Between Dream and Awakening

 

 

Mary lay in bed in her room with her eyes closed, headphones on her ears, and a Discman by her side. On the beige-gray walls, the orange glow of the slowly setting sun flickered through the open window. Outside, not even a leaf stirred and the streets were almost empty. From time to time a group of teenagers appeared, passed by an adult hurrying home from work. And as she was pondering the meaning of life, she suddenly felt that someone was watching her. When she opened her eyes, she saw a familiar face in the doorway.

It belonged to a boy she hardly knew, and yet she felt a strong affection for him. She knew she could fully trust this tall, blue-eyed boy.
“Hi,” he greeted her.
“Hi,” she replied, taking off her headphones with a smile.

Mary didn’t care how he got into her apartment or why he was there. Suddenly she felt safe. But not for long. Her friend began twisting in convulsions, and in his place there suddenly stood an FBI agent.
“Good evening, Miss Phoenix. So here you are. Finally. I sincerely hope you’ll be reasonable and cooperate with us.”
“Go to hell,” Mary snapped, grabbed the Discman and threw it at the agent. She ran toward the window to jump out, but before she knew it, she heard a loud gunshot behind her and pain shot through her body.

“NO!” With a scream, she sat up in bed. A nightmare. Mary reached for the water she had nearby and scratched her dark-blond hair. Or rather, the place where her hair used to be. It was slowly growing back, but just a month ago she had been bald. Reborn.

Mary sat up, and soon after, the boy from her dream entered her cabin – Mouse. He noticed she had probably been sleeping restlessly, so he sat down beside her.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You don’t look like you slept very well.”
“No?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, taking her hand.

Mary smiled and caressed his face. She was grateful for his closeness. After all, it was Mouse who had found her and freed her.
“No, it was just a bad dream…”
“Is something bothering you? Can I do something for you, Marx?”

Marx. Her name. The name of a free woman. No longer Mary Phoenix, but Marx. Some might think it was a reference to Karl Marx, but in truth it was only a shortened form of her slave name – the name given to her by artificial intelligence in a world that wasn’t real. An illusion, now left behind.

“I guess I’m just shaken from the last training. I fell. I couldn’t make the jump to the other side. And also… I know the lady in red is just a program, but I don’t understand how you could fall in love with me. You clearly have a completely different taste. Just look at me. I’m small, currently bald, and nowhere near as attractive as the women you design.”
“That’s what’s bothering you?”
“It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“Can I explain it to you?”
“Oh, don’t bother. They’re just programs. You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
“Programs meant to distract. Every guy likes to turn his head for a busty blonde. Or at least take a look. But that’s all. Those women, those programs, are just for that one thing – to look at, not to love. That’s not real, not honest, not authentic. I won’t lie – when I was still a slave, I also liked to flip through those magazines, but only because… oh man, now I sound like some kind of professional wanker.”
“Not at all. I think I understand,” Marx hugged Mouse and smiled.

When she felt his arms around her waist, she was relieved. Relieved by what Mouse had just told her, and she no longer had to feel jealous of training programs. Even though some thought Mouse was a bit of a weirdo, to Mary he was a hero. He had gotten her out of the Matrix, he programmed all those training simulations, and he asked the kind of questions that lingered in one’s mind for days after the conversation.

Now, however, Mouse made sense. To deny our own impulses is to deny the very thing that makes us human.

“Do you want to get some more sleep? I reckon we’ll be in Zion in about two or three hours.”
“Stay here with me, please.”

Marx lay down on her side so Mouse could lie down behind her. He reached out for her hand to hold it and inhaled the scent of her hair.
“I love your short hair,” he whispered. “And from the very first moment, I’ve loved you.”
“I love you too. So very much.”

That warmth and silence. Peace. So this was what love felt like. Safe. Honest. Comforting.