Bluff Point [She Likes It Writing Contest]

Should I kill her?

Take her to the edge of the cliff and, poof. Her body would disappear, swept out by the Pacific waves and carried down below to Davy Jones’s locker. I can see her face now—wet, cold, dead and grey.

Bluff Point. God, I love this place. It’s where I took her on our first trip as boyfriend and girlfriend. First official trip as a couple. We would come out here and watch the ocean and sun play for hours and hours. Now those days are just dull and fading brushstrokes on the dirty tapestry we call spousal bliss.

I grasp her harder, pull her in closer. The wind stops for a second and I can smell her scent. I used to love that scent. The wind picks up and it’s gone. The sun dips, casting vivid red and yellow hues. Mostly reds.

“This really was a great idea,” Jane says.

“Yeah. I’m glad we took the day off to come out here.”

Now would be a good time to take her to the edge. No one in sight for miles. The wind howls and beats against us. No one would hear her scream. The cool air stings my ears. No one would suspect me, at least not for the time I’d need to get my shit together and leave the country. The wind is like a chorus of hungry dogs circling lame prey.

Jane rests her head on my shoulder. I kiss the top of her head.

Stupid bitch. I saw you with him. I’ve been following you for weeks. My best friend to boot. How cliché.

“Ouch. Don’t squeeze so hard,” Jane says.

“Sorry. Just lost in thought.”

The blanket is weighed down by our bodies and a big basket of goodies. Jane grabs an apple from it and motions it towards me. I shake my head. She bites into the crisp red skin. Jesus, her smacking is pissing me off.

I should just do it. But what kind of deplorable man thinks such things. How could I kill my dear wife?

Well, with a shove.

The wind picks up. The sun dips lower and lower. She’s shivering.

“Want me to grab your jacket?”

“Yup. It’s on the backseat.”

I know where the hell it is. I get up and walk to the car. I look back at her huddled there on the blanket crunching on her Red Delicious. I restrain myself from running back at her full speed and tackling her. I’d wring the life out of her with my own two hands.

I grab the jacket from the backseat and I think of the crowbar in the trunk. I could lodge it in her skull, over and over. But that would be too messy. A simple shove is all it should take.

“Here you go.” I hand the jacket to Jane.

I leave her to put it on and I walk over to the edge of the cliff. The wind is blasting, singing it's haunting song. I look over the edge. The drop is immense. The ocean foam sprays on the sharp rocks below. Yup, just one good shove is all it would take. Her body would almost disappear before I could see it split on those rocks. A ragdoll flailing and then, gone. Just like that.

I can’t believe you and Jerry. Sneaking off together, night after night. My best bud. The best man at our wedding. Jerry is an idiot through and through, but he has a good heart. Or so I thought.

But I got you back. Oh yes. She awakened something in me you haven’t for years. We were like bloodthirsty animals clawing at each other over the kitchen counter.

Maybe it just boils down to being stuck in the house together for so damn long. Every damn day. Me, writing my book, and you, painting your landscapes. They’re not half-bad, Jane. If only you would put as much effort into this relationship as you do your art.

I’ve been standing here too long. I’ll walk back. Maybe I’ll just lay it all out, show my cards. Well, everything except the part where I would have shoved your body over the edge. Get it all out on the table. Then we can do the divorce thing. I’ll let you live to torment some other poor soul.

“How’s living on the edge?” Jane has that stupid smirk on her face.

I sit back down beside her on the blanket.

“Fine and dandy.”

My stomach rumbles. I reach in and grab a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the basket. Her best dish. Always the first-rate cook.

“You know, I think I’ll go over and check the view myself,” Jane says.

“I’ll come with you.”

“It’s okay, dear. Enjoy your sandwich.”

---

Should I kill him?

I should have let him come to the edge with me, and when he inevitably gets lost in his stupid head just give him one little itty bitty shove. I could tip him over with my pinky.

This wind is crazy. The angry howling of a hundred hungry dogs.

How dare he bang Stacey. I should have known, that little slut has been flaunting her wares for years. She told me everything over coffee with that satisfied smug look of hers. I’m sure she enjoyed me turning beet red, losing my cool, exploding. I was about to explode on his ass when he got home but then he offered this trip first thing as he strolled through the door. Maybe he felt guilty. I hope he feels terrible, the piece of shit. But then, the thought of this place.

Bluff Point. Our first real trip as girlfriend and boyfriend. He was so cute back then. His eyes had that youthful, innocent twinkle. I couldn’t help but melt in his arms. Now he’s rugged, aged and grey. His eyes lost that spark of wonder long ago, replaced with a cold and calculating glare.

When did things get so bad? I guess this is just inevitable in damn near every relationship that goes the distance. You’re staring down a cliff, not sure if you should jump, leave, or shove them over.

But the thought of this place, this precipice. Just one shove and his body would go careening down, down, down. The waves would pick him up and take him away. Lickety-split and he’s a dead git.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. A good excuse to get away from planning his big stupid birthday bash with his big stupid bud, Jerry. Slow Jerry, we call him behind his back. I guess I could have just dropped the whole business altogether, made up some excuse or pretense. Well, have to keep up appearances. Jerry is a nice enough fella, but something missing upstairs, that’s for sure. At least spending time with the dimwit wasn’t too bad. We booked a great venue—Jack’s favorite jazz club. After the club, we were all gonna fly out to Palm Springs for a round of golf the next day.

What a birthday it could have been. But you won’t reach that day, my dear Jack. No, I’ve had enough. I’ve stewed over it enough. What you did is unforgivable.

I hate you.

---

“Hey. Thought I’d join you,” Jack says.

“Of course, be my guest.”

“Remember when we came here on our first trip?”

“How could I forget?”

“Remember when I asked you to marry me, right here?”

Jack bends down on one knee and looks up at Jane, arm outstretched. She swats the hand away and laughs.

Jack dusts off his knee and puts his arm around Jane’s shoulder. Jane grasps Jack around the waist. They watch the dying sunset, clinging to each other, testing each other’s balance.

The wind beats against them. They are only a foot from the edge. The yellow and red hues dull. Night is falling.

“Should we drive back to the hotel?” Jack asks.

“Soon. Let’s just stay a little bit longer. This sunset is beautiful.”

“Sure. I’ll grab the wine. We can drink straight from the bottle. Like old times.”

Jane nods. They release each other.

Jack walks over to the blanket. He looks back at his wife. She’s looking out onto the ocean. He opens the basket. A local Shiraz—twist off cap. He stares at her back with wild eyes. His knuckles turn ghost white wringing the bottle’s neck. Jane looks back at him with a smile. He holds the bottle up in the air and starts to walk back.

Jack picks up his pace. First a jog. Then a full-blown run. He’s building momentum. Only a few feet away.

Jane hears the bottle break against gravel over the loud wind. She jerks her head back. Jack is bearing down on her, hands outstretched.

Jane freezes. Realization hits. Shock melts away. She steps to the side. Jack shoves empty air. His hands frantically paw towards her as he teeters on the edge.

“Goodbye, my dear.” Jane waves.

A gust of wind sends Jack plunging down to the jagged rocks waiting for him with a stern and final judgment: execution, courtesy of a long, silent, and mistaken lovers’ quarrel.

Jane strolls back to the blanket. Jack’s bulging eyes, gaping mouth and the fear and shock splayed on his face are burned in her mind.

She likes it.

---

This is my entry for @carolkean's She Liked It writing contest.

Thank you to the all the great editors over at Isle of Write for giving of their time and helping me with editing this one. It's very much appreciated.

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