Greetings to whomever.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix; if I did I would have made all the agents wear chef's hats.
And, once again, if I've ripped off someone's idea I apologise.
*******************************************************************
Left Behind by Richard the Pedantic
Chapter 1: Background Information
The bus was unbelievably quiet. Not surprising really considering the late hour, but still, usually when I'm on a bus, crowds of dead eyed people swarm the vehicle with awkward, jagged shopping bags that dig into your legs. If you're really unlucky, there'll be some pestiferous child charging up and down the isle pretending to be a plane. The temptation to throw them through one of the windows stays with you for the entire trip, well, it stays with me anyway.
Tonight, as I have said however, was different, the only other person on the bus was a homeless person who was passed out and sprawled across the seat at the back, and the driver of course, who looked too tired and bored to remove him.
And so I waited, staring absently out of the window, it was hard to see anything except my own reflection. On the streets however, I was able to identify three prostitutes and a suspicious looking man carrying a crowbar. I felt a short stab of sympathy for anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path tonight.
It was the way of the world. Only the elderly, the scarred, criminals and anyone else who was unlucky enough to be over twenty five remained in the Matrix.
Finding out had been a disorienting experience to say the least. It started about three months ago, I was on my way to work; minding my own business, surprised by all the nervous looks on the disturbingly few pedestrians, when all of a sudden, this flood of people, or programs I guess I should say, anyway, they came from every direction, all of them looked the same. The next thing I know, people are panicking, throwing their briefcases into the air and running about screaming, I wasn't sure why at the time, I was having enough trouble accepting the presence of the huge number of smartly dressed clones that were closing in about us.
I didn't have time, at the time, to figure out what was going on. Within seconds I found one of the program's hands being rammed into my gut, this grey liquid seemed to engulf me, and then, for all intents and purposes, I died. I can't remember what happened in the time between that and me suddenly waking up in the middle of Mission Street with a huge crowd of other, similarly confused people. There wasn't so much panic and screaming this time as there was unexplainable relief and joy.
Then the news came, the unbelievable, science fiction worthy news, that for centuries, mankind has served as a power source for a race of machines that had created a virtual world known as the Matrix for us to dwell in so that we wouldn't write letters of complaint to the local council regarding housing.
Then we were told that anyone who met the right requirements and wanted to leave that Matrix would be freed. I tried to get out; it was the first thing I did, after staring at the T.V screen broadcasting this information with a mixture of confussion and fear obviously. Alas it wasn't as simple as saying 'I want to leave'.
Anyway, almost a month later, these people stride into the city, all of whom dressed in the leather attire of the conventional fashion victim, (I tried the look myself once to be honest, it didn't work out).
Yeah well anyway, they said that they were from the 'Real world'. The place that me and thousands of others were dying to get to. There was a line almost two miles long of people who wanted to be 'un-plugged' as they called it (I was quite near the back, rather unsurprisingly.)
I waited for almost eight hours, all the while I saw numerous, despair stricken faces walking past me. A pestiferous corner of my brain refused to tell me anything else except that I'd soon be one f them.
And guess what, I was right. One look at me and two leather clad guys give me some speech about never freeing a mind once it reaches a certain age, if they did, I'd go insane. They also told me that they, at first, thought it would be different if people already knew about the Matrix; the person they tested this theory on apparently spends her days rocking back and forth and bursting into tears at random moments.
Needless to say, I was pissed off; I'd waited eight hours to spend two minutes in the company of people who effectively told me to piss off. Why they couldn't have just shoved up a large sign that said 'People over 25 don't bother asking because you'll get turned out on your arse.'
I left with as much dignity as I could muster. When I got home I smashed my fist against a wall, almost breaking all my fingers at the same time. Immature I know, but I was angry, and the only one who got hurt was me.
And so my life went on, I went to work, watched the news, ate, drank, pissed, crapped and felt bitter about being left behind in this dull, depressing shell of a world.
The strange thing about living in a world that isn't real is, rather surprisingly, that nothing seems all that real. Consequently, I have spent many a night, going out, walking amongst the seemingly content people who laugh and mingle with their friends, listen to a new breed of preacher that belongs to a new, failing religion that worships the machines. The purpose of these trips is to try and recapture some of the life that has been torn from me.
It never worked though, not at first at least, no doubt this is going to sound clichéd and unspeakably pompous but I always felt detached from it all, almost above it. I used to live happy and free with the rest of the happy, content people of the Matrix. Then I found out it exists and suddenly everything I'd see just looks like a figment of my imagination. Even my body wasn't real, not what I'm walking around and complaining in anyway. In reality I'm laying in a gelatinous pod in the middle of God knows where, having all my body's energy being sucked from me, and being force-fed dead people.
And so that was it, for a short time, which felt like a decade, I walked around the city, living a life which I thought would drive me to insanity. The harsh reality that reality was out of my reach clawed slowly at my sanity. For a while at least.
After a few weeks, a month maybe, I began to realise that nothing had really changed, and that even if the world wasn't real, I was stuck there and might as well make the most of my life. This in turn led me to the bus, and that in turn, lead to me to the real insanity that followed.
To be continued
P.S. To Sulkdodds, if you're reading this, any resemblance to 'Paradise Lost''s early chapters will wither and die by the next chapter, trust me.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Matrix; if I did I would have made all the agents wear chef's hats.
And, once again, if I've ripped off someone's idea I apologise.
*******************************************************************
Left Behind by Richard the Pedantic
Chapter 1: Background Information
The bus was unbelievably quiet. Not surprising really considering the late hour, but still, usually when I'm on a bus, crowds of dead eyed people swarm the vehicle with awkward, jagged shopping bags that dig into your legs. If you're really unlucky, there'll be some pestiferous child charging up and down the isle pretending to be a plane. The temptation to throw them through one of the windows stays with you for the entire trip, well, it stays with me anyway.
Tonight, as I have said however, was different, the only other person on the bus was a homeless person who was passed out and sprawled across the seat at the back, and the driver of course, who looked too tired and bored to remove him.
And so I waited, staring absently out of the window, it was hard to see anything except my own reflection. On the streets however, I was able to identify three prostitutes and a suspicious looking man carrying a crowbar. I felt a short stab of sympathy for anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path tonight.
It was the way of the world. Only the elderly, the scarred, criminals and anyone else who was unlucky enough to be over twenty five remained in the Matrix.
Finding out had been a disorienting experience to say the least. It started about three months ago, I was on my way to work; minding my own business, surprised by all the nervous looks on the disturbingly few pedestrians, when all of a sudden, this flood of people, or programs I guess I should say, anyway, they came from every direction, all of them looked the same. The next thing I know, people are panicking, throwing their briefcases into the air and running about screaming, I wasn't sure why at the time, I was having enough trouble accepting the presence of the huge number of smartly dressed clones that were closing in about us.
I didn't have time, at the time, to figure out what was going on. Within seconds I found one of the program's hands being rammed into my gut, this grey liquid seemed to engulf me, and then, for all intents and purposes, I died. I can't remember what happened in the time between that and me suddenly waking up in the middle of Mission Street with a huge crowd of other, similarly confused people. There wasn't so much panic and screaming this time as there was unexplainable relief and joy.
Then the news came, the unbelievable, science fiction worthy news, that for centuries, mankind has served as a power source for a race of machines that had created a virtual world known as the Matrix for us to dwell in so that we wouldn't write letters of complaint to the local council regarding housing.
Then we were told that anyone who met the right requirements and wanted to leave that Matrix would be freed. I tried to get out; it was the first thing I did, after staring at the T.V screen broadcasting this information with a mixture of confussion and fear obviously. Alas it wasn't as simple as saying 'I want to leave'.
Anyway, almost a month later, these people stride into the city, all of whom dressed in the leather attire of the conventional fashion victim, (I tried the look myself once to be honest, it didn't work out).
Yeah well anyway, they said that they were from the 'Real world'. The place that me and thousands of others were dying to get to. There was a line almost two miles long of people who wanted to be 'un-plugged' as they called it (I was quite near the back, rather unsurprisingly.)
I waited for almost eight hours, all the while I saw numerous, despair stricken faces walking past me. A pestiferous corner of my brain refused to tell me anything else except that I'd soon be one f them.
And guess what, I was right. One look at me and two leather clad guys give me some speech about never freeing a mind once it reaches a certain age, if they did, I'd go insane. They also told me that they, at first, thought it would be different if people already knew about the Matrix; the person they tested this theory on apparently spends her days rocking back and forth and bursting into tears at random moments.
Needless to say, I was pissed off; I'd waited eight hours to spend two minutes in the company of people who effectively told me to piss off. Why they couldn't have just shoved up a large sign that said 'People over 25 don't bother asking because you'll get turned out on your arse.'
I left with as much dignity as I could muster. When I got home I smashed my fist against a wall, almost breaking all my fingers at the same time. Immature I know, but I was angry, and the only one who got hurt was me.
And so my life went on, I went to work, watched the news, ate, drank, pissed, crapped and felt bitter about being left behind in this dull, depressing shell of a world.
The strange thing about living in a world that isn't real is, rather surprisingly, that nothing seems all that real. Consequently, I have spent many a night, going out, walking amongst the seemingly content people who laugh and mingle with their friends, listen to a new breed of preacher that belongs to a new, failing religion that worships the machines. The purpose of these trips is to try and recapture some of the life that has been torn from me.
It never worked though, not at first at least, no doubt this is going to sound clichéd and unspeakably pompous but I always felt detached from it all, almost above it. I used to live happy and free with the rest of the happy, content people of the Matrix. Then I found out it exists and suddenly everything I'd see just looks like a figment of my imagination. Even my body wasn't real, not what I'm walking around and complaining in anyway. In reality I'm laying in a gelatinous pod in the middle of God knows where, having all my body's energy being sucked from me, and being force-fed dead people.
And so that was it, for a short time, which felt like a decade, I walked around the city, living a life which I thought would drive me to insanity. The harsh reality that reality was out of my reach clawed slowly at my sanity. For a while at least.
After a few weeks, a month maybe, I began to realise that nothing had really changed, and that even if the world wasn't real, I was stuck there and might as well make the most of my life. This in turn led me to the bus, and that in turn, lead to me to the real insanity that followed.
To be continued
P.S. To Sulkdodds, if you're reading this, any resemblance to 'Paradise Lost''s early chapters will wither and die by the next chapter, trust me.