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You know that feeling when everything you do goes wrong? You had a business plan, clear goals, even a financial buffer for when the bank loan couldn’t be paid.

For a while, it worked. Then you met the wrong person—the kind who smiles as they slide the knife between your ribs. No matter how hard you fought, the vulture wouldn’t let go. One thing led to another, and suddenly you were sinking, deeper and deeper, into a swamp you’d mistaken for a neatly trimmed English lawn.

By the time the water reached your lips, you’d lost everything—except the old car your grandmother left you. Rusty, stubborn, loyal. The only thing left.

Time to end it.

There’s no one left to say goodbye to—except the one who ruined you. They even offered a farewell gift. How kind. You meet at the telescope atop Skull Rock, the lookout point deserted despite the view. The sunset paints the cliffs in bloody gold.

The engine growls when you floor the pedal. The car shudders, alive for the first time in years. You race toward the edge, wind screaming through the open windows.

"Time to say goodbye!" you shout over the roar.

And there they are—standing right where they promised. The architect of your misery. Smiling.

A dull sound cuts through the night.

Who would’ve thought?

The drive of the cliff of a parasite is a piece of cake when night falls.


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<sub>20.4.25
_The title is the prompt and provided by @daily.prompt_<sub>
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