AN: Hi everyone! This is my first foray into the world of Matrix fanfiction. I have a funny little story attached to becoming a Matrix fan, anyway. I actually became a fan because of school. I was taking a class called "Storytelling: Then and Now" in college and the professor told us he was taking us to see The Matrix Revolutions. Now, I didn't see the other two movies and figured I had time to catch up before the last one came out. The week before The Matrix Revolutions came out, though, the professor announced we had to see the movie on our own. That left me in a lurch and I did a two day intensive on everything Matrix. I saw the first two movies and started just trying to learn whatever I could about the series. The thing was, the more I watched, read, learned, and played the more interesting it became. Suddenly, I found myself a Matrix fan, much to the chagrin of my sister and mother who don't like sci-fi. Actually, it's come in handy as I've managed to squeeze The Matrix movies into a paper for my biochemistry class (The Science of the Matrix: Can Humans be Used as Batteries and Can We Jack In?) and in my Popular Cultural and Philosophy class (The Matrix as Both a Vehicle of Reference and Referral). Any who, without further ado, here's my little adventure in the Matrix. Please feel free to leave me a review- good, bad, or indifferent. I always appreciate hearing comments about my work. I only do this to pass the time at inhumanly early hours of the night (or is it morning?).
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the characters I made up and their Real World alter egos. I don't own The Matrix, The Animatrix, or any of that cool stuff. I'm broke and in graduate school studying biology. All I own are my Pointe shoes.
Her eyes were closed. She was only dimly aware of time and place. Opening her eyes was not an option as her lids felt as heavy as weights. The nine year old child just lay there, listening to two faceless, nameless figures conversing over her head.
"What will become of her when she is released?" came an even sounding male voice.
His tone was that of a person who was very familiar with asking questions and having them answered. It did not betray any feelings that would show otherwise.
"She will become a ward of the state until such a time when a suitable guardian is found for her. Though that seems unlikely, given her situation," came a second voice, a female voice.
"Then the state will be paying for her treatment?" the male inquired.
"Of course," the other voice replied, sounding stunned that such a question should be asked, "we take care of own responsibilities."
The two grew quiet for a moment, the room filling with vaguely familiar sounds. Something squeaked as it moved past and, in the distance, something backfired. Closer, nearly on top of the speaking pair, was a steady hum, continuous beats adding to the general din.
"You are aware of her extensive medical history, then?" the male voice commented, quickly.
"Only that she has had extensive medical problems which I am sure you can repair," she cool female voice retorted.
There was the sound of something metal hitting against something else and papers being rustled.
"I'm afraid we've done all we can for this poor kid. According to her chart, she was born nearly three months premature, to a drug addicted mother. She, herself, had to go through detoxification. Her aunt claimed guardianship after her mother disappeared from a detoxification center. Around her first birthday, she was brought in to repair a hole in the septum of her heart. During one of the consultations, it was discovered that a mutation in the germ cell line resulted in a deficiency in the muscles of her body. Their strength is not what it should be and no amount of therapy has been able to rectify that fact. She has had more than her fair share of childhood illness, despite preventative care by her aunt and uncle. Dizzy spells over the past few months, forced them to bring her in again. It seems she suffers from mitral valve prolapse with a click. Her prognosis does not look good at any rate," the male explained in a matter of fact voice.
In his line of work, there was no way one could show emotion. To allow attachment to any case, no matter how emotion provoking, was not something recommended in his line of work. Already, it seemed that he had invested too much time and energy in this one case.
"So, I'm going to have to try and place her in a facility for children with 'special needs.' You lot just love to make my job harder, don't you?" quipped the female voice.
"As a matter of fact," the male voice countered, "a recent IQ test, administered by her school, has shown her to be of above average intelligence for her age."
"So a normal facility, then," the woman commented, "about how long before I can place her?"
The male figure grew quiet. The sound of rustling paper came from near his person. He made a few small sounds, as if he was thinking of or about something.
"She will not be released until I am completely satisfied with her condition," he stated, with finality in his voice.
"So about a week, then?" the woman pressed, sounding as if she worked on dead lines and time frames.
The lack of one was causing her much annoyance, or so it seemed.
"Until," bit the male voice, annoyance seeping into his own voice, "I am satisfied with her condition. That may be one week or more."
"Right, so a week it is," the woman stated.
There was the sound of something being flipped open and the peeping of buttons being depressed.
"You can't use that in here. It causes the machinery to malfunction," the male voice stated in a knowing voice.
There was the sound of an angry sigh, from the woman, as if she was not keen on taking orders from the male. Accompanied by the sound of heeled shoes clicking on the tiled floor, the woman walked away.
The conversation she was having, though, could still be heard by both the male and his patient.
"Nurse, can you please come here for a moment," the male said.
A strange padding sound announced the arrival of the nurse.
"What happened to this poor dear, doctor?" she questioned the male figure, her voice fraught with concern.
"House fire. She's lucky to be alive. She was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom while her aunt and uncle were on the first floor. They must have left candles lit as something on the first floor caught fire. A neighbor walking his dog saw the blaze and called the fire department. Her aunt and uncle died from their burns. She's lucky to have escaped with just smoke inhalation," the doctor-the owner of the male voice-explained.
"Poor baby. Where are her parents?" she asked, opening something and rustling its pages.
"Her aunt and uncle were her legal guardians. Mother vanished from a drug rehabilitation program. Last anyone saw of her was her heading into a long black car. Never made a positive ID on her father," the doctor informed the woman stated.
"What's to become of her after this?" she asked, clicking something closed.
"Why do you think Mrs. Estes is here? She'll become a ward of the state," the doctor answered, referring to the other woman he had been speaking with.
The doctor sounded as if he wanted to say something more, possibly about Mrs. Estes, but an electronic voice blurted out, "DR. LARNIKIN TO THE ER STAT! DR. LARNIKIN TO THE ER STAT!"
Heavy footfalls on the tiled flooring were all that was heard as the doctor jogged from the room and away from the figure on the bed.
"You need another bad of fluids, yes you do," the nurse spoke in a soft voice.
She hummed as she worked around the figure on the bed, changing the bag of IV fluids that was keeping the young girl hydrated.
"Don't worry, dearie, you just wait. One of these days you'll be right as rain. Yes you will. Everything for you will turn out just right," she spoke, just after the sound of metal clipping on metal.
A click, followed soon after by the padding of soft shoes, saw the nurse out of the room.
It was an atypical hospital room, from the white walls to the smell of antiseptic agents. Lying on a white sheeted bed with metal railings and with a gaggle of wires leading up to a complex set of machines was a wiry thin child. Her brown-black hair drew a sharp contrast to the white pillow and blanket. Her ears stuck out from the sides of her head and, when combined with her other features, gave her the look of a pixie or some other elven-type creature.
She winced ever so slightly as a healing burn made its presence known but soon found herself relaxing in the grips of the medication she had been given. This was not the first time she had been in the hospital and she was well aware of the fact it was not going to be her last.
For Diane Ford, hospitals were just a part of everyday life, as normal as the rising of the sun.
