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before she hits the jagged edge of the frame. She grabs at the shards and clenches her fists, her eyes are closed and we see her lips tremble, her eyes looking up beneath their lids. We see her knuckles blanch and blood leaking out between her fingers as if she were crushing something soft and red. Then she unclenches her fists, shakes her arms and fragments of glass fall to the ground. Blood streams past her elbows as she raises her hands and clasps them together. ‘Take it away,’ we read the words on her lips, ‘take it away, won’t you?’ and she moans, as if the thing to be taken is unbearably heavy. Again and again she raises her hands beseechingly, and for a terrible moment we think she might actually be talking to us.
    Imagine this: on this particular night and all the others like it, she doesn’t fight her duvet, doesn’t get up, doesn’t run to the window, doesn’t smash the glass, she just lies there, sleepless in the posture of someone sleeping – and now we start to get a sense of what she’s going through.

Personal Matter
     
    ‘FRAU HOLL,’ SAYS Sophie, passing the back of her hand over her face, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me what you mean by
personal matter
.’
    Mia jumps to her feet and paces around the room as if searching for windows, of which there are none.
    ‘I want to be left alone,’ she says finally.
    ‘Return to your seat, Frau Holl.’
    ‘I’m not a schoolgirl any more. Certain things require time, and that’s what I’m asking for – time to myself.’
    ‘Frau Holl,’ says Sophie sharply, ‘you’ve committed a series of civil infractions, and now you’re dangerously close to a criminal trial. Please sit down.’
    Mia complies and the severity leaves the judge’s features as quickly as it came. Briefly, so briefly it might be a trick of the memory, we caught a glimpse of an angry face.
    ‘I’d like you to think about this carefully,’ says Sophie. ‘What would happen if you fell ill?’
    ‘I’d see a doctor.’
    ‘Who would pay for the doctor?’
    ‘I … I can afford to pay.’
    ‘And if you didn’t have the means? Would society let you die?’
    Mia is silent.
    ‘Good sense dictates that society should look after your health in times of need,’ says Sophie. ‘By the same token, the onus is on you to ensure such circumstances don’t arise. Do you see?’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind being ill,’ says Mia stubbornly.
    ‘Frau Holl,’ exclaims Sophie, ‘do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Have you ever felt physical pain so intense you feared for your mental health? Do you know how dreadfully people suffered in the past? They watched themselves die by degrees and they called it
living
. Every step of the journey was a risk, a step towards perdition; a twinge in the chest, a tingle in the arm, and the end was in sight. People lived in constant fear of foundering on themselves; fear was
life
for these people. For humans to have risen above this condition is a blessing, don’t you think?’
    Mia is silent.
    ‘I see you agree with me, Frau Holl. Avoiding all forms of illness is in your interest, and your personal interests coincide with those of the Method on this point. Oneness of purpose is the foundation of our system: there can be no room for personal matters when the general good and individual interests are connected in this way.’
    ‘I know,’ says Mia softly.
    ‘You’re not setting out to undermine the principles of the Method, then?’
    ‘I’m a scientist, Your Honour. People in my profession know better than anyone that biological organisms seek to achieve well-being and avoid pain. Political systems are legitimate only if they serve these goals.’ Mia wipes her palms on her trousers. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult, Your Honour. I’m not myself any more, I’m probably talking nonsense, but I’ve always supported the Method.’
    The conciliatory expression returns to Sophie’s face. ‘Exactly as I thought. Your