9

Arson

This time it’ll be bigger. Much bigger. And I’ll do it in daylight, when there’s more people around to see it. It won’t be as bright, I know, but there’ll be smoke. Lots of smoke.

Arson. A nasty word for a nasty business. It means burning stuff down. On purpose. Not something you’re supposed to do, I know. But I need to get off this island – before I die of hunger, boredom or beans.

The fishing hut wasn’t big enough. The flames weren’t high enough. It didn’t throw up enough smoke. Maybe you couldn’t see it from the mainland. Maybe nobody was awake in the middle of the night. Maybe even the coastguard fell asleep.

So this time I’m going to put on a real show. One that the fisherman can’t fail to spot. Or the coastguard. Or anyone who’s looking out for me (if anyone’s bothered any more).

Yes, this time I’ll put on a show you could spot from outer space, if you’re looking hard enough. This time I’m going to burn down a house.

Sorry, owners – but it’s a holiday house. It’s not as if you live in it. So yeah, I’m sorry I’ve got to burn it down. But I’ve only one life to live, and I want to get on with it.

I know I’ve got problems right now, back home. But being there is better than being stuck out here on an empty island for the rest of my days. Which won’t be many, at this rate.

So I’ve got to get going. Before the food runs out. Before Mum and Dad give up on me. Before everyone forgets I ever lived.

First I turn on the midday news – and it’s all about me again.

‘Ben was the best.’ It’s Winkle, the head. I don’t know whether I’m pleased, because he sounds as if he actually really rather likes me. Or furious, because he’s given up on me already. What do you mean ‘was’, you stupid old fart? I’m over here. Waving, not drowning.

‘Everyone was fond of him,’ he carries on. ‘Ben was a quiet, thoughtful sort of boy with a great future ahead of him. He might not have been the brightest boy in class, but he was always kind to the younger ones…’

What? I’m dead and you’re telling people I’m a thicko! I always thought you were one of the good guys, but I’ve gone right off you now, mate.

I fling the radio into a corner and go and find the matches. I’ll show you, Willie Winkle. I’ll show everyone.

It’s not raining, for once, so now’s the time to do it. I stuff a load of paper into the cushions on the sofa. I pour on the remaining oil from the lamp. I drag all the bedding in and pile that on top. I pull the table and chairs over and lean them against it. Hey, it’s going to be quite some bonfire! Then I light a newspaper, toss it at the sofa, and run.

There’s a blinding flash of light. I fall.

I stagger to my feet. The room’s filling with smoke.

I run towards the door. Where’s the door? I trip over something and fall to the floor again.

The door – it’s over there. I get back up. But I can’t see! I can’t breathe!

It’s better on the floor. There’s still some air down there. So I drop down again, and somehow feel my way across the room. But it’s hot. It’s so hot!

When I reach the doorway, I get to my feet, slam the thing shut behind me, and run.

My clothes are on fire! I’m burning!