Now Dance
I took a couple of days off my job. I didn't want to. I didn't feel like it. I just. . . I chose not to.
And now I sit here. I'm on the floor, and Catalyst jumps on my lap. I lower my legs, and rest my head on the wall. I don't know why I'm on the floor. I just. . . I just haven't really done much since that dream. . . It reminds me of so much. Things that took this long to forget. I shake my head. I miss my Desert Eagle. . .
I picture it all now. I can't get it out of my head. I can't. I cant! I remember that battle, I remember the pain, and the anger. I remember. I remember the countless days I spent alone in that city. They forgot me. They did. . . How could they forget me!? I can remember laying there, not being able to move. Not being able to call for help. No one came. No one cared. I remember planning to kill Neo. I remember thinking my strength would return, and I could kill him. I waited to feel better. I waited to be able to crawl. I waited to fight again. But that never happened.
I lay motionless, and bang my head on the wall.
These pictures. . . These things. . . They won't go away!
I never want to go back. I never want to feel that again. I don't want to be forgotten, and left alone. Not again. I. . . I never want to do that again. No more of that pain. No more of that silence. No more. . .
I have this power. I have it now. . . I can fight now. . . But I can't. . . Why can't I bring myself to do something? I'm not weak anymore. I'm not. . . But. . .
I haven't talked to Jones, or Brown. I look at my earpiece sometimes, knowing they're there. But I just don't. . .
I stroke Catalyst's back.
Then there is a knock at the door. It must be Saturday already. . . I only slightly turn my head to the door. I don't want to get up. But the knocking continues. I sigh, and my muscles ache as I get up. I guess I haven't moved in a while. I slowly walk to the door, and open it to little Isis.
She smiles strangely at me.
Isis- I have a surprise for you.
I turn my head, and she frowns.
Isis- What's wrong?
I shake my head.
Smith- Nothing.
She tilts her head, and stares at me. But she shakes it off, and comes in. She still smiles as she sits on the couch, and grabs her bag. I watch her, wondering what she brought. Out come CDs. She smiles, as she searches for something.
Isis- Matrix Fan Music.
Smith- Oh, no.
Isis laughs, as she looks at the CDs.
Smith- Why did you bring these here?
Isis- Because my friend wants to know what kinda music you're into.
Smith- And who is this friend?
Who would be interested in that?
Isis- Uh. . . Neo.
What!? No, I know what her music sounds like! No. I will not listen to that. I refuse.
Isis laughs, as she holds up a CD.
Isis- Gotta CD Player?
I point.
Smith- I don't want to listen to your music.
She stares at me surprised.
Isis- Too bad.
She laughs, as she puts in the CD into the CD player in the corner. Then she jumps over to me, and grabs my sunglasses off.
Smith- Hey.
I can't stop, not now. She smiles, and places them on the floor, and then the music begins. The sounds are erratic.
Isis- I love this band.
The sounds of guitars begin.
Smith- I do not see the purpose of music here.
Isis- Why not?
Smith- These sounds, they are nothing more but noise.
Isis frowns, and turns off the music. She stares at me. I do not see why. That is all music is.
Isis- Most music shows stuff about the person. Some show pain, some show happiness.
Smith- It is just another expression of emotion.
I spat at her, and turn. I don't want to listen to music. I don't care about it. There is nothing in it. It is mindless noise combined to sound amusing. I don't want to now. I just don't want to.
Isis- Think of it as poetry with really loud guitars. We just need to find your band.
She looks down at her other CDs, and grins at one.
Isis- Ah, The Who. They have a very interesting song that seems to be for you.
I turn my head.
Isis- It's called, "Behind Blue Eyes." And you most certainly have that.
She grins at me.
Smith- My eyes should not be so attractive.
Why do so many humans point out my eyes? They are merely are just another feature.
Isis starts laughing.
Isis- It's just. . . Haha, it's just that no body expects Agents to have blue eyes!
Smith- Why not?
Isis- Because. . . Uh. . . Blue eyes are just so. . . Appealing.
Isis still giggles, as she heads to the CD Player. I still do not see the attraction of blue eyes.
Smith- Why blue?
Isis- Because. . . Blue is such a beautiful color.
She turns to me, and smiles.
Isis- Blue was the color of Adam's eyes you know.
Smith- So I remind you of him?
Isis- You're as stubborn as him.
Smith- Excuse me?
Isis- Uh, I'm glad to see you're asking questions!
She changes the subject quickly.
Yes, I suppose I'm asking a lot of questions. I've just been wondering about these things now a days. . . I find myself asking why again.
Isis- What about these guys?
The bass starts, and a guitar begins. They keep the same tempo, they stay the same. Never changing, never stopping. Then more sounds are added. Too many sounds. . .
Smith-No.
Isis- Aw, you're joking. I love these guys.
I don't know why she tries so much.
I can't help, but wonder why a child does this for me? Why does she? Why?
No, no more whys.
Smith- Isis, I. . .
She turns to me. But I say nothing.
Isis- What?
Smith- I. . .
I want to say something. I want to say I don't want to listen to this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here. I don't want her here with me. I just want. . . I don't know what I want. . .
Smith- I had a dream.
Her eyes widened.
Isis- A dream!?
I nod.
Isis- About what!? You slept!?
Smith- I saw Neo. . .
She sees my discomfort, and swallows hard. Then she slowly walks over to me.
Isis- What did he do?
She is only a child, she will not understand this pain.
Smith- Nothing.
She doesn't believe me, but she shrugs it off. I know she knows I won't tell her anything else.
Then she smiles as she puts in a CD.
Isis- You'll love this.
She runs over to me, and grabs my hands. I do not resist. I do not struggle. I just. . . I just don't want to do this. . .
Then the music starts.
Ballroom Music!?
I stare at her, how can she bring Ballroom music!? She blushes from my stare.
Isis- Well, I didn't know what music you liked, I had to bring them all. . .
I don't move. I'm not going to dance. No. Not ballroom music.
Isis- I know you can dance this way. So, dance!
Smith- No!
She laughs, and grabs my hands.
Isis- Dance, Agent.
Smith- I refuse.
She smiles intently, and I turn my head. But then I feel her move, she spins around, and lands perfectly in front of me.
Isis- I accidentally uploaded this dancing while I was learning kung fu.
I stare at her, as she smiles. I can't believe this. How can something so small do so much. How can a child do this to me? I hate this.
Isis- Now dance.
I'm dancing with a teenager to ballroom music. Fortunate Isis wore high heels, making her taller. So I grabbed her, and we danced. I know how to dance. I know how humans dance. I can find the files, they are somewhere in my files.
We dance in my living room. She is surprisingly good at this, I know she is surprised with me. She shouldn't. I am a program. She should know by now I can do these things. But I suppose the Virus that almost killed The One, would not be expected to dance. At least I didn't willingly.
I hold her hand, and we stride across the room. I never saw the purpose of such a ritual. Why dance to this? Yes, this music is most likely the most beautiful music of humans, compared to guitars. But I still do not see this. I don't even want to do this.
The music continues, as I hold up my hand, and she spins. I catch her by the hips, and bend her down. She smiles, and turns her head to my touch. She laughs. I tilt my head. Did I do something wrong?
I pull us back up, and now the music ends.
Isis- You have to take me dancing when I'm older.
Smith- Excuse me?
She walks by me, back to the CD player.
Isis- Well, will you?
I don't answer her.
I do not see.
Isis- Now, tell me what you dreamed about.
Smith- Uh. . .
No, she will not understand. She will not see the pain of isolation. To be forgotten. To know that there is no purpose in your life. She will not. She is only human.
Isis- Come on.
No. No one knows this pain. No one. There is no other like me. I am different. That quality caused me this pain. She will not understand what it is like to die twice, what it is like to know there is nothing you can do. She can't.
I turn away.
Smith- I want to go to the Real World.
Isis- What?
I want away from here. No more pain. I don't want to be this close to where I died. I died in here, somewhere. My purpose was taken from me in here. I don't want to be here. I don't want to feel this way in here. It is not the same since the Real World. And it is still the place where my pain begins. I don't want to be here. Not now. Not yet.
Isis- Why?
Smith- I want to go.
I can feel it. That dream. The images of him. I can feel the rain. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be here.
Smith- Now.
I don't want to dance. I don't want to listen to music. I don't want to dream. I want out of here.
Isis- But. . . You have things to do here, your job! Your. . . Your. . .
I look at her, and she sits on the couch. She doesn't understand, she doesn't need to.
Smith- I don't care. I just want to go. I don't need money.
Isis- Smith. . .
I stare at her. And she seems so confused. She stares at me, and nods.
Isis- okay. . . If you really want to, I just wish I knew why. But we'll go tomorrow. For now we dance.
She slowly gets up, with a new CD. She puts it in, and I roll my eyes.
Smith- What is this?
The sounds are not the same. They are different, they are familiar. No human made instruments. Not even a bass. What is this sound?
Isis smiles weakly, still wondering why I want to leave.
Isis- It's called Techno. All the music is pretty much made by a computer.
I turn to the speakers.
Smith- It sounds like Sentinel messaging.
Isis- You've heard how Squiddies talk?
I turn to her, and sit next to her.
Smith- Of course I have.
The sounds I know so well. These are not human sounds. These are machine sounds. These sounds are better.
And now I turn to Isis.
Isis- Smith, why do you want to go?
She stares at me with concern.
Why won't she just let me go? I just want to go.
I place my hand on hers.
Smith- Just let me go.
Isis stares at my hand, I don't see why. Then I stare to see what is happening. I do not see what there is to stare at. She will not let me go, so I touched her. I thought she would be happy. It is an interaction. That is what she wants me to do.
Then she smiles.
Isis- Your foot is tapping.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next Chapter: Starry Night
I'm sorry it's been a while guys. I've just had to finish my other story, Daddy's Little Girl. So not it is done, and I turn back to this.
P.S. The end is coming soon.
I took a couple of days off my job. I didn't want to. I didn't feel like it. I just. . . I chose not to.
And now I sit here. I'm on the floor, and Catalyst jumps on my lap. I lower my legs, and rest my head on the wall. I don't know why I'm on the floor. I just. . . I just haven't really done much since that dream. . . It reminds me of so much. Things that took this long to forget. I shake my head. I miss my Desert Eagle. . .
I picture it all now. I can't get it out of my head. I can't. I cant! I remember that battle, I remember the pain, and the anger. I remember. I remember the countless days I spent alone in that city. They forgot me. They did. . . How could they forget me!? I can remember laying there, not being able to move. Not being able to call for help. No one came. No one cared. I remember planning to kill Neo. I remember thinking my strength would return, and I could kill him. I waited to feel better. I waited to be able to crawl. I waited to fight again. But that never happened.
I lay motionless, and bang my head on the wall.
These pictures. . . These things. . . They won't go away!
I never want to go back. I never want to feel that again. I don't want to be forgotten, and left alone. Not again. I. . . I never want to do that again. No more of that pain. No more of that silence. No more. . .
I have this power. I have it now. . . I can fight now. . . But I can't. . . Why can't I bring myself to do something? I'm not weak anymore. I'm not. . . But. . .
I haven't talked to Jones, or Brown. I look at my earpiece sometimes, knowing they're there. But I just don't. . .
I stroke Catalyst's back.
Then there is a knock at the door. It must be Saturday already. . . I only slightly turn my head to the door. I don't want to get up. But the knocking continues. I sigh, and my muscles ache as I get up. I guess I haven't moved in a while. I slowly walk to the door, and open it to little Isis.
She smiles strangely at me.
Isis- I have a surprise for you.
I turn my head, and she frowns.
Isis- What's wrong?
I shake my head.
Smith- Nothing.
She tilts her head, and stares at me. But she shakes it off, and comes in. She still smiles as she sits on the couch, and grabs her bag. I watch her, wondering what she brought. Out come CDs. She smiles, as she searches for something.
Isis- Matrix Fan Music.
Smith- Oh, no.
Isis laughs, as she looks at the CDs.
Smith- Why did you bring these here?
Isis- Because my friend wants to know what kinda music you're into.
Smith- And who is this friend?
Who would be interested in that?
Isis- Uh. . . Neo.
What!? No, I know what her music sounds like! No. I will not listen to that. I refuse.
Isis laughs, as she holds up a CD.
Isis- Gotta CD Player?
I point.
Smith- I don't want to listen to your music.
She stares at me surprised.
Isis- Too bad.
She laughs, as she puts in the CD into the CD player in the corner. Then she jumps over to me, and grabs my sunglasses off.
Smith- Hey.
I can't stop, not now. She smiles, and places them on the floor, and then the music begins. The sounds are erratic.
Isis- I love this band.
The sounds of guitars begin.
Smith- I do not see the purpose of music here.
Isis- Why not?
Smith- These sounds, they are nothing more but noise.
Isis frowns, and turns off the music. She stares at me. I do not see why. That is all music is.
Isis- Most music shows stuff about the person. Some show pain, some show happiness.
Smith- It is just another expression of emotion.
I spat at her, and turn. I don't want to listen to music. I don't care about it. There is nothing in it. It is mindless noise combined to sound amusing. I don't want to now. I just don't want to.
Isis- Think of it as poetry with really loud guitars. We just need to find your band.
She looks down at her other CDs, and grins at one.
Isis- Ah, The Who. They have a very interesting song that seems to be for you.
I turn my head.
Isis- It's called, "Behind Blue Eyes." And you most certainly have that.
She grins at me.
Smith- My eyes should not be so attractive.
Why do so many humans point out my eyes? They are merely are just another feature.
Isis starts laughing.
Isis- It's just. . . Haha, it's just that no body expects Agents to have blue eyes!
Smith- Why not?
Isis- Because. . . Uh. . . Blue eyes are just so. . . Appealing.
Isis still giggles, as she heads to the CD Player. I still do not see the attraction of blue eyes.
Smith- Why blue?
Isis- Because. . . Blue is such a beautiful color.
She turns to me, and smiles.
Isis- Blue was the color of Adam's eyes you know.
Smith- So I remind you of him?
Isis- You're as stubborn as him.
Smith- Excuse me?
Isis- Uh, I'm glad to see you're asking questions!
She changes the subject quickly.
Yes, I suppose I'm asking a lot of questions. I've just been wondering about these things now a days. . . I find myself asking why again.
Isis- What about these guys?
The bass starts, and a guitar begins. They keep the same tempo, they stay the same. Never changing, never stopping. Then more sounds are added. Too many sounds. . .
Smith-No.
Isis- Aw, you're joking. I love these guys.
I don't know why she tries so much.
I can't help, but wonder why a child does this for me? Why does she? Why?
No, no more whys.
Smith- Isis, I. . .
She turns to me. But I say nothing.
Isis- What?
Smith- I. . .
I want to say something. I want to say I don't want to listen to this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here. I don't want her here with me. I just want. . . I don't know what I want. . .
Smith- I had a dream.
Her eyes widened.
Isis- A dream!?
I nod.
Isis- About what!? You slept!?
Smith- I saw Neo. . .
She sees my discomfort, and swallows hard. Then she slowly walks over to me.
Isis- What did he do?
She is only a child, she will not understand this pain.
Smith- Nothing.
She doesn't believe me, but she shrugs it off. I know she knows I won't tell her anything else.
Then she smiles as she puts in a CD.
Isis- You'll love this.
She runs over to me, and grabs my hands. I do not resist. I do not struggle. I just. . . I just don't want to do this. . .
Then the music starts.
Ballroom Music!?
I stare at her, how can she bring Ballroom music!? She blushes from my stare.
Isis- Well, I didn't know what music you liked, I had to bring them all. . .
I don't move. I'm not going to dance. No. Not ballroom music.
Isis- I know you can dance this way. So, dance!
Smith- No!
She laughs, and grabs my hands.
Isis- Dance, Agent.
Smith- I refuse.
She smiles intently, and I turn my head. But then I feel her move, she spins around, and lands perfectly in front of me.
Isis- I accidentally uploaded this dancing while I was learning kung fu.
I stare at her, as she smiles. I can't believe this. How can something so small do so much. How can a child do this to me? I hate this.
Isis- Now dance.
I'm dancing with a teenager to ballroom music. Fortunate Isis wore high heels, making her taller. So I grabbed her, and we danced. I know how to dance. I know how humans dance. I can find the files, they are somewhere in my files.
We dance in my living room. She is surprisingly good at this, I know she is surprised with me. She shouldn't. I am a program. She should know by now I can do these things. But I suppose the Virus that almost killed The One, would not be expected to dance. At least I didn't willingly.
I hold her hand, and we stride across the room. I never saw the purpose of such a ritual. Why dance to this? Yes, this music is most likely the most beautiful music of humans, compared to guitars. But I still do not see this. I don't even want to do this.
The music continues, as I hold up my hand, and she spins. I catch her by the hips, and bend her down. She smiles, and turns her head to my touch. She laughs. I tilt my head. Did I do something wrong?
I pull us back up, and now the music ends.
Isis- You have to take me dancing when I'm older.
Smith- Excuse me?
She walks by me, back to the CD player.
Isis- Well, will you?
I don't answer her.
I do not see.
Isis- Now, tell me what you dreamed about.
Smith- Uh. . .
No, she will not understand. She will not see the pain of isolation. To be forgotten. To know that there is no purpose in your life. She will not. She is only human.
Isis- Come on.
No. No one knows this pain. No one. There is no other like me. I am different. That quality caused me this pain. She will not understand what it is like to die twice, what it is like to know there is nothing you can do. She can't.
I turn away.
Smith- I want to go to the Real World.
Isis- What?
I want away from here. No more pain. I don't want to be this close to where I died. I died in here, somewhere. My purpose was taken from me in here. I don't want to be here. I don't want to feel this way in here. It is not the same since the Real World. And it is still the place where my pain begins. I don't want to be here. Not now. Not yet.
Isis- Why?
Smith- I want to go.
I can feel it. That dream. The images of him. I can feel the rain. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be here.
Smith- Now.
I don't want to dance. I don't want to listen to music. I don't want to dream. I want out of here.
Isis- But. . . You have things to do here, your job! Your. . . Your. . .
I look at her, and she sits on the couch. She doesn't understand, she doesn't need to.
Smith- I don't care. I just want to go. I don't need money.
Isis- Smith. . .
I stare at her. And she seems so confused. She stares at me, and nods.
Isis- okay. . . If you really want to, I just wish I knew why. But we'll go tomorrow. For now we dance.
She slowly gets up, with a new CD. She puts it in, and I roll my eyes.
Smith- What is this?
The sounds are not the same. They are different, they are familiar. No human made instruments. Not even a bass. What is this sound?
Isis smiles weakly, still wondering why I want to leave.
Isis- It's called Techno. All the music is pretty much made by a computer.
I turn to the speakers.
Smith- It sounds like Sentinel messaging.
Isis- You've heard how Squiddies talk?
I turn to her, and sit next to her.
Smith- Of course I have.
The sounds I know so well. These are not human sounds. These are machine sounds. These sounds are better.
And now I turn to Isis.
Isis- Smith, why do you want to go?
She stares at me with concern.
Why won't she just let me go? I just want to go.
I place my hand on hers.
Smith- Just let me go.
Isis stares at my hand, I don't see why. Then I stare to see what is happening. I do not see what there is to stare at. She will not let me go, so I touched her. I thought she would be happy. It is an interaction. That is what she wants me to do.
Then she smiles.
Isis- Your foot is tapping.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next Chapter: Starry Night
I'm sorry it's been a while guys. I've just had to finish my other story, Daddy's Little Girl. So not it is done, and I turn back to this.
P.S. The end is coming soon.