A Moment
Agent Smith/Agent Smith, PG-13


Smith stretched further.

For a moment, he was a man desperately in love, and a woman trying fruitlessly to avoid his advances. He felt her frustration as she threw yet another letter into the trash, and sent another bouquet of flowers with it. He felt the man's desperation as he wracked his brain for just the right words to put into a poem, and his sinking sense of futility as he slowly began to realize that she would never read it. He knew with a certain sadness that he would never love himself, and he knew that he would stubbornly never stop loving himself.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was a young woman at the door of her male friend's dorm room. He felt the surge of equal parts infatuation and panic in her as the friend opened the door. And as the friend read the card that had just been placed in his hand, he felt a similar stirring of longing and trepidation, and a growing sense of relief as he read. He felt a swell of happiness as the man looked up and said yes, and dizzying elation as the woman nodded in response. He grinned at himself, and moved forward to wrap his arms tightly around himself, no longer restrained by doubt.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was two middle school girls at a sleepover. He felt their silly glee as they heatedly discussed teachers and boys, their heads touching as they flipped through a magazine together. He felt tiredness take over as one stood up to lock the door, turning to change into her nightgown. He felt a slow-growing seed of an emotion he couldn't quite name as the other quietly watched, and a dawning of realization as the other turned back around and returned to the bed. He gently touched his face and with trembling hands kissed himself, and felt himself suddenly filled with doubt and fear, a quiet joy and curiosity punctuated by nervous flicks of his eyes toward the still-locked door.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was a middle-aged woman, laying in bed with her husband. He felt the husband's ennui, his almost crippling dissatisfaction with his life, bordering on disgust with the woman in bed with him. He felt the woman's reluctant understanding that things had grown stagnant, but felt her push it away in desperation and reach toward her husband. He felt the man shut his wife away, and felt the woman cautiously pushing at the wall in his mind. He reached out to touch his shoulder but turned away at the first brush of his fingertips, and after a moment, finally lay back against his pillow and tried to ignore the tears slipping down his cheeks.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was two men in the very heat of love. He felt the complicated mix of love and lust and physical need, felt them battling for attention and finally agreeing to share the focus. He ran one hand down his arm, using the other to cup his face and bring his lips to his own. He felt slick skin against slick skin, sticking and sliding at different times, bringing joints and limbs together like puzzle pieces. He grabbed at the sheets and buried his face into the pillow as he felt himself push down heavily, settling into a rhythm that set the bed rocking and quickened his pulse. He felt a blinding release and a sudden heavy relaxation, and turned to kiss himself again, tasting salt and exertion.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was a very small boy, holding his mother's hand as she walked him to the bus stop. He felt nervous, intimidated by the taller children and the deep rumbling of the bus as it approached. His mother hugged him, and he felt a burst of panic, but it subsided as he looked down at his lunchbox and gathered his courage. And as he walked up the steps, down the aisle and sat in the first seat he saw, he felt the first hints of a curious new emotion. The girl beside him smiled shyly, and he felt her heart beat suddenly faster. He smiled back at himself and scooted closer, and compared lunches with himself, his hands brushing not-so-accidentally.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was an old woman, sitting quietly on a bench on her back porch. He felt weariness in his very bones, an ache that permeated his every thought but which was also almost commonplace. He knew instinctively that she would die before very long. An old man pushed open the back door and slowly walked over to sit by the woman, lowering himself carefully onto the bench. He felt a similar weariness in him, but as he sat, he felt another emotion momentarily hide the pain; a deep, familiar and impossibly strong love, flowing between the two. He gently took his hand and squeezed it, and smiled up at himself, looking back out at the sunset.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was a young man, sitting on his bed. He felt a strong desperation that bordered on terror as the man watched the door, dreading what lay on the other side. A woman burst through, screaming and cursing. He felt incredible amounts of rage, irrational and disproportionate, aimed entirely at the man cowering on the bed. He felt the man's shame as the woman's fists came down upon him, pushing him until he ended up on the floor. He hit himself until he shook and sweat rolled down his forehead, and squeezed his eyes shut for long after the blows stopped.

But the feelings passed, and he stretched further.

For a moment, he was a man, a man and a woman. He felt a genuine and unique love flowing between the three of them, identical in many ways but subtlety different for each combination. He felt the trust constantly wrestling with jealousy, the unity which was always threatened to be toppled by division. He felt a quiet sadness that kept the three people in their house, kept their kisses and caresses behind walls and windows and away from prying eyes. He embraced himself as he kept eye contact with himself, and put his head on his shoulder, locking hands with himself with a smile.

But the feelings passed, as all feelings do.

He stretched further, but found only himself.

And Smith waited.

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