The gun fires. I dodge the bullet like Neo and telekinetically send each jelly bean into the mouth of each 500 million Prose.ers' mouth. I put on the Cerebro helmet like Professor X and subsequently see all the mutants alive on this planet, except they aren't mutants. They're Prose.ers. And there are 7 billion of them.

As of 6:51 am, Wednesday the 28th of January, 2015, there were only 451 individuals intelligent enough to abandon typical, gossipy social media in favor of putting their time and wit to use as Prose.ers. Not all of them considered themselves writers. Some of them just adored reading others' work, or needed to vent, or really enjoyed stringing together the longest possible runon sentences imaginable.

Hard to tell, 5 this second.

A thousand the next.

Hard to know, harder to see...

My guess is two-thousand, four-hundred and seventy-three