Numbers

Should I Be Worried I Can Pull Off Drunk When I'm Sober?

“Morganna, come on!  Get outta bed!” My best friend shouts; I roll over and look at her.  She stands in the doorway holding a rolling pin menacingly, but when I look in her eyes, it is like staring at computer data on cartoons.  You know, all those luminous green numbers against a black screen.  Her eyes are filled with this computer data stuff, all the same number.

6.

The number that speaks of Love.

I grin at her and she laughs.

“You couldn’t hit me with that if you’re life depended on it, Mar.” I choke; she nods and plops herself down on the end of the bed.

“Yeah, and your job depends on you getting ready in time, and that isn’t going to happen.” She says lightly; I cuss and grab my watch from the bedside table. 8.47.  The hands never lie, being an Inferciph means I know what the True Time is.  I leap out of bed and do my hour and a half morning ritual in five minutes.  “How do you manage to still look so good?” Martha whines; I laugh and kiss her forehead.  She laughs.

“Anyone would think we were dykes.” We say simultaneously; we laugh and Mar escorts me to the door and we laugh as she stumbles in the light.

“How much did you drink last night Mar?” I snort; she pokes her tongue out.

“A lot less than you, Morganna, you drink like a fucking fish!” She shoots back; I laugh and she pokes me out the door with the rolling pin.

“Mar, what are you doing?” I ask; she winces.

“You are blocking out the Sun.” She mumbles; I giggle.

“What?  All four foot nine inches of me?” I snort; she sees the flaw in her plan and laughs with me.

“Goodbye, Morganna.” She laughs; I nod, turn, and walk away.  “I LOVE YOU MORGANNA!” She yells; I laugh.

“Love you too, Mar.” Saying the words reminds me of being a teenager; love was such an easy word when you were fourteen.

I'm not usually one to complain; I take life as it comes and I have learnt to accept that life as an Inferciph will never be easy or fun, but it is a life nonetheless and I wouldn't trade it for the world.  Apart from the banging headache I get when a crowd of people surrounds me.  All the numbers flash before my eyes, blurring with each other until it is all I can do not to pass out.  A man comes up to me and touches my arm.

“Hello beautiful, you look like you need a hand.” He says; I look him in the eyes.

5.

The number that screams they are a Criminal.

I scream. “Arrest him!” I shriek; he looks at me with burning eyes.  Two bobbies come over to me quickly and see my distress.

“Ma’am, what seems to be the problem?” One of them asks; I stare at him.

“He’s a criminal!” I choke; I jerk my arm away from his touch.

15.

The number that feels nothing but hate.

“He isn’t safe to roam our streets!” I choke; I stumble back into the other cop.  How do these psychos find me?!  I can feel his hard on but I ignore it.  This is no time to play on turning a guy on; this man is a criminal and I have to get him off the streets before he hurts anyone.

“Ma’am, that’s a very strong accusation.” Bobbie One says; Excited Bobbie makes a sound of agreement in the back of his throat and I blink.