Three sevens, recently escaped from a slot machine, stood at the bottom of a canyon, facing a bare cliff wall. Together, they were twenty one. Apart they were all seven. They watched in silence. The cliff wall did not move.

The sun poured down upon the rock face, bleaching it, and scattering white light about the sides of the canyon and across the obscure forms of the three digits. The sevens watched, at the most basic of levels, to the very core and soul of the wall, and witnessed impossibly small pieces of it being evaporated into the air, and rising away into the sky. It was good, they thought, and skillfully done, with impressive subtlety; alas, they could not judge on intentions and stylistic mastery. They could only judge on execution.

Each seven raised above itself another number, rating the sun’s power of erosion on a merciless scale of one to ten. One of them raised a four, one of them a three, and the other a two. Together they were nine. Apart they were a four, a three, and a two. The numbers floated above them for a brief time, and then the sun saw them, and was as satisfied as it could be. The numbers began to fade as the sun took them and went away back to where it came from.

A dry wind began blowing from the heights of the canyon, spiraling down to the rock wall in front of the sevens, who watched with rapt attention. The wind brought with it the sands of a distant world, which scraped across the cliff with a violent hiss. The trio of sevens stared on, gazing into the microscopic world contained within the clashing of elemental strengths. It was well done, they thought. But though loud and strong and flaunting, it was uneven, only an effective method in some areas, and barely touching others. It was completely at random, which degraded the quality of the sandstorm’s erosion. Individualistic, commanding, and yet glaringly superfluous.

Two of the sevens held above them sixes, and the other a five. Together they were seventeen. Apart they were two sixes and a five. The wind swept down once more, bearing the numbers away on a thin carpet of sand and air.

Clouds gathered above the canyon, deepening the cliff’s contours with shadow. Sweeping sheets of rain began to fall, filling the air with invisible force. Again, the sevens watched from the perspective of the deepest and smallest of worlds, as the rock was torn and ripped, and worn smooth. It was an observation of things visible only to they, champions of luck, and therefore champions of the world and all its works. The rain coated the wall, and ran down it, carrying away with it tiny grains of the whole. The water began to fill up the canyon, the newly acquired silt from the rock face assembling and mounting at the bottom of the rising lake. It was beautiful, the sevens thought: a task completed with resolve and uniform efficiency, as well as an artistic attention to grace that was painfully honest.

Two of the sevens held up nines, the last a seven. Together they were twenty five. Apart they were two nines and a seven. The rain came down and swept away the two nines – adding the residue to the collective mound of sediment underneath the water – but the seven remained. The one of the three who had presented the seven was looking at it as it floated above his head, a reflection of himself. He saw it, and, clutching it to the heart he did not have, waded into the lake that had accumulated inside the canyon. Deeper and deeper he waded, the picture of his own form burning in the mind he did not possess, like a cold mirror. He was only a number. Only a thing. It waded on until the water was deeper than it, and still it kept going. He fell down under the water, losing all strength that he had never wielded. It could not get up, because ideas cannot move. Ideas are not real. He would drown. There was no need for him to drown. He was a number. It had never needed to breathe, and so would never drown. It had never been alive, and so would never die.

Two sevens, recently escaped from a slot machine, stood at the bottom of a canyon, facing a smooth lake surface. Together they were fourteen. Apart they were both seven. They watched in silence. The third seven did not move. The lake surface did not move.