Pain
By Vortex
I know you won't understand.
Why I'm feeling like this.
What drove me to be so depressed that I began to cut myself, and injure myself just to make sure I was real.
But I hope this will explain a few things.
I think you know what I am, why I've been staying out late recently and creeping around in the night. Why I have become small and reclusive, hiding in my room and crying.
It's all death.
Always death.
And, as you know, I've never been good with death.
I think that it began when I finally realized that this was not a game. That I'm not a character in a sci-fi movie. That I'm not indestructible or superwoman or someone like that. That the good guys don't always win, and life isn't always as clear as black and white.
It's never as clear as black and white.
I remember a RE lesson I had once. About good and evil. The theory was that everyone has a ration of good and evil. Forty to sixty, or sixty to forty, weather you were good or bad relied on you ability to control your evil side.
Your conscience.
I think that's what makes the machines so ruthless. They have no conscience. They are metallic killing machines, designed to search destroy, and search and destroy again. They do not see a life taken, just a job well done.
And it makes me sick.
Physically, mentally, spiritually sick to think of all those people.
All those people.
But, my problems had started well before that. My problems stemmed from inside the matrix.
My problems began when my older sister decided to have plastic surgery. Then she decided she needed counseling sessions. Then she broke up with her husband. All of these things she entrusted to me and me solely.
That was a hell of a lot for a fifteen-year-old girl to take.
In actual fact, I was hurting myself my before I was freed from the matrix.
I guess pain makes me feel alive. It reminds me that I still exist, and through all the numb pain that I can still hurt. I trust pain. Pain is my friend.
I hate this.
I hate feeling so down that it aches. So ill mentally that I feel drained constantly. That there is a jet black cloud hanging over me, sending jolts of black white lightening into me, frying me continuously. That my normal routine is so stupidly relentlessly mundane that it is the only solid thing in my pitiful life. The only solid thing. But then, when the only solid thing breaks up how do you cope?
I used to hurt myself a lot.
I never owned a knife, and when I did I lost it straight away. So I bit myself. You would believe how strong the human teeth can be. It can rip and tear like you've never seen, causing beautiful red blood to flow out over your skin, staining it a deep red.
If I were a demon, I would be a Vampire.
I love blood. The way it glistens, the way that seeing it flow over my pale English skin makes me feel better somehow. Like pain reminds me that I'm still only human.
It's strange.
Strange how I liked the feeling of hurting myself so.
I never liked pain.
Never.
Until then.
Now it's a daily routine. If I am hurting I just excuse myself to the 'bathroom' and go and bite myself. That's why all my clothes have long sleeves on them.
No one can know.
No one.
I can't go away.
They can't pull me away from my job. Saving all those guys out there. They need me, and therefore I must be strong. Hell I will be strong.
I will be a strong rock.
Like God.
But then, does God exist? Or did the machines just make it up as a point of propaganda, to occupy the boffins as they paced to and fro in their labs. To take away the glinting prospect of the chance that someone might be controlling us.
I can't believe that Joko is gone.
I won't believe it.
I don't think I'll ever believe it.
Oh god.
Why does it always rain at funerals?
Why is it always raining?
Why is it raining inside me, so bad that I think I'm drowning.
And it all comes back to pain.
Never ending, relentless, excruciating pain.
And, as with most things, I think I need help.
THE END
Based on concepts by Andy and Larry Wachowski.