>> Stay in the bed. Pull your arm out from underneath you. Feel along the side of the mattress for a loose spring and a point of fraying fabric. <<

If you stayed in bed any longer you would be making the bed the centre of your day. The light is under the blinds. The blinds are broken in the sense they sometimes fall down after you have pulled them up, and they work in the sense that, after they fall down, the light only gets in through the sides and the bottom. It’s a fair exchange. 

The cap is on the dresser in front of you and the woolly hat is probably there as well. The kettle still works and if it breaks there is a spare fuse. The bleach is half-empty and the funnel is beside it. You are sure of this. You are not sure of it. It is a memory and then something else. 

>> Swing one leg over another leg and roll yourself out of bed, letting your arms and torso stay loose. You are a marionette and you have no strings left to cut. Find a way into your kitchen. <<

The water is full of something that does not boil away and that flavours the tea. When you look into the mug you see dark shapes float through to the surface and then back into the depth. When you drink through an opaque liquid you never find the centre; rather, you are always consistently engaging a surface until it disappears. There is €6.78 in your jacket pocket, of which 23 cents is the colour of copper. You have read somewhere that it isn’t made of copper anymore. 

You cannot really complain about your life because you are already warm. You had warmed up before you finished your tea. The room is not messy, and it is not damp in the way that your old apartment got damp. It is probably not your old apartment anymore: other tenants have surely come and gone since you left. This room is yours now. This is true because if you decide to leave it forever, after your walk into the village, no one else will be able to prove that they own it. You had drawn a lot of comfort from this thought the last two nights. You turn the idea around in your mind now and it does not feel very comforting. Last night you dreamt of the discoloured bath. 

>> Find the boots more quickly than you anticipated and slip them on. Tie them tight enough to feel the pinch at your ankles.  Place the third-to-last pencil lead in the front door hinge. Walk out the door and take an inventory of the look and feel of the room. <<

It is cold outside, and you sink your chin and mouth into your coat. You feel the rub of the fleece and you taste the metal tang of the zip. You do not quite have to squint to see the bogland beside the road, but it is not shining in the daylight either. There is no wind. The cold air burns the outside of your ears and the exposed parts of your scalp. The hat is in your coat pocket. 

You are not going into town for anything in particular, but you are not certain that you are avoiding conversation either. Maybe you are hoping to hear a remark you can laugh at but not reply to. Or perhaps it is the need for eye contact and a nodded head. Maybe you want some more milk. You are still walking, and the day is still cold. It is hard to tell when you are getting close to town. The fields and hills lie at odd angles and make distances uncertain.  

>> Reach the bottom of the hill. Do not turn around to look behind you. Glance over your left shoulder at the field as you turn right onto the main road. Follow this road for 4 – 5km to get into town. There are 110 minutes of daylight left <<

There is a barely contained firefight travelling towards you over a stony bridge, and it is coated in peeling white paint. The bridge is in the distance. There is a car driving across it. You cannot see anything yet, but you hear the loose chippings crack and snap off of the tires and onto the underside of the car. The car must be travelling at least at 40 Kph, and so it would be hard for the driver to get a good look at your face. In a courtroom it could easily be considered unreliable testimony. But no. You are walking and listening.

>> Pass the car and cross the bridge and wait outside of the shop at the bridge’s end for 20-25 seconds. In the reflections of the glass you do not see anyone you recognise. Fix your hat down over the lobes of your ears and grasp the handle. Recite the shopping list to yourself twice under your breath. Remember corn flakes. <<

 After a few seconds it is possible to imagine that you have been looking at the dried food shelf forever. There is nothing here that you want. Only the top of your head is visible through the front window. You are in the blind spot of whomever enters the side door that you came through. There was no one following you in. If no one came through the door, trying to look nonchalant, you would clock their non-existent searching expression before they saw your own observant one. You deserve a moment to bask in this knowledge.

You have picked up a can of tomatoes and you are pretending to look at the salt content. You have one-and-a-half bottles of bleach filled in the cupboard under the sink, and a full jerry can of petrol in the living room cupboard. In a can of tomatoes there is [1% of 126 = 1.26 g x 2 (2x servings per can) = 2.52 g NaCl ]. This is an acceptable amount of salt, and anyone looking at this can for as long as you have been would know that by now, so you will have to set it down soon. The shopkeeper is turned away from you, looking at the cigarettes. There are no reflective surfaces for him to glance at. You will now come to a decision about whether or not you have abandoned your home. 

>> You have forgotten the corn flakes. <<

You pick up the box. They were right beside the Tomatoes. You should have seen that. You must be alert. Not on edge, but alert. You have learnt that there is a difference. 

>> Bring the basket to the counter. Smile at the cigarette cabinet over the shopkeeper’s shoulder. Do not make eye contact but do not appear rushed. You are not rushed. There is no one rushing you.<<

The shopkeeper has asked you something. You make a noise that is approaching a word but is not quite there. You have not committed to anything. The till makes a shrill beep. Your hand grips your thigh tighter each time it sounds. He has said something else. He could have been saying anything. He looks happy but there is a curious edge to his eyes. 

>> Make the reply boring, make it unmemorable. <<

You tell him that sure he knows himself. He is happy with this. You are listening now and hear when he tells you that Donegal is playing in a league fixture. You did not know Gaelic football was played at this time of year. You are happy to learn this now, in this particular forum. 

>> Pay in almost exact cash. Take 55 cents’ change from your ten- and five-Euro notes. Nod at the shopkeeper. He has been too friendly. You will not be here again. Walk out holding your bag for life. <<

You got this bag in a Tesco’s near Strabane five years ago. Other than your jacket, it is the possession you have had the longest. You do not feel attached to it, but you would be sad if you lost it. You will keep it if you decide not to go back to your home. If your home disappears in an incident that cannot be attributed to any author, you will try and remember to take the bag back with you. 

It is getting dark. You can see the sunlight stretch behind the overcast winter sky. You are making good time for whatever it is you are going to do. Only now, as the clouds begin to thin and the evening air opens up, do you realise how lightheaded you are. You are looking forward to a bowl of corn flakes, even if you do not have milk. As you think this, you are turning to walk up the hill to your house. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a car and a flash of blue and what might be yellow.

>> Walk/run in a walking stance to behind the post at the end of the driveway. Lean out to spot the car coming down a slope perpendicular to your lane. Count the moments between breaths. Feel the weight of the bag in your right hand.<<

It is a hatchback with a local insurance company decal in a garish green-yellow. Their logo is in a blue font. It is an offence to the eyes. It is not interested in you.

>> Recognise that you have been crouching behind the fence post. Straighten up and look down the mud path that leads to your home. When you arrive at the house, check that there is no sign that any of the boxes or hatches around the house have been disturbed. Perform two laps of the perimeter. Open your door slowly, listening for the pencil lead to snap.<<

You have picked up the broken lead and placed your shopping on the counter. You cannot fully remember what you bought. It does not strike you as urgent to check this, nor is it a priority to turn on any more lights. The main light has no bulb, but the lamps in the corner may still work. The stack of faded bulb-boxes sits on the table next to the bathroom, where the light is still on from last night. You do not like to turn it off. 

The back of your hand is purple and red from the cold, and your palm is smudged with the lead. When you glance over at the door hinge, you see the cloud of pencil smearings, a record of many tiny explosions from your occasional trips out. It did not occur to you to stock up on more pencil leads.

>>Lose track of the tea you have drunk and the inventories you have taken. Understand that you have been standing next to this counter for a while, without moving.

Start to cry. Begin quietly and then ratchet up. Feel the sobs blow out of your nose and shake your shoulders. Notice how your face becomes chilly on the trails left by the tears.

Get a hold of yourself. Use your last tissue until it's coming apart in your hand. Rest your other hand on the counter and stand a while. Let your eyes become unfocused, and let the dark floor tiles pass in front of them.<<

Lengthening shadows form parliaments on your floor. The tiles are now radiating the cold. Your phone pulses awake every 90 seconds. You can time your own shocks to it, feeling the mini jolt of adrenaline when you see the screen light up. With it, you can keep track of the day as it passes. 

The screen lights up - a blocked number. You find that after all this, you are relieved.

>> Hold the right language in your mind. Do not force it. Feel as if your legs are crumbling. Look around the room, and pick up the phone.<<

You alright Davie? The boys are heading down to watch the St Malachi’s game, but I was after telling them you wouldn’t be around this evening.

>> Davie – he has his suspicions. Confirm them. <<

Awk that’s a wild shame. Hope the block of work you’ve got yourself down the centre isn’t too much. No one else in the office?

>> It is, indeed, a shame. Allow the words to come naturally. Do not overthink. Tell him that you’re available for the Buncrana match, if he’s up for it. <<

Aw I would be and all. Sure, my wee cousin can give you the lift. You’ve met before; him he’s the one with the Renault?

>> It’ll be black, not a Renault, more likely a Transit. Give your assent.<< 

Alright there son, just after midday, down the end of your road? Just make sure the place ain’t a tip before you leave – would hate the missus to come back to a mess! 

The line goes dead.

>> Understand his travel plans. Make sure you understand them. Do not doubt your hearing.

 You need to assess your petrol supplies. Ensure that you are not quite running when you burst out of the front door. See that the cloud is now parted. 

Around the back of the house, tap the false board three times. Kick it in and listen to the shattered wood echo in the cavity beneath the house. <<

You are rushing slightly. There is no being too early for this, but you can certainly be late. There are two and a half jerrycans of petrol. They slosh uneasily in your arms. You will need two changes of clothes. When you place the cans down on the floor, you feel no relief. You are surprised at how quickly you move into your room. Your arms are wild things next to you. They can pick up a can, but they would not be able to use a pencil or effectively work a phone. 

>> Remember to check the bath. Turn towards the wood-chip door.<<

You know that the containers are empty and that the bath is drained. You watched it drain last night. You took a video of it to look over later. You then spent twenty-five minutes having an internal argument over whether or not to delete it. You have not checked if the video file is still on your phone today. You wonder if this is on purpose. 

The bath is empty and the bottom of the tub is not as discoloured as you remembered it being. You had gotten rid of all but one container and you do not have the emotional strength or the time to deal with the final one. It is clear. If the clean-up doesn’t go to plan, maybe whoever finds the house will just think that you bought toilet cleaner in bulk. 

There is never a moment to rush, but now is the time to work quickly.

>> Go into your room and marvel at the un-madeness of everything. Pick up your sports bag and feel that the strap is still somewhat damp.<<

A lot of crap has accumulated in this room. Some of it is in drawers and the wardrobe, some is on the floor and the bed. It had felt lumpy last night, sure enough. You take the warmest and driest clothes you can find and leave the rest. You see the Tesco bag in the doorway and you take that too. 

>>Put on your warmest hat. Dump the bag outside. Go back in and get started.<<

The petrol stinks but your nose is so cold that everything smells sort of clean. You realise that pouring petrol on a tiled floor and MDF worktops is much messier than in cartoons you watched as a kid. The fluid runs off the smooth surfaces and goes to the places you did not intend. You spend some time pouring and most of the time trying not to get covered in petrol. 

>> You must change in any case. You have been pouring for fifteen minutes. Do the Bedroom and leave.<<

There is an unexpected satisfaction in covering the bed with petrol, although you feel it is a waste not to be able to take the duvet with you. You dump the final jerry and enjoy its hollow, echoey thud on the floor. You jump over pools of petrol as you walk out. It is practically night outside.

>>Pick up your sports bag. Stop and double check the batteries are in the torch. Navigate beside the trail of petrol you left on the way in. Hold the lighter in your hand and contemplate matters while thinking about where to change clothes later.<<

The lighter threatens to spit for a moment, but it lights as you drop it to the ground. The trail does not take up as swiftly or dramatically as you had hoped, but it does spread up the steps. The disgusting smoke arrives soon after, and you run past the gravel towards the mound behind the house. Your visibility increases as your home engages more and more productively with your afternoon’s work. 

The hilltop is far enough away for your eyes to no longer water and sting, and you are certain that you feel warmth at your back. You turn around.

>> Sit down and watch the conflagration. It smells of charcoal and wood and warm stone. The Petrol stench is barely noticeable. Watch the embers splinter and crack into the night air. Remove your hat in the face of the heat.<<

The sky is tinted orange and red and brown by the flames. The stars turn murky and disappear beneath the rising smoke. 

If there are any observers, they are cows and foxes and crows; impassive faces lit up by your burning home. There is a fire to watch, so they will barely register as you walk away.