Sanctuary

Chapter 1

The bath water stings my translucent skin, my hair follicles sizzling against the steam. As I lie in the tub, I imagine what it would be like to have this tranquility to myself, instead of being accompanied by the grimace of my nurse, 67
I can see just a bit of sunlight from the opaque barred windows. It's January by now. I think of life before the sanctuary, of all the people who let their souls slip away while I lie here with no soul left. It's tragic really. Not of those who take their lives but those who never had much of a life to begin with. I've been here my entire existence. There's only been white walls, muffled howls of despair, and the sound of 67's wooden heals tapping against the laminate floors peevishly.
195 months later, the bath routine stays consistent. 67 sits stultified within the chair placed by the tub. After I've washed, I drain the ancient bath, then rise, exposed and shivering. Over a time period, a mutual trust has settled between me and 67. She hands me a towel and a mundane beige gown, and she exits into the hallway.
When she shuts the door behind herself, the tears begin to enrapture around me. I'm human when I'm alone. I can feel my soul settle back into my bones. It feels so foreign to cry, To feel something besides the voices or the thoughts or the panic or the emptiness. I can't remember the past distinctly, just the callous whispers of what once was. I notice the rust on the window pane bars as I change, and begin to ponder of how long I've sat here decaying. Was there anything prior to this purgatory?
The serial number on my arm suggests otherwise. The ebony stains of the number 479 stand unwavering, a constant reminder of my deprivation. Even though I'm standing in the solitude of the washroom, I can still feel the grabs of all the numbers that came before me. Where have they all gone outside the sanctuary?
My inquiry is interrupted with the rasp of 67's voice. "It is time to return to the commons, 479"Her monotonous voice vibrates through the door.
"Coming immediately", I respond, leaving my curiousity to command itself within the washroom.
However, my conceit overpowers me as I see my vague reflection within an opaque window. We, the numerical suitors, are not to surrender to our vanity, but I always fall prey. My grey eyes catch my attention as a few specks of water drop down my pale complexion. My chocolate hair sits limp on my shoulders, interconnected in tangles. I imagine an era beyond my final suiting, a day that soon comes for all, but with no reassurance for what's to come. No one within our labyrinth of a sanctuary ever questions the future, it's viewed as an unspeakable treason. On the contrary, I can't seem to accept an ambiguous destiny. I've seen so many prior numbers follow the rules adherently, only to disappear into the beyond with no idea of what's to come. I reach the perilous beginning in just 2 months, yet I'm not allowed to publicize my terror. At 200 months of age, I will face my fate.
"479, proceed to return the commons", 67 implements. She shuts the door behind me as I walk down the narrow stone hallway alone, and 67 will wait to bathe the next number.
After a substantial stride, I reach the commons. A huge transparent dome, the cylindrical space holds countless numbers of green foliage that always appears to be just beyond the edge past vitality. Stone benches intertwine the ivy encasing the space, and the air is always permeated with a plastic like scent. A chilling breeze strikes my wet hair as I walk towards one of the many empty benches. In my earlier months in the sanctuary, the commons were a hub for numerical suitors, I was so lost I n the crowd my childhood nurse would ridicule me for leaving her side. Now the commons sit so barren I can hear my heart beat slowly within my chest.
Only a few hundred suitors remain now, and for an odd reason I do not know. The desolation the sanctuary now entails is haunting, especially with a diminishing number of those heading to an anonymous fate.
During my time in the dome, I often search for long locks of hair in the in order to find some company. 570, my confidant since my 80th month, often lurks around the commons, searching for some sort of ideology even I can't name.

I pass a few beige wearing girls along my stroll to locate 570, and eventually I'm greeted by a mass of auburn curls I often envy. It's almost as 570 feels my aura as she turns around with a casual smirk, her eyes glistening with the sunlight of the dome.
"Good afternoon" her melodic voice greets. We touch index fingers, a sign of respect within our sanctuary.
I often don't know how to explain it, but I can understand her pain just by staring into her eyes. I know she's terrified like me, but she remains stable, dauntlessly vowing to never expose her truth of consternation.
"Enjoy your bath?", 570 small talks
"Indeed, when is your wash schedule?"
"67 will escort me this evening".
I suddenly become intuitive of a small tensing in her voice, a fearful twitch of her eyes, and the grinding of her teeth. It's obvious to see into her perfectly kept secrets with her body language, but I want the key to learn more.
I grab 570's arm with a firm grasp. Physical contact is a form of misconduct by the sanctuary headmasters, but our solitude makes rebellion attainable.
I drag her to a small indention, pulling back a layer of ivy to reveal a small nook. We sneak inside.
"Red.....", I stumble on her nickname I christened her with. Her brown eyes widen with understanding.
"I'm scared...", her soft voice cracks. I can taste the horror on the bottom of my tongue and it's bitter.
"Whatever happens. I will always find you. We'll face this destiny together."
She winces, "479.... what if they separate us, leave us to a fate to die.... or worse."
I struggle to stay calm, she can tell in my expression I believe she's accurate.
"Maybe.... maybe we're being suited for a marriage, or child bearing... or possibly...."
"Can't you see?" 570 pleads, the despondency sends chills down my spine. "Whatever's out there" she turns towards the fuzzy outline of the world outside our dome, "it won't be pleasant"