13

Anthony drove slowly down deserted Whitemoor Road, beside the reservoir, looking for the right place.

Finally, he saw it.

A large oak tree, set a little way back from the road, alone, overlooking the water.

Anthony reversed his car up the road until he came to a sharp bend. He reached over to the back seat and pulled a pile of cushions onto his lap. He quickly arranged them around himself, over his chest, knees and arms, to protect himself.

Checking again that the road was clear, Anthony revved the engine, and braced himself as the car shot forwards, towards the tree.

With an almighty bang, the car slammed into the tree, throwing Anthony against the steering column.

He sat, stunned, for a moment, before he wrenched his door open and stumbled from the car. The engine was steaming, the bonnet crumpled and bent; one of the tyres had been pulled off when the car hit a large root protruding from the earth.

Anthony quickly pulled the cushions from the car, glad he'd thought to bring them. His chest ached from the impact with the steering wheel.

Opening the boot, Anthony pulled a canister of petrol out, and quickly sloshed it over the front end of the car. Pulling a lighter from his pocket and flicking it open, Anthony stood and watched the car burn for a moment, before he threw the cushions onto the flames, made sure they disintegrated completely, and began walking back up the road towards a bus stop he'd noticed on the way down.

Turning back at the final bend in the road, Anthony could see a column of smoke rising gently into the air, and allowed himself a small smile.

Everything was going according to the plan.