In grandiose moments high on fresh air and freedom on the hill I study my personal geology. My body is a continent, I grind my teeth in my sleep like tectonic plates. And when I blink the sun flickers. My breath pushes the clouds across the sky and the waves roll in to the shores in time with my beating heart. The island's headlands rise above the

Stage fourth. After ten days, he's out of bed, leaning on his arm. He claims kinship with his feet – he knows, intellectually, that they belong to him – and he accepts that he has returned to his true size. Colour is unreliable; the fires burns purple in the heath, and no one will explain why this is so.

If I stayed between those walls for two more minutes, I would die. The pressure in my chest would grow so intense it would eventually cut off my breathing completely. And my final moments would be spent smoking menthol Lucky Strike cigarettes, with the soundtrack of Gilmore Girls playing in the background from my sister’s bedroom.

I decided to take