Number 776: An Introduction
The market was congested; filled with hundreds and hundreds of Gweeblet faces. This was far from unusual on a work day. Unlike the outside world, a workweek in the Kingdom consisted of nine days. Eight days were strict work days, and the remaining was the universal day of rest.
Every male Gweeblet (otherwise known as a Gwent) had a job in the Kingdom. Work was mandatory for each Gwent. Those who didn’t work were expelled from the walls without hesitation. Each day, in the final hour of light, an enormous mass of Gwents gathered in the center of the market. It was at this time that each working Gwent collected their daily wages and bought food or other household items. This was the only market in the Kingdom that they could spend their salaries; as far as they were aware, it was the only one that existed.
There were four wooden stands in the center of the market that stood together and faced in different directions. It was at these stands that the Gwents desperately fought for their wages. They were ants; each fighting for a fraction of a tiny crumb. In all the commotion over the simple morsel of food, they lost sight of everything else. They were determined to have that crumb. For who knew if they could find another? Who knew if they would survive without it? They reduced themselves with questions like these; they stripped themselves down and remained with only the most primeval function of organic life-- survival. The remarkable thing about the Gweeblet race, the one thing that set it apart from any other creature on the planet, was its celestial capacity of reason. It, unlike any other species on its planet, was capable of eternal life. It could create, and grow beyond its work. It could absorb, retain, and expand through consciousness. It could sustain an idea from one unit to the next; it could nurture it, and in its growth-- improve upon it. Its purpose, above all else, was to progress. It would face obstacles, no doubt, it may stumble upon them, it may even stumble over them; but unlike any other creature, this can be said of the Gweeblets-- in spite of every obstacle that stood before it, the Gweeblet race would progress. Oblivious to the excess of food around them, the ants continued to fight for the crumb.
Number 776 stood in the outskirts of the crowd. Despite the presence of the dense mass that surrounded him, he was very noticeable due to his lavender robes which stood out against the blue jumpsuits like a beacon in the dark. The combination of his deviating attire and his frail figure and awkward poise made him the only describable character in a crowd of Gwents wearing blue. He was tall in comparison to the average Gwent. Being the youngest son of one of the few upper class families, his body was frail from the absence of manual labor. His limbs were long and protruded at the joints, lacking both muscle and tone. Even though his muscles were undoubtedly tender, Number 776’s large bone structure made him appear to be immovable, as if nothing could set him off balance. His face was slender and long like the rest of his body. His clean facial hair covered the majority of his head evenly except for behind his ears. Here, the fur grew thicker and longer and came out at two opposite points just slightly above his eye line. His eyes were like two dark sapphires, a very unusual color for a Gwent. Although he was not a member of the working class, Number 776 could be seen in this crowd nearly every day.
After a full day of work, the average worker was rewarded with two tin coins. The average meal for a small family was about five coins; most families needed several workers to provide for their food alone. Stealing in any form was strictly forbidden and would result in severe punishments. To steal from another family was unheard of.
The impatient crowd gathered around the stands demanding their wages as always. Each of the exhausted Gwents looked eerily similar. In fact, to society each of these Gweeblets were the same. They wore the same blue jumpsuits. They worked the same jobs, the same shifts, and were paid the same wages. The only thing that made one Gweeblet different from the next was the unique number they were assigned at birth.
As the bodies gathered around 776, he couldn’t help but look at the other numbers. Number 831 possessed a familiar face. Number 623 was brittle and old, far too old to be working sixteen hour days. Considering the numbers were assigned at birth, the purple robed Gwent determined that Number 779 had been born only weeks after him.
Number 776 hated the Numbers. He understood that assigning a number to a Gweeblet made him just that-- a number. The educated upper classman wanted to know personality. He wanted to feel more of a connection to each Gweeblet. He wanted more than just a number sewn onto a jumpsuit.
776 wished that the numbers could be meaningful. He often tried to interpret them as if he could gain some knowledge about the owner, but he knew the only information that he could possibly attain was an approximation of their age. To the King, these people were nothing but a number. They were of no value other than the work they provided. One number was as disposable, as interchangeable, as the rest.
Number 776 knew there was more to a Gweeblet than his number. He knew that each had personalities, dreams, interests, strengths, and weaknesses. Each had an entire lifetime of stories that was personal to him alone, and this was far more valuable than any finite number. Every Gweeblet that stood in the market now, including him, had a name.
His name was Paine.
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