A few weeks ago, they appeared. One was hovering over the head of every man, woman, and child in the world. A completely random (as far as anyone knew) number. I was 37. My mother was 12954, my father 4793. I was walking back to my apartment in Manhattan. I didn’t have a particularly big apartment, nor an especially great job. I was stuck doing low level I.T. work, after being laid off of a better job. It was long and boring, with very little chance to do anything better. The numbers were a welcome distraction, and what a distraction they were. They were the biggest story in years, which was funny, seeing as to how they didn’t actually have any physical effect. Some people thought they were signs from god, others thought they were symbols of status. Very few people agreed with me in that they probably meant almost nothing.
The crosswalk turned white, and I crossed. In the windows of the Dunham’s sports, there were huge, life-sized ads of a young woman in sports clothing. She was completely average looking, unlike all the other clothing models. Her only distinguishing feature was the number 3 hovering over her head. Out of nowhere, a man tackled me and dragged me into a quiet alley. He was in his 40’s, with bags drooping under his eyes.
“Please, take whatever you want-” I stammered. His eyes gleamed with a crazed vigor. A long knife came out of nowhere.


“I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time, 37. You’re on my list.” He pulled back the left sleeve on his designer, button-down shirt. Marked on his arm was a long string of prime numbers. Some were tattooed on, while others were cut in with a knife. A few had an X deeply cut over them.

“Dear God, please, no, don’t do this to me” Was all I could sob out with his dull knife pressed against my throat. All I heard was a dull smack, and saw someone else standing behind him with a large rock. The crazy murderer on top of me slumped down motionlessly.

“I think I killed him. Oh, god, I think I killed him”

“Holy crap, I can’t believe I’m still breathing. How did you see me in here?” from I asked the stranger, already pulling out my phone to call the police. He was number 20090134, a young hispanic man dressed in plain jeans and a t-shirt.
“I heard a scuffle from the street, and thought I should see what was wrong. Did you call the police yet?”
“Yes, but before they get here, I need to see something. Can you help me roll this guy over onto his back?”
“Ummm, I guess I can, but why would you ever want to do that?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” I rolled him over in his chest, then rolled his sleeve up a little higher, pointing at the numbers
“There I am” I say as I point at # 37. Unbuttoning his shirt, I looked at his chest. The string of numbers ran all over his body, wrapping around the words “Prime Evil” tattooed over his chest in gothic print.
“Looks like you weren’t the first to meet this crazy b*****d.” My rescuer points at 6 different numbers with a line cut through them. At that moment, I heard sirens approaching in the distance.
“Thanks again for saving me. I don’t think I ever caught your name”
“I’m Alex.” He said as 3 police cruisers rolled up to the allyway.