Self immolation is the term for the act I’m about to carry out. I walk to the park, the same route I do everyday, this time though I am looking at all their faces, noticing their expressions, seeing the dead eyes seeing nothing. I’m not noticd.
The park green is empty. People congregate at the café and cling to the edges of the park where the benches are.
I stride confidently to the middle and sit down crossed legged. Unscrewing the top of the canister seems harder that I thought it would be, but I am deliberate and mindful of my actions.
I lift the heavy canister above my head and smell the petrol as the liquid runs down my face and chest. I am not aware of anyone else now.
I slip my hand into my breast pocket and pull out the lighter.