The House of Math
The house of math is lined with blackboards; from outside I can hear the tipetty-tap-tap of chalk on hard, cold surfaces, occasionally a protracted slide, the product of a multiplication problem underlined in one smooth stroke.
I can almost see the white dust hanging in the air, the stained fingertips, the length of chalk growing smaller and smaller till fingers scratch the surface of the board.
Escape is easy, if you know how, calculate the position where the window should be, the co-ordinates of how high up one is in the building, the probability of surviving the jump to the ground below.
Perhaps you could calculate the odds of being rescued, 6:1, 13:1, 23:1, 100:1, tippety tap tippetty tap.
If those calculations are unworkable, perhaps you could appraise the force required to weaken the structure? create a fissure, compute the stress and strain, what force is needed to fracture the walls that bind you?
Tipetty-tap-tap… tipetty-tap-tap
What is your margin of error?
What is your escape velocity?
How long is infinity?
Tipetty-tap-tap… tipetty-tap-tap-tap.
The house of math is my house; at this precise moment in time I have a man trapped inside there. This is what I enjoy, ‘how I get my kicks’, especially when that man has Dyscalculia.
Don’t need the tipetty-tap-tap to calculate that the House of Math would be hellish!
Poor man.
At its worst, it still beats The House of Mirth. I liked the rhythm in here, especially between the sounds of syllables in the shortest paragraphs.
Took me a while to find my way here. I recommend updating your Google profile ( http://www.blogger.com/profile/05954915030178318057 ) with this URL as one of your blogs so people can track you easier when you comment on #fridayflash.
Well, if that were me trapped in that house, I’d be a goner. Yikes.
Well done.
That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard. I’ve always hated math and it likes me even less.