Six

“What number are you today, Mari?”

She shrugged at her workmate, hoping he’d for once just stop talking and go back to his desk. He asked her the same question every day, but she never told him the truth. She sighed internally as Gary carried on talking.

“I’ve gone up! When I went to bed last night, I was one billion one hundred thirteen million two hundred forty-five thousand six hundred seventy-four, and today I’m one billion one hundred thirteen million two hundred forty-five thousand six hundred seventy-three. I feel amazing. The big guy sees my worth and has moved me up. Here, let me show you”. He started to pull up his shirt to show her the numbers wrapping around his stomach.

It had been 4 years since God had decided they’d had enough of their greatest creation stuffing things up. They’d made the announcement of their presence by taking over all the TV stations, radio stations and internet on the planet. First, they’d performed some irrefutable miracles so the human race would believe who they were, then they’d announced the ranking system. Every human was given a number as to how important they were for the future of mankind. This number appeared across the abdomen of every human being at the same time, some were low numbers, and it was just on their front, but those with the high numbers in the millions or billions had numbers wrapping all the way around their backs.

Some of the population had gone crazy when the new tattoo that they didn’t consent to appeared. Every removal method had been tried; self-mutilation, burns using acid, fire and electricity, surgical excision, and many, many other. It didn’t work though, the numbers just reappeared as close to the original spot as they could. The only thing that worked was to leave them alone and colour the surrounding skin. The tattoo shops now had waiting lists stretching into the months for this tattoo, and the price of home tattoo guns had skyrocketed.

“That’s great Gary, I think I actually went down a few points as compared to yesterday, but not too much movement.” Mari smiled at him, the same smile she gave him every day when he asked that question, the one that never reached her eyes due to how fake it was.

“Well, never mind sweetheart. With me, the one billion man in the office, we’re in a good place.” Gary smiled widely, patting his stomach happily, as he was totally convinced of his worth to the human race.

Mari’s smile got even tighter, as she hated being called sweetheart nearly as much as she hated talking about the numbers. “If you don’t mind, I better get this finished.” She turned back to her computer screen and started entering the day’s numbers. She couldn’t believe this was her job, she had suggested automating the data entry, but the boss had done the maths, and it was cheaper to pay her than to pay the license each year for the software they’d need. So she sat day in and day out, entering numbers that really didn’t matter into a spreadsheet.

As she worked, she occasionally rubbed her stomach where her number was. Some days she felt it was almost glowing through her shirt and that everyone would be able to see it. The single-digit of 6 was all that adorned her abdomen, she’d waited for the other numbers to appear, expecting to be somewhere in the billions, but they never did.

Each day as she typed, she thought about all she’d achieved so far in her life and racked her brain trying to work out why she was so important for mankind, but every day she drew a blank. She went to work, she did her job averagely, she exercised half-heartedly, she met her friends for dinner on the weekend. She didn’t know how a minimum wage forty-five year old, with no family, no education and no job prospects could be so important?

She finished the page and turned over to the next, a small frown on her face as she felt her nose start to run. As she was reaching for a tissue, the headache hit her like a thunderclap. Her speech was already garbled when she tried to call for help.

“Gary, ambulance.” Was all she could get out. As she slipped into unconscious, the last thing she saw was the pointless spreadsheet open on her computer, almost mocking her.

“She’s number six though,” the nurse spoke to the doctor standing reviewing Mari’s medical chart.

“I know, I don’t understand it either. I’ve never heard of her. But the CT and brain stem testing are unequivocal. She’s had a massive subarachnoid hemorrhage, and she’s brain dead. I’m going to call the transplant coordinator and get things moving.” The doctor gave the chart one last glance, two sets of brainstorm testing had been completed in the last twenty-four hours, both of which had the same results.

“Have you spoken to the next of kin?” The nurse hadn’t looked after Mari before, so they didn’t know how alone Mari had been in life.

“There is no next of kin. She had no family, no friends have visited her. She had no one.” The doctor's voice was sad, as she hated seeing how alone some people were.

They both stood silently looking at the ventilated woman, wondering again how she was number six.

Clare grabbed the phone on the first ring, the excitement of seeing the hospital number had left her more breathless than usual, so she took a big suck in of the oxygen she was attached to twenty-four hours a day before she could answer.

“Hello?” The single word had her gasping for breath.

“Hi Clare, I have some good news for you.”

Clare closed her eyes and let the voice she knew so well wash over her. She couldn’t remember exactly what they said, all she could remember when she was interviewed later in life about that fateful phone call was being told she had a match. The new heart and lungs she so desperately needed were hers.

Ten years after receiving that phone call, Clare stood on the stage and looked out at the crowd in front of her, all waiting for her to start her speech. She smiled as she saw her husband holding one finger up in the air for her and reflexively rubbed her stomach over the number one tattooed on her skin.

“Thank you so much for the great honour of this Nobel prize. I would not be standing here today without an extraordinary gift from a woman who never knew me in life but gave me the ultimate gift to carry on with my work. I will forever remember her with every beat of her heart and every breath that I take with her lungs. Without her, I would have not lived long enough to finish this research which will change mankind for the better.” Clare fiddled with the tiny silver marigold flower that she wore on her bracelet, in memory of the woman who would be with her forever, Marigold Johnson, known as Mari to her friends, had saved Clare’s life.