Breathe Into Me
by Wing'dCallisto
Disclaimer: The Matrix belongs to the Wachowski Siblings. Neo belongs to Trinity. I wish he belonged to me, but, alas, such is life. I did think up Trinity's new name, though. xD Yeah.
Author's Note: None... nothing... zilch... zip... zero.
Summary: Trinity and Neo meet each other again, in the Matrix, but do not recognize each other...
--------------------------**
God, I hate it when it rains.
To some it's cleansing, yeah, and peaceful, or an opportunity to curl up by the fire and just
pur life on hold for a couple of hours. For me, though, it's a prelude to nightmares.
I can't remember my dreams; at least, not all of them. Usually I can only remember bits and
pieces, fragmented like glass, similar to the raindrops that are the soundtrack for these
dreams. It's always the same-- I'm lying in some sort of crater, surrounded by muddy water,
hearing someone yell down at me. My whole body is aching, and I know that I'm going to die.
But in dreams you always wake up just before you die...
And I just feel so weak and I know that I've got no purpose anymore.
***
Work. Friday. Again.
I'm trying to finish coding the company's website, but it's a long process. There's no PHP
installed on the server, so I have to alter the layout manually on each page. It's work that's
easy, work that I can handle without too much of a problem, even though it bores me out of
my mind.
'Thomas, it's your turn to do the lunch run today.' Comes a voice from the cubicle next to me.
It's Andrew. He pokes his head over the thin wall, his greasy black hair falling into his eyes,
which are already starting to show signs of becoming lined. He's only the same age as me,
and probably more machine than man. We all are. Completely wired, reliant on our computer
systems.
I tilt my head upwards to face him, not sure as to what reaction I should display. 'My turn?' I
say after a moment, and he rolls his eyes.
'God, Anderson, just do it.' He snaps, his head sinking back down below the
neutrally-coloured wall that separates us. 'I'll have a donut and a latte.' He calls, almost as an afterthought.
I get to my feet and make my way to the elevator. I'm used to people pushing me around,
although I keep getting this nagging feeling that I should be the one who is pushing them
around.
***
The cafe on the corner still hasn't opened by the time I reach it, and I remain standing
outside the frosted glass doors, peering in, half-glancing at my watch. It's cold outside and I'd
much rather be in there than out here.
At that moment, a woman with short, slicked back brown hair walks up to the door and peers
through the window. She's dressed almost entirely in black, and I know that I wouldn't have
noticed her if she'd been standing in a crowd. On her face are a pair of dark, fashionable
sunglasses.
I don't think I could ever wear sunglasses. They cover your eyes, and the eyes are truly the
window into someone's soul. Without your eyes, you may as well be nobody.
'Do you work here?' I ask her. She turns and looks at me, taking off her sunglasses in the
process. She glares at me, her blue eyes searching my face. She frowns slightly, almost in
recognition, and I see an emotion flash across her eyes. Something I don't recognize. Then
it's gone, and her eyes are filled with a warmth that wasn't there before.
'No, I don't.' She says, with a half-hearted smile. 'I used to come here for coffee all the time.
Looks like we're both here for the same reason, huh?' She sounds like she really wants to
talk to me.
'You could say that,' I reply, glancing at my watch again. I'm not really interested in chatting
up this woman-- she doesn't seem like someone that would appeal to me in any lifetime.
'Do I know you from somewhere?' She asks, and once again she gives me a searching look. 'I'm sure I've seen you before.' She frowns, her eyes blank as she searches her memories for
any proof of my existence.
'No, I don't think I know who you are.'
'But you must know...' She presses on, then extends her hand. 'My name's Amy. Amy
Lockhart. I'm sure I know you.'
I shake her hand. 'I'm Thomas-- Thomas Anderson.'
As I look at her face, something familiar swims into view. I can't put my finger on it, but
there's something in her eyes that I can recognize. I can hear her voice, echoing from the
recesses of my mind, from a memory that I've conveniently forgotten...
'You feel this? I'm never letting go.'
Almost at once, I back away from her, and I know that the confusion is written all over me,
infecting the air around me. I don't want to remember. I don't think that remembering will do
me any good.
So I turn and walk away from her. And this time, I don't look back. Not even when she calls
my name.
by Wing'dCallisto
Disclaimer: The Matrix belongs to the Wachowski Siblings. Neo belongs to Trinity. I wish he belonged to me, but, alas, such is life. I did think up Trinity's new name, though. xD Yeah.
Author's Note: None... nothing... zilch... zip... zero.
Summary: Trinity and Neo meet each other again, in the Matrix, but do not recognize each other...
--------------------------**
God, I hate it when it rains.
To some it's cleansing, yeah, and peaceful, or an opportunity to curl up by the fire and just
pur life on hold for a couple of hours. For me, though, it's a prelude to nightmares.
I can't remember my dreams; at least, not all of them. Usually I can only remember bits and
pieces, fragmented like glass, similar to the raindrops that are the soundtrack for these
dreams. It's always the same-- I'm lying in some sort of crater, surrounded by muddy water,
hearing someone yell down at me. My whole body is aching, and I know that I'm going to die.
But in dreams you always wake up just before you die...
And I just feel so weak and I know that I've got no purpose anymore.
***
Work. Friday. Again.
I'm trying to finish coding the company's website, but it's a long process. There's no PHP
installed on the server, so I have to alter the layout manually on each page. It's work that's
easy, work that I can handle without too much of a problem, even though it bores me out of
my mind.
'Thomas, it's your turn to do the lunch run today.' Comes a voice from the cubicle next to me.
It's Andrew. He pokes his head over the thin wall, his greasy black hair falling into his eyes,
which are already starting to show signs of becoming lined. He's only the same age as me,
and probably more machine than man. We all are. Completely wired, reliant on our computer
systems.
I tilt my head upwards to face him, not sure as to what reaction I should display. 'My turn?' I
say after a moment, and he rolls his eyes.
'God, Anderson, just do it.' He snaps, his head sinking back down below the
neutrally-coloured wall that separates us. 'I'll have a donut and a latte.' He calls, almost as an afterthought.
I get to my feet and make my way to the elevator. I'm used to people pushing me around,
although I keep getting this nagging feeling that I should be the one who is pushing them
around.
***
The cafe on the corner still hasn't opened by the time I reach it, and I remain standing
outside the frosted glass doors, peering in, half-glancing at my watch. It's cold outside and I'd
much rather be in there than out here.
At that moment, a woman with short, slicked back brown hair walks up to the door and peers
through the window. She's dressed almost entirely in black, and I know that I wouldn't have
noticed her if she'd been standing in a crowd. On her face are a pair of dark, fashionable
sunglasses.
I don't think I could ever wear sunglasses. They cover your eyes, and the eyes are truly the
window into someone's soul. Without your eyes, you may as well be nobody.
'Do you work here?' I ask her. She turns and looks at me, taking off her sunglasses in the
process. She glares at me, her blue eyes searching my face. She frowns slightly, almost in
recognition, and I see an emotion flash across her eyes. Something I don't recognize. Then
it's gone, and her eyes are filled with a warmth that wasn't there before.
'No, I don't.' She says, with a half-hearted smile. 'I used to come here for coffee all the time.
Looks like we're both here for the same reason, huh?' She sounds like she really wants to
talk to me.
'You could say that,' I reply, glancing at my watch again. I'm not really interested in chatting
up this woman-- she doesn't seem like someone that would appeal to me in any lifetime.
'Do I know you from somewhere?' She asks, and once again she gives me a searching look. 'I'm sure I've seen you before.' She frowns, her eyes blank as she searches her memories for
any proof of my existence.
'No, I don't think I know who you are.'
'But you must know...' She presses on, then extends her hand. 'My name's Amy. Amy
Lockhart. I'm sure I know you.'
I shake her hand. 'I'm Thomas-- Thomas Anderson.'
As I look at her face, something familiar swims into view. I can't put my finger on it, but
there's something in her eyes that I can recognize. I can hear her voice, echoing from the
recesses of my mind, from a memory that I've conveniently forgotten...
'You feel this? I'm never letting go.'
Almost at once, I back away from her, and I know that the confusion is written all over me,
infecting the air around me. I don't want to remember. I don't think that remembering will do
me any good.
So I turn and walk away from her. And this time, I don't look back. Not even when she calls
my name.