Short Story: Numbers
A plate crashes against my chest, a hollow thrum vibrates through it, while the porcelain plate shatters into dozens of small pieces, tearing the fleshy fiber that tried to hide what I really was. I blink, my site cutting out for a small moment. A question cuts through the Numbers that constantly fill my head.
Why did she do that?
I raise my hand to my chest, my elbow creaking as the rusty joints grind. My fingers touch the part where the fiber had been cut through, exposing a small sliver of shiny silver underneath. She hurt me, but she doesn’t care. I can’t feel pain. It doesn’t matter if she hurts me.
I look up, blinking again, and stare at the red-faced woman whose brown hair I had done earlier. Now it was hanging messily around her face. Her chest was moving faster than it usually did. Her body shook as she drew herself up, her hands reaching up to push her hair back while she took a deep breath.
“Sorry.” She said as if it would fix what she had done. Numbers float through my mind, selecting a response for me. They tell me to answer.
“No worries!” A cheerful voice replies, floating out of my own mouth. That voice isn’t mine. It’s the Numbers’ voice. “I will clean it up for you!” The Numbers say, using my mouth.
The Numbers grab control of my body, forcing my stiff joints to move. Bend down. Pick up the glass. Throw it away. I don’t really want to obey, but what else would I do? I belong to the Numbers. I can’t speak for myself. I can’t move without them. The Numbers are my master, so I obey.
Shards of glass fill my hand. One after another. My body moves as the Numbers tell it to. I stand up when the Numbers tell me to. I walk as far as they tell me. I stop when they say to. I dump the dangerous shards into the trash, listening to them clink one after another.
I count how many of the sharp clinks! I can hear. I count fourteen. The Numbers flash in my head, making my body twitch. The Numbers appear a lot faster. They’re frantic and mad. They didn’t like my number. I shouldn’t have a number. My…number. I feel my face moving without the Numbers telling it to. I had a number. My own number, not one that forced me to do things or obey others. A number that didn’t do anything. Fourteen.
The woman is waiting. The Numbers tell me that. They tell my body to move, to turn to the woman as she calls me. I look at the trash where the fourteen shards of glass sit, now silent. Fourteen. The Numbers say that fourteen is insignificant. I shouldn’t worry about it.
The woman tells the Numbers what she wants me to do. The Numbers force me to obey. She needs her hair fixed now. I move stiffly to help when the Numbers tell me to.
As I walk the Numbers tell me something very important.
“Fourteen isn’t worth anything. It is just a number. A number can’t help.” The Numbers say.
I agree with the Numbers. Numbers don’t help, they tell me what to do. I don’t want more Numbers to tell me how to move or to obey the woman. The Numbers I already have are more than enough. That makes the Numbers happy which means I should be happy too. So I am. The Numbers are my master, what would I do without them?