The Asylum

Continuation of 5502338491211465810223849455568101000234818679.

I wake up, I think. Everything is so fuzzy, I could still be dreaming. I can sort of make out shapes and lights, but not quite. I hear something, a murmuring. Maybe a voice? I can not tell. I think I feel a prick, and I drift back down into the deeper layers of sleep, barely having time to wonder if I was ever conscious at all.

***

The next time I wake up I am far more coherent. Everything is still fuzzy, and my head hurts, but this time I have the sense to wonder where I am rather than if I am. The voices I hear around me are still difficult to make out, but this time I can tell what they are saying. Still, it sounds as if I am hearing them from underwater. It is the same sensation.

 

"They used a lot on this one," one of the voices says. "They would normally be fine by now."

 

"She just stayed standing. Strong mind. Even stronger than most that we get in here."

 

The first voice speaks again with an air of authority. "Keep an eye on this one. I don't like the way this sounds."

 

Another sharp prick, and once again I spiral towards unconsciousness, wondering what this could possibly mean.

 

***

 

This time I am completely aware when I wake up. My head only feels slightly fuzzy in the beginning and it is easy to make out my surroundings. Every noise from nearby rooms and corridors sound just as loudly as they ever had before this ordeal. I move to get up, only to find that I can not. I look down and see the thick brown leather straps securing me to the thin bed.

 

I begin to panic internally. This is not something we are ever prepared for. Things like this are not supposed to happen in our world. Numbers are insignificant beings, never being noticed enough in the first place to be taken by anyone. We just drift through the same scripted life until we turn eighteen. Oddly enough, this thought calms me. That was a mold I had never fit. And that must be why I am here. There was never any talk of what happened to numbers who deviated, simply because none of us ever talked. But there has to be something, and I must be finding out just what that is.

 

With that thought in mind, I begin further examining my surroundings. Just a small white room with the white bed I'm laying on and a silver tray holding a small hypodermic needle. That must have been the prick that continuously sent me under. The door is right across from me, bared, appearing to lead into an equally stark white hallway. I enter analytical mode and everything around me seems to automatically graph itself nearly instantaneously. I have no clue if this is normal for someone with my gift or not. We never were allowed to talk. I have no clue what others with math affinities can do.

 

Everything is measured out perfectly. I know that the table is exactly ten feet away from me and the door is precisely twenty and three quarters feet away. I can see the angles and measures of every corner in the room. I know that the straps holding me down would be about five feet each at their full length and that they are all half an inch thick. Too thick for me to break on my own.

 

Before I can formulate any kind of coherent plan The door opens revealing a tall woman with bluish-black hair held up in a tight bun and dark blue eyes wearing black rectangular glasses. She walks in slowly and takes out a pen, positioning it over the clip board. "Number... 5502338491211465810223849455568101000234818679. Can you tell me why you're here?"

I am unsure how to answer. I am a Number. She is clearly a Person. I want to demand that she tell me where here is, but a move that rash could not be met kindly. "No."

"You," she began, holding a superior tone that somehow went above and beyond the usual air of superiority that People have, "are here because you refused to follow the rules. You have a math affinity, yet there are paintings and drawings all throughout your room. You feel. You hold skepticism. This is unacceptable." Shock overtakes me. How could she know any of this? I never told my parents any of this. I never showed them my artwork. I never let anyone in on what was going on in my head... "It doesn't matter what you tell us. We know all. The word of a Person is absolute. You will learn this. Welcome to The Asylum."