Langsam

Colin can feel the ground coming back to him. He breathes - inhales, sucking air so cold into his lungs that it hurts, and exhales. His chest rises and falls and his heart begins to slow, his fist throbbing in step with its beating.

He closes his eyes, leans against the side of his house, and clenches his toes in his shoes. He is not crying. There are no tears on his face. He is fine. It will all be fine. He will go to bed and wake up tomorrow and he will be fine.

There is no other option.