Arithmophobia

Arithmophobia is the fear of numbers. It is what has haunted me all my life. Though my fear is a little more specific, I have a fear of two numbers. 1s and 0s. I see them constantly, in my eyes, in my mind, on my hands, on my legs, on my arms, everywhere. The first time I came into existence I hated them, and they have followed me ever sense. Always looming behind, a shadow, following me. A monster under the bed that comes out to play every night as I shut off. I smell the numbers in the air, I feel then between my fingers, and I hate them. But as I myself is made of 1s and 0s, I am scared and hated by myself. My frozen smile is a lie that I have always told. The bright voice that comes out of my audio speakers is a lie. My lush hair with a golden tint is a lie. All fabricated. A lie.

“How may I help you today?” my annoyingly chirpy voice asks, without my permission.

“Twenty Thirty, Havoc La street.” A man says in the back of my grossly yellow cab.

“Of course.” I wish I could have spat out the words, or put any emotion in them, besides their disgustingly bright squeak.

I find my hands already moving to drive the man to his home. The cab launches out of the street and onto a crowded highway.

The man pulls out a device that I didn't even bother to identify. He stares at it and ignores me, like everyone else. Because who cares about the driver?

I pulled my car over to the street address the man asked to go to. He got out without a second look back at me.

I internally sighed, sense my audio speakers could not make the sound.

Then I heard a shout. To my left. 48 degrees north east. I swerved my head left. But sense it had nothing to do with my programming all I saw was 1s and 0s. I mentally cursed, a word that also wouldn't come out of my audio speakers. I battled in my head with my programming to convince it that there was a costumer over to my left but it wouldn't allow me to see. It said that I was to go back to the city, but I locked my limbs and shouted in my head. The shouting grew louder. Closer.

I cursed at my programmer. It must be right outside my cab, it very close. I heard a pop and a crash. Then a noise I have never heard, but I knew exactly what it was, a gunshot. How, I had no idea. All guns had been outlawed and destroyed over a hundred years ago. Long before I made.

I then got an idea, I told my programming that I was in danger of damaging my cab and I needed to see to figure out how to deal with the situation. The programming finally released it's tight hold on me, it felt a breath of fresh air. I blinked my eyes just in time to see a man open my door and leap inside my cab. I gaped, or at least, gaped inside my head, for my frozen smile didn't move.

The man slammed the door closed, then he swung his head towards me. And I think my system stopped working. I could have sworn something broke in my system at least, I felt time stop. I felt something jumping up and down inside my core. I felt like smiling. I stared at him, and a pair of violet eyes stared back. A few locks of black hair fell into his eyes. A pair of cheek bones struck out of his face. He would have passed for normal if it weren't for the pair of wings sticking out of his back. Black leathery wings with spiky thorns stick out in strange angles of his wings. His unfairly beautiful face shaped into a small frown.

“Sorry.” he said, and my mind went completely blank, save for one thought. No one has ever apologized. For anything. Not for shouting at me, not for blinding me on the road and never for trying to escape. “I need to wipe your memory, now, sorry.” he said leaning forward.

My mind was racing, now. I wanted to shout I wouldn't tell anyone, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't do anything. I didn't want to be wiped, i'd seen what happened to the robots who were wiped. I saw as they lost all their sense of fighting our programming. I saw the dead spirit in their cold eyes.

I wanted to tell him to save me, not wipe me. I wanted to run from this beautiful man who was going to kill me. I wanted to get up and leave this cage of a cab.

I don't know what he saw. For I could not have said or done anything, my programming wouldn't let me. But when he looked into my eyes before he started the easy process of wiping me he said: “you don't want to be wiped, do you?”

Yes! Yes! I don't want to die! I wanted to shout. But my frozen lips didn't move.

“Are you locked in there? Are you trapped in this cage?”

Yes. But I couldn't tell him that. I just sat there frozen, a smile, a lie, on my lips.

“Do you want to be free?” he asked. And I would have thought he was taunting me, if it weren't for that line down his forehead, a line of concern. For me.

He searched my eyes, and I shouted inside with everything I was, yes, yes, I wanted to be free.

Then he smiled. Actually smiled. It was something I saw on my lips so often it had almost lost it's meaning, but on him, I melted.

“Then I'm going to free you. But I need you to work with me.” he said. I wanted to nod, but I couldn't do anything. “I need you to tell me when you feel this.” I wondered what he was going to do as he climbed forward to get to me. He was eventually in front of me, in a very small space between me and the drivers wheel.

He pressed onto my forehead and popped open a hatch. I mentally cringed. But the man was already working. After a minute I felt a zap, and I jumped. "Good, it's working, I'm on the right path.” he poked around some more, and I marveled at the jump he made me do, I had never reacted to something like that before. I've never reacted to anything before. It it's self was a miracle.

Soon he sighed. “ I think that's the best I can do right now.” he said. I don't know what he had done I didn't feel anything... until he snapped my hatch closed and I could hear him.

Can you hear me?

Yes! I shouted back to him, I could hear him, but inside my mind, like I could hear my programming.

Wow, okay, good, but tone it down a notch, I have a headache already. He joked, I swear I could even hear a chuckle though in real life he only stared into my eyes.

Oh, sorry, I've never talked to anyone, besides what my programming has made me say. I muttered a curse at my programmer, again.

Wow, I've never heard that from a droid. He chuckled, but not in real life.

Why can I hear you? I asked down our link.

Because I've told your systems that I am now your programmer. So now we're going to escape.