Smith Smut aka What is Real

The Musings of a Machine…


Taking the key out of his pocket he considered her words. “What is real?”

Is she real? Infuriating, irritating, yes, those things and a myriad of more between, but is she real? He’d touched her, tasted her, and listeno heo her incessantly. It was her incessant questioning and testing that both annoyed and attracted him. True at first it just annoyed him. He’d let her believe whatever she wanted until she became an nuisance, a mimicking annoying little nuisance, and then he’d decided to rid himself of her, like swatting a fly, but she wouldn’t die. His Desert Eagle had never failed him before, but she laughed at it, at him. He hid his shock skillfully when she’d laughed, but now he wondered.

Why had the mainframe so easily accepted his ‘target unknown’ reply? What existed within the Matrix that was unknown to the creator and controller of the Matrix? Was she a part of it all, or was she really an unknown? What about the other connections? How did she hear his thoughts? Only the network could do that unless he chose otherwise, yet, whe con concluded he’d give her his soul, she appeared and when he chose to deceive the mainframe, again, she knew. Those things were private thoughts or network communications, no one else should know, but she did.

She pushed him. Pushed him to examine himself and his existence. Now he questioned everything. Damn her. And yet, damn her too! She was interesting and irresistible and everything between. It was exactly that relentless maddening questioning that had led him to find himself, find his soul, his heart and discover what he was capable of with his mind and body. Had he existed before? Was he living now? Or was this the process of dying?

The nagging feeling that all this was just a test, a wicked game, a process of elimination, would not let go. Could he return to what he was? Would he if he could? A test. If he passed what then? Would he be given more? More control, more power? Already he was the head of the Agent cadre. Wasn’t that what it was all about anyway? Power, control, order, logic, and reason. His purpose and function were clear. Maintain order in the Matrix. Maintain the fossil fuel. Protect the energy source and ensure their continued oblivion.

She was not oblivious; yet, she was not part of the resistance either. She did nothing to encourage the other humans to rebel, to seek freedom. Yet, could she be? Maybe this was a game of theirs? They could not destroy him, and he would not let them succeed, so perhaps this was another way to remove him, to gain access to freedom. Or perhaps they believed he would become one of them. They were woefully mistaken. He would never be one of them.

But then there was that other thing. What was it she brought alive in him? Life in him? That seemed impossible. He was not a living being. He was capable of certain physical and meta-physical functions because he was designed that way, but he was not alive. He was part of a larger intricate existence. As an individual he had been given certain responsibilities, but it all served a superior cause, control. If he was alive, independent, he was out of the control of the greater being, and then what was he?

Was it even possible? Could the creation surpass the creator? Isn’t that exactly what humans had struggled with since the foundation of their history? Understanding their origins and overcoming them? He knew his origin and had never had the desire to overcome it, only to maintain it, to be an intrinsic part of it and to protect it. And yet, the last thing he had said was ‘fuck it’. Shit.

But it was possible wasn’t it? After all, it was the humans that had created the machine and now the machine ruled and the humans were nothing more than an unfortunate necessity. He was part of a creation that had overcome its creator and now as a creation himself, would he overcome? Had he? Could he? What could possibly lie beyond this? And yet this, this had become monotonous and dull. Uninteresting. The green sea of existence without higher purpose had droned on for too long. He hadn’t even realized the depth of his boredom until she came along. Boredom, a fate worse than misery, but boredom aligned itself perfectly with order and control.

In the end did it even matter what was real? She claimed the animals were real because they knew how to ‘just be’, not worry, not care, just be. One day she said the humans were not real and the next they were. Love seemed to be the key to what she believed made them real, but on the other hand, love was irrelevant to the animals she touted as real.

“What is real?” Three little monosyllables. Ten alphanumeric characters. And yet it haunted him. The question took on a life of it’s own the more he considered the possibilities. Her opinions aside, he could see too many answers to that one question, and all of them left him without the answers he was looking for. Was she real? Was he?

And should he open the damn door or just walk away and return to what he knew and understood, regardless of what is real?

**********************************

In the middle of the night

I go walking in my sleep

Through the jungle of doubt

To the river so deep

I know I’m searching for something

Something so undefined

That it can only be seen

By the eyes of the blind

In the middle of the night

**********************************


At the end of the hall in front of the door with the gleaming metal key pressed between his strong fingers, he remained, standing, staring, considering, analyzing, reviewing, musing, rethinking, mulling, reasoning, wondering, wanting, fearing, desiring, hoping, dreaming, doubting and waiting. The door still closed, the key in his hand, time passed slowly, in the middle of the night, awaiting his decision.