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 ^{(it's beta!)}

'In that summer I did nothing' read the text as it bobbed, half burnt, on the updraft of the fire below. The ripped bit of paper floated almost gracefully making a mockery of the twisted, flaming wreckage bellow. A felled tree had been the course of the accident, hidden by the high hedges and winding corners of the country road, it was hardly even damaged by the car as it ploughed into it at 40mph making a mockery of metal and glass. The head on the left side of the road was now alight, burning more furiously than the crashed car itself, lighting up the night sky, creating a beacon for the emergency vehicles already on their way, sirens making a far off scream in the distance.

The local newspapers carried a sad photo of the burnt-out tree accident sight, some with a smaller picture next to it showing the tear stained faces of family and friends laying flowers at the scene. The driver and three passengers had been killed, three instantly and one sometime after, trapped in the twisted metal box and burnt as the fire engulfed the car. The group of teenagers had been travelling to London, making their way up to the motorway thought the back lanes, the driver, Eli, had told them it was for a break, giving his friends promises of massive parties and late nigh clubbing in London's top bars. He would never admit it, but the driving reason was to find a publisher for a the book he had written in secret, the opening word of this had been floating above the car after the accident, before landing in the fire and disintegrated by the intense heat.