The small boat made its way out towards the centre of the lake, which was as flat, smooth and the same hue as Welsh slate. At the stern an elderly man, his feet placed in two buckets of set concrete, was flanked by two younger men.
‘You have any final words?’
‘They’ll be no guns on the far side.’
‘You’re evil men, but I’m the devil.’
There was barely a splash as he hit the water. He didn’t fight to stay on the surface and as he sank he stared up, his gaze locked on the two men.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.