Islands

There was a time when living in Manchester he had woken gripped with fear and a sense of loss. Who am I? He had asked. What have I lost? He had hurried into the kitchen and drunk straight from the tap, slurping water from his hand before rubbing it accross his face. The coolness of the laminate floor against his feet and the suddenness of the water soothed him. He filled the sink and contorting his body into some unnatural pose plunged his face in. He stood on tip toes, his chest pressed hard against the outer edge of the sink.

He hadn't liked the sky up there. She'd said, I don't know, you can lose yourself in a sky as grey as that, all those layers of cloud to sift through,it helps me think. But don't you miss the water he'd said, don't you forget we're on an island? What water? She said.