Lost the Will to Live

The lamppost was tilted at a sharp angle.  Glass and plastic shards littered the asphalt.  Yellow police tape surrounded the wreckage.

“Found it like this, sir,” said Chapman.  “No sign of the occupant except for that.”  He pointed to the spreading red puddle. 

The detective knelt and dipped a finger in the lukewarm liquid.  “This isn’t blood, rook.”

“It isn’t?”

“Synthetic.  Tacky to the touch.  Hasn’t been changed in a long time.”  He stood and stared at the car.  “Rust spots.  Duct tape.  This car has been badly cared for.”

“No homicide, then?”

“No.”  The detective shook his head.  “Autocide.”