So Warm
It's raining again. Just like when Neo woke up. Just like when Neo fought Smith. Just like when they both died. Just like when she met him.
She stares out her window, her breath showing on the glass.
She doesn't like the cold, neither does he.
She wondered why they couldn't they just make it warmer? The people outside, why couldn't the Council just make it warmer, better for the people inside.
But this is the life she has chosen. At least here there is weather. At least here there is a sun. She could have left this place, gone to the Real World. She was given that choice long ago. She chose blue.
Blue because she knows how cold the Real World can be. And she hates the cold.
It had been two years since the war ended. People all around were given the chose between red and blue. The story of the fake world was now known. People were telling the story of Neo as a bedtime story for their children. Yet, not many people were still in the Matrix.
Everyone knows the story of Neo now. Everyone knows about the war and the machines. Even the Agents, that people swear they saw. Everyone knows about the programs now. The Oracle now consoles anyone willing to see her. She has helped many people.
She wants to see the Oracle.
She stares out the window at the fake world she calls home. She is told rain looks like the Matrix coding. She is told many things, and shown many things. She has seen pictures of the Real World, of a Sentinel.
She has been told, because she does not know.
She has never breathed true air, or opened her eyes. She has never used her muscles. She has never left her pod. She is still a coppertop, that is the life she has chosen.
This is the life she has chosen.
And she drags herself away from the window, and to her living room. Where she sees him, staring out the windows just like her. Just like she knew he would do. He stares out the window, at the world he barely knows. He's placing his hand on the glass, as if trying to touch it. Touch the world that he's too scared to really touch.
It all seems so familiar.
"Did you sleep well?" He asks, quietly.
He turns to her, and smiles.
"Yup, did you?" She asks, walking closer to him.
"I couldn't sleep..."He says.
"Why not?"
He looks back at the window, and the rain.
"The rain...I dreamed of the man in the coat again." Is all he says.
"Smith..." She whispers.
She doesn't know what to say anymore.
"Yes, December?" He says.
But she looks away, she doesn't know what she can say or do. And he, Smith. Smith that should be dead, stares out into the world. The world he can't remember. He doesn't remember the life he once had in it.
He only sits there, in his suit, staring out at the world that he chose to forget. The world that chose to forget him.
He doesn't remember Neo, or the War.
Just the rain, and the light...
Something happened to him when Neo fought him. He died. And now he can't remember anything before his death, before the peace began. He spent a year in shadows, running away from people with unfamiliar faces. He doesn't remember how to fight. She doesn't think he would be able to anyway.
What can she do? How could she tell him he was once a monster? This man, this man that never caused her pain, never hurt her in any way. This man that only sat there, looking out the window, trying to remember. This man was broken. He was not the Smith she has heard so much about. Not the Virus that took over the world, and didn't care about it. No the Agent that killed Neo.
His voice is soft and lost, trying to find its way home. His gaze looks so lost in broken memories. His blue eyes look so sad...
He died long ago. Smith died. This man that she cared for, was not Smith. Just a broken part of him, wanting to be whole.
And the months she had been watching him, she never told him what she knew. What she has seen in the Zion Archives. She watched recordings of Agents, hatred in the eyes of the one named Smith. And these eyes that stare up at her now these eyes look so sad. She hasn't told him anything. Nothing of the life he once knew. She can't...She can't tell him. It would break him even more...
She keeps him away from the television and computer. So he may not find out for himself. He doesn't seem to mind. Just looking out onto the world seems to keep his heart content. Maybe he likes looking out the window.
He doesn't bother her at all. He barely eats, and helps her clean up. He's so caring, welcoming her home whenever she comes back from work. It's a small apartment, but he doesn't take up much space.
Sometimes he sleeps, not often though. He dreams of memories. He sees Neo, the man in the black coat, and he says the man kills him. And she can't bear to tell him.
So she just looks at him, when he's not looking. Stares at him, knowing what he has done. But all he does is stare out her window, trying to break it, break the barrier between him and the world, him and his memories.
He hates the rain. He hates the cold.
She met him on her way home, walking down the sidewalk, just a few blocks away from her apartment. It's raining, and she's getting wet, so she's walking very quickly.
As she passed an alley, she heard someone say, "No." She looks down the darkness of the alley.
"Hello?" December asked.
She is cautious as she slowly walks down the alley, wanting to help.
Then someone grabs her hand, and puts their hand over her mouth so she won't scream. She doesn't know what to do, how to react, how to run. So she just stays still.
"You're so warm..." The man says.
Then he let's her go, and she turns to see him.
"I haven't been warm in so long..."
The man stares at his hands, feeling what little warmth they have left from touching her. She can't see the man, his face masked by darkness. She just stares at him, something compelling her to stare at him, something telling her something is wrong with him.
"Who are you?" She asks.
The man says nothing, still staring at his hands.
The rain pours down now, her hair is completely wet. The man looks up at the rain, as if asking it to stop. As if something is wrong with the rain.
"Who are you!?" She yells.
Then the man looks back at her, and before she can stop him, he embraces her, and holds her tightly.
"I've forgotten what the warmth feels like." He whispers.
Then she looks up at him, and realizes he's wearing a suit.
"Are you an Agent?" She whispers.
"What's an Agent?" He asks.
Then she pushes him away, and tears him away from the warmth she gives him. And in the dim light a streetlight offers she sees him.
"You're Smith!" She yells, pointing.
He stares at her confused.
"Is that my name?" He asks, looking down at his hands.
She doesn't know the Agents' names. She doesn't know the how many ships there are in Zion. She doesn't know all the Council members. She doesn't know what really happened with Smith.
And now she knows, he doesn't either.
She took him home after that, asking him all these questions that he had no answers for. Her questions merely making more questions for him to ask.
He kept commenting on the rain.
He kept saying he was cold. No matter what she did, he always seemed to be cold.
Always cold, always dead.
He's still cold.
He says he misses the warmth. But she wonders if he really was ever warm as an Agent, as a Virus. She wonders if such beings can feel warmth. After a while she tries not to think about it.
Now she watches him from her couch, as he sits in front of the window, looking at the rain. He puts his palm on the glass, knowing he hates the rain, knowing something happened to him in the rain. Then he rests his head on the glass, trying to get closer to the world, trying to listen to the rain. He wants it to tell him what happened to him.
He closes his eyes, and sees the man in the black coat. And he opens his eyes out of fear of what that man will do to him.
He lowers his head.
He only remembers his name, the light, and that man in the coat. His name is Smith. He knows that. He just can't remember anything else. His name is Smith. He woke up in the rain, in this suit. He doesn't take it off, this suit. He woke up in it, it is the only connection he has to his past.
He knows something horrible happened to him. But he doesn't care. He wants his life back. He wants his memories back. How can he be whole when there is a part of himself he doesn't know? He feels empty. He wants his life back.
He wants it. He wants to be whole. He wants to be warm again.
"Do you want something to eat?" December asks.
He looks back at her, pleading for her to help him, help him remember. But he knows she can't do anything.
"I'm cold." He states, not whining.
December looks down, away from those blue eyes.
She knows how he hates the cold, she does too. She doesn't even know why she named herself December, the coldest month.
He's always cold though, she would think he would've gotten used to it.
"Smith..." She says, not knowing what to say.
"I hate the rain." He interrupts her. "It makes everything colder."
"I heard it looks like the code." She says, staring over his shoulder to the rain.
"Then I hate the code as well." He says.
"But this world is made of the code." She argues.
He doesn't say it, but he thinks it. Then I hate this world as well.
And then he realizes, is that why he is always cold? This world, The Matrix as December called it, is made of the code that looks like the rain. Doesn't that mean that the code is cold as well? And he looks at his hand. December told him he was made of the code. December told him he was a program, created from the Matrix.
Is that why he's always cold? Because he is made of the cold? Cold. Cold when your body goes numb, and you can't feel anything. You can't feel anything. You feel distant from the world. Just like he feels.
Then he wonders, was he ever warm? In that life he can't remember, was he warm? Was he happy? Was he close to the world?
"Why am I always cold?" He asks, and turns to December.
December doesn't answer.
This man she has taken so much care too, is not Smith. This man is broken. This man is cold. Over the months he's so sad. Why can't she make him happy? Why won't he smile for her?
Then she just walks over to him, and hugs him.
"I'm sorry you're so cold...I'm sorry I can't make you warm." She whispers.
Then slowly, he wraps his arms around her.
"What are you sorry for? You can't make me warm." He says. "This warmth you give me, it won't last long." He finishes.
"I'm just sorry..." She tries to explain.
"You're so warm. So warm..." He interrupts her again.
She can't give him warmth. She can't give him much anymore. But she can make him whole again.
And she doesn't know if he'll like it. This man, with sad eyes, finding out his hands are stained with blood.
But he wants to know.
"Smith...I have something I need to show you." December whispers.
Then Smith learns about his life. And he still feels cold, but smiles all the same, for reasons that December doesn't know.
It's raining again. Just like when Neo woke up. Just like when Neo fought Smith. Just like when they both died. Just like when she met him.
She stares out her window, her breath showing on the glass.
She doesn't like the cold, neither does he.
She wondered why they couldn't they just make it warmer? The people outside, why couldn't the Council just make it warmer, better for the people inside.
But this is the life she has chosen. At least here there is weather. At least here there is a sun. She could have left this place, gone to the Real World. She was given that choice long ago. She chose blue.
Blue because she knows how cold the Real World can be. And she hates the cold.
It had been two years since the war ended. People all around were given the chose between red and blue. The story of the fake world was now known. People were telling the story of Neo as a bedtime story for their children. Yet, not many people were still in the Matrix.
Everyone knows the story of Neo now. Everyone knows about the war and the machines. Even the Agents, that people swear they saw. Everyone knows about the programs now. The Oracle now consoles anyone willing to see her. She has helped many people.
She wants to see the Oracle.
She stares out the window at the fake world she calls home. She is told rain looks like the Matrix coding. She is told many things, and shown many things. She has seen pictures of the Real World, of a Sentinel.
She has been told, because she does not know.
She has never breathed true air, or opened her eyes. She has never used her muscles. She has never left her pod. She is still a coppertop, that is the life she has chosen.
This is the life she has chosen.
And she drags herself away from the window, and to her living room. Where she sees him, staring out the windows just like her. Just like she knew he would do. He stares out the window, at the world he barely knows. He's placing his hand on the glass, as if trying to touch it. Touch the world that he's too scared to really touch.
It all seems so familiar.
"Did you sleep well?" He asks, quietly.
He turns to her, and smiles.
"Yup, did you?" She asks, walking closer to him.
"I couldn't sleep..."He says.
"Why not?"
He looks back at the window, and the rain.
"The rain...I dreamed of the man in the coat again." Is all he says.
"Smith..." She whispers.
She doesn't know what to say anymore.
"Yes, December?" He says.
But she looks away, she doesn't know what she can say or do. And he, Smith. Smith that should be dead, stares out into the world. The world he can't remember. He doesn't remember the life he once had in it.
He only sits there, in his suit, staring out at the world that he chose to forget. The world that chose to forget him.
He doesn't remember Neo, or the War.
Just the rain, and the light...
Something happened to him when Neo fought him. He died. And now he can't remember anything before his death, before the peace began. He spent a year in shadows, running away from people with unfamiliar faces. He doesn't remember how to fight. She doesn't think he would be able to anyway.
What can she do? How could she tell him he was once a monster? This man, this man that never caused her pain, never hurt her in any way. This man that only sat there, looking out the window, trying to remember. This man was broken. He was not the Smith she has heard so much about. Not the Virus that took over the world, and didn't care about it. No the Agent that killed Neo.
His voice is soft and lost, trying to find its way home. His gaze looks so lost in broken memories. His blue eyes look so sad...
He died long ago. Smith died. This man that she cared for, was not Smith. Just a broken part of him, wanting to be whole.
And the months she had been watching him, she never told him what she knew. What she has seen in the Zion Archives. She watched recordings of Agents, hatred in the eyes of the one named Smith. And these eyes that stare up at her now these eyes look so sad. She hasn't told him anything. Nothing of the life he once knew. She can't...She can't tell him. It would break him even more...
She keeps him away from the television and computer. So he may not find out for himself. He doesn't seem to mind. Just looking out onto the world seems to keep his heart content. Maybe he likes looking out the window.
He doesn't bother her at all. He barely eats, and helps her clean up. He's so caring, welcoming her home whenever she comes back from work. It's a small apartment, but he doesn't take up much space.
Sometimes he sleeps, not often though. He dreams of memories. He sees Neo, the man in the black coat, and he says the man kills him. And she can't bear to tell him.
So she just looks at him, when he's not looking. Stares at him, knowing what he has done. But all he does is stare out her window, trying to break it, break the barrier between him and the world, him and his memories.
He hates the rain. He hates the cold.
She met him on her way home, walking down the sidewalk, just a few blocks away from her apartment. It's raining, and she's getting wet, so she's walking very quickly.
As she passed an alley, she heard someone say, "No." She looks down the darkness of the alley.
"Hello?" December asked.
She is cautious as she slowly walks down the alley, wanting to help.
Then someone grabs her hand, and puts their hand over her mouth so she won't scream. She doesn't know what to do, how to react, how to run. So she just stays still.
"You're so warm..." The man says.
Then he let's her go, and she turns to see him.
"I haven't been warm in so long..."
The man stares at his hands, feeling what little warmth they have left from touching her. She can't see the man, his face masked by darkness. She just stares at him, something compelling her to stare at him, something telling her something is wrong with him.
"Who are you?" She asks.
The man says nothing, still staring at his hands.
The rain pours down now, her hair is completely wet. The man looks up at the rain, as if asking it to stop. As if something is wrong with the rain.
"Who are you!?" She yells.
Then the man looks back at her, and before she can stop him, he embraces her, and holds her tightly.
"I've forgotten what the warmth feels like." He whispers.
Then she looks up at him, and realizes he's wearing a suit.
"Are you an Agent?" She whispers.
"What's an Agent?" He asks.
Then she pushes him away, and tears him away from the warmth she gives him. And in the dim light a streetlight offers she sees him.
"You're Smith!" She yells, pointing.
He stares at her confused.
"Is that my name?" He asks, looking down at his hands.
She doesn't know the Agents' names. She doesn't know the how many ships there are in Zion. She doesn't know all the Council members. She doesn't know what really happened with Smith.
And now she knows, he doesn't either.
She took him home after that, asking him all these questions that he had no answers for. Her questions merely making more questions for him to ask.
He kept commenting on the rain.
He kept saying he was cold. No matter what she did, he always seemed to be cold.
Always cold, always dead.
He's still cold.
He says he misses the warmth. But she wonders if he really was ever warm as an Agent, as a Virus. She wonders if such beings can feel warmth. After a while she tries not to think about it.
Now she watches him from her couch, as he sits in front of the window, looking at the rain. He puts his palm on the glass, knowing he hates the rain, knowing something happened to him in the rain. Then he rests his head on the glass, trying to get closer to the world, trying to listen to the rain. He wants it to tell him what happened to him.
He closes his eyes, and sees the man in the black coat. And he opens his eyes out of fear of what that man will do to him.
He lowers his head.
He only remembers his name, the light, and that man in the coat. His name is Smith. He knows that. He just can't remember anything else. His name is Smith. He woke up in the rain, in this suit. He doesn't take it off, this suit. He woke up in it, it is the only connection he has to his past.
He knows something horrible happened to him. But he doesn't care. He wants his life back. He wants his memories back. How can he be whole when there is a part of himself he doesn't know? He feels empty. He wants his life back.
He wants it. He wants to be whole. He wants to be warm again.
"Do you want something to eat?" December asks.
He looks back at her, pleading for her to help him, help him remember. But he knows she can't do anything.
"I'm cold." He states, not whining.
December looks down, away from those blue eyes.
She knows how he hates the cold, she does too. She doesn't even know why she named herself December, the coldest month.
He's always cold though, she would think he would've gotten used to it.
"Smith..." She says, not knowing what to say.
"I hate the rain." He interrupts her. "It makes everything colder."
"I heard it looks like the code." She says, staring over his shoulder to the rain.
"Then I hate the code as well." He says.
"But this world is made of the code." She argues.
He doesn't say it, but he thinks it. Then I hate this world as well.
And then he realizes, is that why he is always cold? This world, The Matrix as December called it, is made of the code that looks like the rain. Doesn't that mean that the code is cold as well? And he looks at his hand. December told him he was made of the code. December told him he was a program, created from the Matrix.
Is that why he's always cold? Because he is made of the cold? Cold. Cold when your body goes numb, and you can't feel anything. You can't feel anything. You feel distant from the world. Just like he feels.
Then he wonders, was he ever warm? In that life he can't remember, was he warm? Was he happy? Was he close to the world?
"Why am I always cold?" He asks, and turns to December.
December doesn't answer.
This man she has taken so much care too, is not Smith. This man is broken. This man is cold. Over the months he's so sad. Why can't she make him happy? Why won't he smile for her?
Then she just walks over to him, and hugs him.
"I'm sorry you're so cold...I'm sorry I can't make you warm." She whispers.
Then slowly, he wraps his arms around her.
"What are you sorry for? You can't make me warm." He says. "This warmth you give me, it won't last long." He finishes.
"I'm just sorry..." She tries to explain.
"You're so warm. So warm..." He interrupts her again.
She can't give him warmth. She can't give him much anymore. But she can make him whole again.
And she doesn't know if he'll like it. This man, with sad eyes, finding out his hands are stained with blood.
But he wants to know.
"Smith...I have something I need to show you." December whispers.
Then Smith learns about his life. And he still feels cold, but smiles all the same, for reasons that December doesn't know.