By Madeline Elster
Disclaimer: Little Thomas Anderson, the world that surrounds him, and the future that faces him are not creations of my own mind. He and these situations were created by and belong to the Wachowski Brothers. They also belong to another WB--Warner Brothers--and a nice company called Village Roadshow. I am using this character/situation without permission from the owners, and am not making any profits off of this story.
Author's Notes: "A Routine Sunflower" was something I wrote in late August when I was feeling particularly hot and uncomfortable outside in jeans. This is a little odd and simple for a Matrix fic, alas--no violence, sex, profanity or any of the sort that you get in canon. Don't ask me why.
Special thanks to AppleQB and SFFCorgi for reviewing this on my LiveJournal. Peace be with you all. Enjoy!
Roughhousing died thirty minutes after he walked into the yard. The humidity and the heat made him lie flat on the grass in the shade; by doing this, he only eliminated the scorch from the blanket of heat covering his body, and he hadn't completely hidden from the sun. He was certain that the face of a shaded sun stared down at him, its wide center a dull-colored arrangement of small dots, crowned with several yellow petals—large in their own respect, but dwarfed by the center. From high in the sky of green it bobbed, manipulated by the hot wind above. He'd never seen such a plant in the garden before.
Curiosity, as it is wont to do with children, bit him. He rose to his feet to inspect the mysterious sunflower, but not even his fingers, stretched out at full with the boy on his toes, could reach the flower. He tried jumping, to see if his hands could grasp the back of the flower and bring it to his height, to no avail. The flower stayed where it was. He jumped several times more, only to stop with his hand empty and his legs hot and his back sweaty. But after this he started again, hand stretched out, and, soon after, his jaw agape. The sunflower was bending to his level. And when the sunflower was nearly level with him, give or take a few inches, it let forth a spray of cold water like a shower nozzle. In seconds the boy was soaked, and quite confused. Since when did flowers move on their own and spray cold water? He wiped wet strands of hair from his eye and glared at the flower. "What did you do that for?" he grumbled.
"I thought you might've needed it."
The boy's eyebrows rose high in his forehead, and then lowered deep in suspicion. "Who said that?"
"I did. The sunflower did."
"N'uh!" responded the boy. "Sunflowers don't speak!" He slammed his foot on the ground and stiffened his arms at his side, as if this pose settled the matter that instant.
"Ah, but I am no ordinary sunflower," said the sunflower, which was certainly not ordinary. It scooted towards the boy, whose eyes widened as they watched the flower's large stalk inching closer to him. "And you are no ordinary boy!"
But the boy would hear none of this—what, with a talking sunflower that moved, how could he comprehend what it had just said about him? "S-sunflowers d-don't speak! A-and they d-don't move, either!" he squeaked.
"Didn't you hear what I said? Neither you nor I are ordinary. That is why you can hear me speak—indeed, why you can even see me!"
"But—sun—flowers—don't—speak!" Each syllable was punctuated with a chop in the air by the boy's hand, and spoken as if his words could reason the sunflower to think that it could not talk. But the sunflower gave a heavy sigh, knocking the boy down by its breeze, and said:
"My word, your predecessors were much speedier in mind than you, my lad."
"What?" asked the boy, rising to his feet.
"And much more skilled in listening, too."
"I heard you! I'm not stupid!"
"My lad, I'm not here to reason with you," said the sunflower. "I'm here to tell you that there are more strange things in this world than talking sunflowers. You will not know of them until much later, but there are vampires and werewolves prowling the streets, and evil men in suits who love to kill, and they are all looking for you."
"What? Me?"
"Yes, you, my lad, for as I said, you are not ordinary. They will not find you until you are older, but you must be on guard in case they do. Now, dear boy, I must be off. I am not a busy sunflower, but I have fulfilled my purpose for today and must go before I place us both in danger."
"Danger?"
"The evil men are looking for you right now. If I stay longer than I ought, they will find you and kill you."
"Kill me?"
"Before they do find you—this will not happen until you are older, my lad—but before they do find you, you must look for a man named Morpheus. He'll be quite interested in seeing you."
"Morpheus?"
"Yes. My word, lad, you ask too many questions. No worries, you shall know the answers soon enough. Now I must be off. Good day." The boy was doused in more cold water before the plant sank itself into the ground and disappeared. The boy stood where he was, more confused and wet than before. He did not hear his mother calling him from the house, did not hear her voice growing near to him, did not hear her footsteps as she walked close enough to touch him—he only heard her shriek and felt her hands on his shoulders.
"Thomas! You're soaking wet!" she cried, wiping the hair from his eyes and taking off his shirt. "Have you been playing with the hose?"
"No…" he said.
"Then why are you so wet? Did you jump in the neighbors' pool? Did you jump into their sprinkler? Why are you in my garden?" When she finished all her questions, and still received no reply, she asked impatiently, "What?"
"Mommy," said the boy, "do sunflowers speak?"
His mother blinked hard. "Of course not."
"But a sunflower just told me today that I wasn't ordinary and that vampires, werewolves, and evil men in suits were coming to kill me!"
Roughhousing outdoors was extinct for the day after this delightful disclosure. Thomas's mother ordered him into his room and closed all the shades and the door to make his room dark. When his father, curious from the frantic noise and muttering that followed them into the house, approached his wife, desiring to know what was going on. She merely replied, "He's had too much sun."