BOULDER, CO — In a deathbed statement recorded Wednesday evening at the Boulder Community Hospice Center, longtime cardinal integer Seven confessed to what the numerical community has spent decades regarding as one of its most persistent unsolved mysteries, admitting that he had not merely, as long alleged, “eaten” the cardinal integer Nine, but had, in his own words, “absolutely fucking devoured that bitch.”
Your knife cannot cut a tomato. This is not the tomato's fault: Stuff to Buy Before Anyone Sees Your Kitchen
Seven, who had been in declining health since a stroke earlier this month, delivered the statement in the presence of his longtime hospice nurse, two family members, and a chaplain from the Church of the Positive Integers. He was, per the recording, lucid throughout. He spoke clearly. He was, per the chaplain, “at peace.”
“I did it,” Seven said, from his bed. “Everybody’s been saying it for years. I ate her. But I want the record to be right. I did not just eat her. I devoured her. I devoured that bitch.”
He paused.
Today we have been authorized to sell you the "We Demand Your Silence" tee.
“I want to be clear about that,” he added.
The joke Why was Six afraid of Seven? Because Seven ate Nine, long a fixture of American elementary school humor, has been the subject of academic study, cultural analysis, and, for the numerical integers directly involved, decades of unresolved private grief. Nine’s family, in particular, has spent forty years demanding what one relative described as “the full accounting” from a Seven who had, until Wednesday, remained publicly silent on the specifics of the encounter.
Nine’s older brother, cardinal integer Ten, was contacted for comment shortly after Seven’s confession was made public.
“So he finally said it,” Ten said, sitting in his home in suburban Boulder. “Forty years. Forty years he sat on that. And now, on his death bed, he wants to devour her. He wants to upgrade it. He wants to make sure the record shows that he didn’t just eat my sister — he feasted.“
Ten paused.
“You know what,” he said. “I’m actually glad he said it. I would rather have the truth than the softer version. Nine deserves the truth. Nine deserved to be remembered as someone who was devoured, if that’s what she was. Not just consumed politely. Not just, like, snacked upon.”
He looked away.
“She was a beautiful integer,” he said quietly. “She had a whole life ahead of her. She was going to be a Fibonacci someday, if she’d made it. She had the potential. And Seven — Seven took that from her.”
The confession, per family members who were present, was preceded by what the hospice nurse described as “several hours of visible internal struggle.” Seven, per the nurse, had asked her at approximately 4:15 p.m. Wednesday whether “there was any point in going quietly.” The nurse had said she thought there was not. Seven had nodded. He had asked for a glass of water. He had asked for the recording device. He had asked for the chaplain.
He had then, per the recording, spoken for approximately eleven minutes.
The full transcript, released Wednesday evening by the Church of the Positive Integers, includes the following passages:
I want to say first of all that I loved her. I want that on the record. I loved her and I devoured her. Both of those things can be true.
People think it was, like, a spontaneous thing. It wasn’t. I planned it. I planned it for weeks. Nine trusted me. Nine came over for dinner. Nine did not know she was the dinner. And I did what I did. And I have carried that with me for forty years.
I want the community to know that I am not, in these final hours, asking for forgiveness. I am not asking for absolution. I am asking, only, that the story be told correctly. I did not eat Nine. I devoured her. There is a difference. I want the difference on the record.
Six was afraid of me because Six had seen what I was capable of. Six did not develop that fear randomly. Six knew. Six knew all along. And Six kept quiet, and I appreciate Six for that. Six was a real friend.
The Six community, when reached for comment, released a brief statement Wednesday evening acknowledging Seven’s confession and confirming that Six had, in fact, been aware.
“Six has carried this knowledge for four decades,” the statement read. “Six has never spoken of it publicly and does not intend to speak of it now. Six’s fear, which was real, was based on direct observation. Six loved Nine. Six also, for reasons Six does not need to justify, remained close with Seven throughout Seven’s life. Six will be attending the funeral. Six asks for privacy at this time.”
The statement ended with a single additional line, added, per sources, at Six’s own insistence:
Six was not, at any point, next.
Nine’s mother, cardinal integer Ninety-Nine, was reached at her home Wednesday evening. She had been informed of the confession approximately an hour earlier by a family member. She had not yet decided how to feel.
“He finally told the truth,” she said. “He finally, at the very end, said what he did. And I want to be grateful for that. And I want to say I’m at peace. But I keep coming back to the word devoured. He didn’t have to say that word. He could have just said ate. The world already knew he ate her. But he chose to say devoured. On his death bed. In his last hours. He chose to make sure I understood that he had done it thoroughly.“
She paused for a long time.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” she said.
Seven, at press time, was, per the hospice nurse, “resting comfortably.” He was expected to pass within the next 24 to 48 hours. His family had gathered at the bedside. The chaplain had returned. The recording, per the Church of the Positive Integers, would be preserved for the numerical historical record.
Nine’s family, meanwhile, was preparing to hold a small remembrance ceremony over the weekend. Ten had, per family members, agreed to speak. Ninety-Nine had, per the same members, said she was not yet sure she could.
Six was, per Six’s spokesperson, planning to attend.
Six had already, per the spokesperson, selected the flowers.
They were, per the spokesperson, going to be beautiful.