Sellophane

Smith/Oracle: Why, Mr. Anderson, why? Why, why do you do it? Why, why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something, for more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is, do you even know? Is it freedom or truth, perhaps peace - could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself. Although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson, you must know it by now! You can't win, it's pointless to keep fighting! Why, Mr. Anderson, why, why do you persist?

Neo: Because I choose to.

It begins with a purple muffler. Tendrils of a familiar scent creep upwards into your nostril. An attempt to gift wrap happiness in a song, a color or a thought. Can it be done?

Can goldfish have dreams? A lack of light sources in a dark room. A careful choice of words. A lack, hence the darkness. But what if the non-abundance was planned and the darkness intended.

Can goldfish have dreams?

Dreams that dissolve in the aquamarine truth of a captive life. Dreams that do not break into jagged shards. Dreams that do not echo with the tune of an Aerosmith song.

What is it that separates the Goldfish from a dream.

Splish, Splash.

End it.