Jack

Your relationship with Jack had been strained lately, with arguments becoming more frequent, and today was no exception. He came to pick you up after a friend's birthday party, bundled you into his car, and you drove home. The drive was quiet at first, but very soon the conversation escalated into another argument. You tried to explain your point of view, he tried to explain his, and neither of you wanted to budge. Your words grew sharper, and the air in the car seemed charged with electricity.

The birthday party was held at a country house, so the return journey had to be made through a dense forest. The road stretched like a narrow ribbon between the trees, and the dusk was gathering outside, growing increasingly gloomy. Clouds were gathering, and the wind was picking up, foreshadowing a storm.

At some point, Jack, completely losing his temper, slammed his palm on the steering wheel and raised his voice. His patience had snapped.
"Fuck, get out of the car!" he snapped, pulling up to the side of the road. "You're walking home."

Your heart sank. The forest looked ominous: darkness, a damp smell of dampness, and the premonition of impending rain. You remembered that the forecast called for a heavy downpour in five minutes. Anger, resentment, and fear warred within you.