Hannah Matthews is in the final year of her degree in English with Creative Writing.

She watches me as I wash

my car. I polish it, thinking of ways

that I could kill her. White liquid

dribbles off the scarlet bonnet and I

mop it up, staring back.


She opens her garage and climbs into

her tiny sports car. I climb into mine

and we crash – flames licking our

dashboards. Then I blink because I’m

day-dreaming again.


I step on a slug and feel better.