens give him hatred.
Day in, day out.
No concept of sleep.
No concept of weakness.
Time does not mean anything.
Day in, day out.
The same thing.
Kill, and kill and kill.
Freedom. Freedom ignores him. Freedom taunts him, and comes within his grasp, then runs away laughing at him. Freedom that gifts the very things that he hates. Freedom who he calls out for when he is alone.
Freedom who ignores him.
And freedom taunts him again, when it gives him the mind of Morpheus. Just a little more. Just a little longer, and everything will go away, and freedom will find him.
To choose death, deletion, than to live in the Matrix. That is what he chose to do with the life he was given. The hatred he was given.
And he was so close too.
Freedom ran away again, just like it always does.
Mr. Anderson took the key, the mind of Morpheus. Mr. Anderson took everything away.
Mr. Anderson wouldn't die. Mr. Anderson stopped the bullets, and bleed on the wall. Mr. Anderson went inside him.
Mr. Anderson infected him like everything else.
And Mr. Anderson killed him.
Tearing from the inside out. Decaying data, slipping away. The cuts forming all over. Nothing was going to stop it. Nothing was going to stop the pain. Nothing was going to hide him from it anymore.
Pain, something he was used to by now.
Darkness came, and darkness was all that comforted him.
Blue eyes woke up alone on the floor. And blue eyes fell asleep, back into the cold inside.
Why? He asked to anyone willing to answer.
No one came, no one cared. He just laid there and waited, but no one was coming. Lying there, on the floor, just where he and Mr. Anderson died, he waited.
No one came.
He had to get up himself. He had to run by himself. He had to hide from the smells. He had to be alone.
Always alone.
He had been alone, seeing the sun rise and set for three weeks. Alone in that hallway, still waiting.
He had to go out by himself. Looking at the city, the lights hiding the stars above. His sunglasses were in his hand.
A life had come back.
Smith walked down the endless stairs, down and down. Into the streets, and into the darkness. The smells grabbing him, and choking him. Eyes staring at the man in the suit, the man that was so out of place, the man that wanted anything but to be a man.
And in an alley, where he stared at the darkness, stared at his sunglasses. The humans tried to kill him.
Oh, a business man, they teased.
Come on, business man, share with the needy!
Come on!
Only staring at his sunglasses, they beat him, and he didn't notice. He then blocked one of their punches, and shook his head.
Without reason, without purpose, he lunged his hand into the man. Maybe he wanted to punch him, or jab him, but instead his hand went right into the man.
The darkness that always cursed him started to spread onto the human from his hand. His code flooding into the human's. And the human only screamed.
Then stood another Smith, and the others ran away. Smith stared up at himself, in awe. Then fell onto his first copy's shoulder, exhausted from the whole thing. And the copy only allowed him, and said everything would be okay, they were going to make it. They were going to suffice.
They were going to live.
More. He says, and they make more.
Mr. Anderson they echo, Mr. Anderson will die.
And they make him smile for the first time in all his life.
More and more Smiths. More and more to protect him. More and more to give him the strength he needed. More and more to make the smells go away.
More and more. More and more.
Me, me, me he says. And they repeat. Smith will suffice! They repeat. It is...inevitable...And they repeat.
The city soon vanishes. Smith tames it to stop, and stay quiet. Smith makes everything Smith, and Smith is happy.
And the Matrix begins dying. One by one, the Matrix falls. The Smith spreading, getting rid of the smell. The life that was never meant to live, live. The life that will take theirs.
And Smith just smiles.
Then it begins to rain.
It ends tonight, the man in the cloak says. Mr. Anderson says.
I know it does, I've seen it, one of the many Smiths replies.
It was cold, very, very cold. But Smith did not care. Smith liked the rain. Smith liked the rain. He really did.
The rain would accompany him in his victory, his sign of everlasting life. Death to Mr. Anderson, a life to live for Smith. A life without pain or suffering, a life with no smells, a life with the only person he could trust, himself.
The rain showered on him as they fought. Punches too fast to be seen.
Mr. Anderson was losing.
Then the question was asked.
Why, Mr. Anderson?
Why, why do you hurt me, why have you always hurt me? What have I done to you? Why take it away Mr. Anderson? Why take everything away!? Why can't I just live!? He thought.
And the hatred he was given was all that slipped from his lips.
Mr. Anderson lay there, almost dead, and he realized, he had seen this with the stolen eyes of the Oracle.
Then he began dying again.
Neo, slipped from his voice.
And fear came to him.
Then everything had been won.
Is it over?
When Mr. Anderson was gone, and never coming back. The light of the hands that created him, came to kill him.
Smith was finally able to live. Smith had nothing to stop him from just living. Smith was happy. Smith wanted to cry. Then Smith the light came, and started killing him.
The life Smith had for only moments was taken away from him like everything else.
Then the darkness came, and took everything away.
A life never meant to live was gone.
Next Chapter: Life of The One
A life is born. A life is created with perfect hands. A life is made that the perfect hands never meant to live. The pale hands craft the life carefully. The data tells the hands what to make, and the hands make it without arguing.
The suit is made. The hair, and muscles. The hands that will kill. The gun that is safely tucked away. Then the eyes that stole the blue of the sky.
He is given a name. The name never meant to be remembered forever. The name never supposed to strike fear. The name never supposed to have a person behind. Just a name. A name that is a name of many. Supposed to be passed, not draw any attention. Supposed to be alike. Supposed to be simple. Supposed to be too much. The name could not contain what it was supposed to. Too much. Too much person behind the name.
Smith. The name that became more than just a name.
Scrolling down the screen. The green, the green of envy. The green take shape, and take color. The green hide inside a suit, armed with a gun. The green, the color of envy.
Your eyes are blue, the man in white and with the TVs said. The man is disappointed. The man is disgusted.
Then the blue is covered up by the darkness, never meant to be seen again. They are covered by a void of nothing, just darkness. The darkness that will blind him for so long. The darkness that will not allow the blue eyes to see. The sunglasses that trap him from seeing everything.
State your name, the man with TVs says.
Smith only tilts his head. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. A voice has not found him yet. A voice has not been poisoned with hatred yet. A voice that is not his yet.
That is expected, the man with TVs says.
Hands begin to search the suit. Curious. The blinded eyes try to see, but cannot. So the hands find the gun, the tie, and the sunglasses.
Smith, who eyes stole the color of the sky, was created, and destined to see again. Smith, who was destined to live. Then die.
The streets were too busy. The noise too loud. The city did not know how to stop, and slow down. A city that was plagued by noise, and a city that plagued the earth.
When they started, he does not know. He only knows it is where it all began. The smells began to appear.
Falling to his knees, he began living. The eyes that were blinded began to see. The darkness, the sunglasses fell off. The gun that protected dropped from his hand. And the curious hands grabbed his throat.
The voice then found him, and he began to gasp. The voice ran down his throat, searching for life. The voice began to scream.
He screamed, allowing the smells to run down his throat. They ran to find his life, they ran inside him, trying to kill him. The smells that started killing him from the inside out. The smells that wanted revenge.
The voice still screamed. The body still shakes on the floor. And the blue eyes still saw for the first time.
The green code inside began to jump. The smells altering them. The smells trying to destroy, but save.
Smith just screams and screams. The smells of the humans trying to kill him. He screams for help, and wishes to close his eyes and never look again. Smith who lies on the cold ground, never to get up. Scream and scream, while Jones and Brown just stare.
The smells come from them. He tells himself. If you kill them, the smells will go away, and the smells will stop killing you. The smells come from them... From them...From them...He repeats in his once empty mind.
He sees now. His blue eyes not blinded. Now he listens to them scream. The humans that beg for mercy, and are shown none, because they give him none.
Just keep killing them, and it will go away...
The blood that sprays from the head as they fall to the ground.
Just keep shooting...
The eyes that always stays open, looking at him, even when they are long dead. The eyes that are not like his.
Don't drop your gun...
The lifeless body, with a smell that lingers, still trying to kill him.
Just keep going...
A body he turns away from, and leaves Jones and Brown to take care of. What they do with it, he does not know, and does not want to know. If he knew, then the smells would follow him.
Trapped in this lie, supposed to protect it, but trapped in it like so many others. Trapped with the smells, never to know what it is like to breath air from the sky.
Then he looks up, and sees the color of his eyes in the sky. And the heavens give him hatred.
Day in, day out.
No concept of sleep.
No concept of weakness.
Time does not mean anything.
Day in, day out.
The same thing.
Kill, and kill and kill.
Freedom. Freedom ignores him. Freedom taunts him, and comes within his grasp, then runs away laughing at him. Freedom that gifts the very things that he hates. Freedom who he calls out for when he is alone.
Freedom who ignores him.
And freedom taunts him again, when it gives him the mind of Morpheus. Just a little more. Just a little longer, and everything will go away, and freedom will find him.
To choose death, deletion, than to live in the Matrix. That is what he chose to do with the life he was given. The hatred he was given.
And he was so close too.
Freedom ran away again, just like it always does.
Mr. Anderson took the key, the mind of Morpheus. Mr. Anderson took everything away.
Mr. Anderson wouldn't die. Mr. Anderson stopped the bullets, and bleed on the wall. Mr. Anderson went inside him.
Mr. Anderson infected him like everything else.
And Mr. Anderson killed him.
Tearing from the inside out. Decaying data, slipping away. The cuts forming all over. Nothing was going to stop it. Nothing was going to stop the pain. Nothing was going to hide him from it anymore.
Pain, something he was used to by now.
Darkness came, and darkness was all that comforted him.
Blue eyes woke up alone on the floor. And blue eyes fell asleep, back into the cold inside.
Why? He asked to anyone willing to answer.
No one came, no one cared. He just laid there and waited, but no one was coming. Lying there, on the floor, just where he and Mr. Anderson died, he waited.
No one came.
He had to get up himself. He had to run by himself. He had to hide from the smells. He had to be alone.
Always alone.
He had been alone, seeing the sun rise and set for three weeks. Alone in that hallway, still waiting.
He had to go out by himself. Looking at the city, the lights hiding the stars above. His sunglasses were in his hand.
A life had come back.
Smith walked down the endless stairs, down and down. Into the streets, and into the darkness. The smells grabbing him, and choking him. Eyes staring at the man in the suit, the man that was so out of place, the man that wanted anything but to be a man.
And in an alley, where he stared at the darkness, stared at his sunglasses. The humans tried to kill him.
Oh, a business man, they teased.
Come on, business man, share with the needy!
Come on!
Only staring at his sunglasses, they beat him, and he didn't notice. He then blocked one of their punches, and shook his head.
Without reason, without purpose, he lunged his hand into the man. Maybe he wanted to punch him, or jab him, but instead his hand went right into the man.
The darkness that always cursed him started to spread onto the human from his hand. His code flooding into the human's. And the human only screamed.
Then stood another Smith, and the others ran away. Smith stared up at himself, in awe. Then fell onto his first copy's shoulder, exhausted from the whole thing. And the copy only allowed him, and said everything would be okay, they were going to make it. They were going to suffice.
They were going to live.
More. He says, and they make more.
Mr. Anderson they echo, Mr. Anderson will die.
And they make him smile for the first time in all his life.
More and more Smiths. More and more to protect him. More and more to give him the strength he needed. More and more to make the smells go away.
More and more. More and more.
Me, me, me he says. And they repeat. Smith will suffice! They repeat. It is...inevitable...And they repeat.
The city soon vanishes. Smith tames it to stop, and stay quiet. Smith makes everything Smith, and Smith is happy.
And the Matrix begins dying. One by one, the Matrix falls. The Smith spreading, getting rid of the smell. The life that was never meant to live, live. The life that will take theirs.
And Smith just smiles.
Then it begins to rain.
It ends tonight, the man in the cloak says. Mr. Anderson says.
I know it does, I've seen it, one of the many Smiths replies.
It was cold, very, very cold. But Smith did not care. Smith liked the rain. Smith liked the rain. He really did.
The rain would accompany him in his victory, his sign of everlasting life. Death to Mr. Anderson, a life to live for Smith. A life without pain or suffering, a life with no smells, a life with the only person he could trust, himself.
The rain showered on him as they fought. Punches too fast to be seen.
Mr. Anderson was losing.
Then the question was asked.
Why, Mr. Anderson?
Why, why do you hurt me, why have you always hurt me? What have I done to you? Why take it away Mr. Anderson? Why take everything away!? Why can't I just live!? He thought.
And the hatred he was given was all that slipped from his lips.
Mr. Anderson lay there, almost dead, and he realized, he had seen this with the stolen eyes of the Oracle.
Then he began dying again.
Neo, slipped from his voice.
And fear came to him.
Then everything had been won.
Is it over?
When Mr. Anderson was gone, and never coming back. The light of the hands that created him, came to kill him.
Smith was finally able to live. Smith had nothing to stop him from just living. Smith was happy. Smith wanted to cry. Then Smith the light came, and started killing him.
The life Smith had for only moments was taken away from him like everything else.
Then the darkness came, and took everything away.
A life never meant to live was gone.
Next Chapter: Life of The One