MulticoloredGypsy > The Woman I Loved (Is Dead)

The Woman I Loved (Is Dead)

The woman I loved was dead, but of course, that was expected. It would have either been her or me. It was an unexpected relationship, just like all shipborn romances. We were expected to be soldiers, not lovers. We strived to stop our hearts from feeling, because when that happened, we would get weaker. A soldiers was trained to kill - once emotions started running loose, one might start thinking when killing a man, mentally counting how many mothers would be telling their children, “Daddy isn’t coming home.”

Of this Morpheus had warned us many times. As our captain, it was his responsibility to keep our minds strong, and it was his fault if one of us went soft, rendering an opponent unconscious instead of delivering the killing blow, a move that might possibly have lead to a death at the end of the run. But we’d deserve it, wouldn’t we? An emotional soldier is as good as dead anyways, right?

When I first met her, she caught my eye in a crowded room. She was beautiful, sexy, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her - she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It was her eyes, it had to be, that drew me in, telling me nothing at all but at the same time dropping a small, flirtatious hint to keep me guessing. And then, with her help, I was freed [in more ways than one].

Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at night, and I would venture to her door seeking comfort. She would always welcome me with open arms and a beautiful smile. She offered to stay awake with me until I fell asleep. Sometimes she would rub my back as I lay there, and more than once did I feel her hand creep up under my shirt to caress the soft skin below. Sometimes she would quietly hum unfamiliar tunes, songs of Zion, and sometimes we would sleep together, my body dangerously close to hers.

Our hands would creep silently across the foreign territories of each others bodies. One night, she told me I helped her remember that she was still human after all she had seen and done. I told her she also helped me, that she eased my pain and fears.

We shared our first kiss that night. It started out small, but soon it erupted into something so passionate and beautiful we forgot about everything else - the war, the machines, the Matrix. When our lips met, for however long, the world seemed wonderful.

But we never, ever made love. We couldn’t.

After all, ‘An emotional soldier is as good as dead.’

Sometimes I would rather have been dead than on the ship, having to see her there before me, but not being able to truly have her until the ship went to sleep. Each day grew harder, my want for her evolving into a longing, a need, a craving.

But the woman I loved is dead. It happened in the Matrix. She refused to go out before me, like a motherly instinct, so I got out - she didn’t. The agent’s bullet lodged itself in her virtual brain. I was almost surprised when Morpheus didn’t point and laugh and say “I told you so.” He had warned us about what emotions did to soldiers and what happened when we let our opponents live.

For the longest time, I wouldn’t let them take her body away - it would have hurt too much to see her go, knowing I could have done something about it. I could have let her exit first. That way it would have been my life lost instead of hers. I feared my need for her would destroy me, but it didn’t, and Morpheus took her body away.

I felt like I would die without her. She was my raison d’ętre, and after her I felt like I had no reason, that is, until I met with the Oracle again. She told me I would fall in love, and my love would determine whether or not humanity would have a chance in this war.

Then I met Neo, and we fell in love, and he was the One.

The end.

End of Transmission

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