Easier To Run
It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something more
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone
Smith was asleep, with tears drying on the floor. His hand twitching, maybe from pain, maybe from blood, or maybe from dreaming dreams. Maybe dreaming dreams he never wanted to dream. Maybe is reliving a passed so far away, but still brining him pain. Reliving lives he once lived, or lives he thought he lived.
He always runs away though. Always runs for what he thinks is something better.
Run away from the safety of the Mainframe. Run away from Jones and Brown. Run away from the Mainframe. Run away from the upgraded Agents. Run away from his copies. Run away from The Oracle. Always running, never finding what he is running for.
And in the end, he runs from the people that try to help him.
Something has been taken from deep inside of me
The secret I've kept locked away, no one can ever see
Wounds so deep they never show, they never go away
Like moving pictures in my head for years and years they've played
Power taken from him. Freedom taken from him. Hope taken away from him. Happiness taken away.
Happiness, pleasure he got from thinking and dreaming about the future, about his future, about his world that he would own. The pleasure given to him, by each punch that struck Mr. Anderson. Pleasure mocking him, saying Mr. Anderson over and over again. Pain in The One's eyes. Happiness... Now so far away.
The pains of being like he was for so long. Being trapped in the Matrix, turning to deletion. The pains of smelling the humans, the smells choking him, forcing him to breathe. The smells that killed him again and again. And he'd look at Jones and Brown, and they would not do anything, because they would not understand. The smells, and the isolation, cutting him, making him bleed. No one can know these pains, no one can know they weakness he has felt.
And the memory replaying in his mind again and again. The memory of Mr. Anderson killing him. Over and over and over and over and over... Again and again and again. In the hallway and in the rain. His death in his mind, he thinks of nothing else, but wants to forget.
He starts shaking in his sleep, maybe he's dreaming about that.
If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave
Everything he ever did, he did it wrong. Every word, every action, every firing of his gun. All wrong, all for nothing. All for this. Alone in the very place where he died so many times before.
Knowing if he could change it he would. Knowing every mistake he made, knowing how he could correct it, knowing the life he could live, the better life.
If he didn't give into the hatred, if he didn't give into the smells, if he told someone, if he didn't fight...If he never struck Mr. Anderson. If he said something, told him he needed help, maybe Mr. Anderson would have listened.
Maybe he would call Mr. Anderson Neo.
His life, is a life not worth living. He lives a dead life.
A life where he is dead, with a replaying memory. A life that he knows he could have made better by the choices he made.
If he only chose differently.
It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone
Maybe he's only good at running. Good at turning his back on everything, and running.
And soon the pain in his hands begins to numb. His hands stop shaking. And the blood begins to dry.
Maybe...
Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past
Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have
Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back
And never moving forward so there'd never be a path
"Goodbye, Mr. Anderson."
"Goodbye, Mr. Anderson."
"Goodbye, Mr. Anderson."
"Goodbye, Mr. Anderson."
The replaying deaths...
"Why, Mr. Anderson?"
"Why, Mr. Anderson?"
"Why, Mr. Anderson?"
"Why, Mr. Anderson?"
Memories that make the pain come back. Memories that make him want to cut himself. Memories that make him wish he had just stayed with Jones and Brown, and gotten deleted. Memories he wishes to forget, but does not allow himself. Memories that make him look out the window, and bring him pain. Memories that should go away, but hold on to him, and keep in the dark. And he stops fighting the darkness, and closes his eyes, and allows them to kill him.
Maybe if he stayed there forever, stayed there in that room, all alone, with his eyes closed. Maybe it would be better. No more memories of pain. No more memories at all. Just a life inside a room.
If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave
It could be better that way. All alone, no memories to add to other memories. No more weight to break you. Everything could be better, but his past would stay the same.
Always stuck on the memories, knowing they could have been better. Maybe full of joy, and laughter. Maybe he could have a memory where he smiled for once. Instead of the ones he has full of screams and blood.
Just watching in the sun
All of my helplessness inside
Pretending I don't feel misplaced
It's so much simpler to change
He had forgotten how many sunrises he saw during his time there. He stopped counting. How long had he been with the Oracle? Three months now? Yeah, three. How long had he been alive, been in the Matrix? How many cycles? Four or three cycles. Four or three hundred years. And each sunrise looking exactly the same. He still watched them, and waited for them to look different, then maybe he would be different.
The sun always rose, as he pretended he was not different from Jones and Brown, and the world. Pretending he was still a regular Agent. Like he didn't think his thoughts, the thoughts about running away. Like he didn't smell the scent of humans.
But in truth it's simple to change. But not anymore. The time to change was long ago.
It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone
It's easier to run If I could change I would, take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would It's easier to go
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame to the grave I would
If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave
Too late to turn back. This is how it is. This is his life, his choices. The choices he made wrong. A life that he tried so hard to make better, but actually killed it, again and again and again.
The choices he made, made him like this.
Alone in the room where he died, nothing but his sunglasses. His sunglasses that stayed with him throughout the choices.
His life could have been better. His past and future could be better.
He doesn't have to run all the time.
It could be better. He hopes it could be better. Hopes the bruises and cuts will heal. Hopes there is something better for the former Agent, former Virus.
There is something better. This could be better. He just has to choose.
Then he turns his head in his sleep, and the sunglasses fall out of his hand.
Next Chapter: Thank you
Special thanks to JediKnightRika, for mentioning this song that inspired this chapter. "Easier To Run," By Linkin Park. Go Linkin Park! And almighty lead singer, Chester!