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The Edge
The Edge

The Edge

There is so much evil in the world that a little more would be insignificant. Before the thought, he was taking a photo of a passing stranger. Her hair was a filthy nest of auburn. It writhed around her oblong head, put into motion by the mountain wind. Her sunken cheeks showed blood through pallid skin slick with heavy droplets of sweat. He looked at her through the viewfinder of her phone and retched. While waiting for him to shoot the photo, she pulled locks of her dirty hair away from her misshapen lips. She brought the fatty lids of her eyes down over the two bulging organs and then back up. He heard the dense milky coating on them churned by the motion. The sound was in his head like a scream in a cavern. Smashing off the walls of his mind only to rebound back into his consciousness. How could such a disgusting creature exist? Free to roam the earth like one of God’s beautiful creatures?  

No, she’s a human. Just take the photo. Put down the evil thoughts and be kind.

Then he saw it. Through the screen of her phone. The edge. The edge of the cliff so close to where her feet were planted. It was a beautiful moment. He smiled warmly when he realized he could so easily erase this grotesque creature from the earth. Nobody else would have to suffer her visage.  

A revelation.

There is so much evil in the world that a little more would be insignificant.

He dropped the phone.

Charged forward.

His arms, now two foreign objects, brought themselves into the center of his field of vision

All he could do was watch as these evil appendages pressed the strange woman’s midsection until her weight was tipped past the edge. After that, momentum took her over

A simple push, that’s all it took to rid the earth of the creature that pained him so.

She didn't even react until she was halfway down the cliff. Then, a sweet scream escaped her lips and crawled up the rock face to grace his ears.

He looked over the edge and saw the results of relinquishing control. Blood had escaped her wretched body to paint the rocks below a crimson more moving than all the shades in a sunset put together. He turned from where he came and walked back down the trail.

From the trail entrance, he could see his car across the cold sea of black pavement. The sterile winter sun reflected off the car in warped pools. It was in appearance like a noble living among the automobile commoners. Stomping resounded in the nearly empty lot as he pounded the short distance to his vehicle in heavy hiking boots. Only one other car was there. Looking at it reminded him of her. He smiled as he unlocked his door and climbed into the sedan. Fully automatically, his hands brought the keys into the ignition and twisted. The car gently reverberated to life, the steering wheel purring in his hands and his seat bobbing up and down like a fragile raft on the bay. A sharp inhale drove the warm and cozy smell of leather deep into his nostrils. An exhale. He felt warmth in his chest from the deep breath. It was pleasant after being out in the freezing elements for so long. Cold was energizing, but warmth after being in the cold was ecstasy. With this in mind, he turned on the heat. He drove home with these pleasant sensations keeping him entertained for the whole 2 hour journey.

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“Welcome home honey, how were the mountains?” His wife. He felt a nurtured respect and familiar affection for the woman he had been married to for 30 years. He smiled at her. More out of intentional politeness than overwhelming fondness. Then, it happened. The fatty lids of her eyes lowered and raised back up. Producing a sound born of the motion of milky liquid on her eye, stirred by the blink. The sound reminded him of the creature.

“Beautiful, My Love, but nowhere near as beautiful as you.” She blinked again. And it produced that noise again.

“The children are inside, they can’t wait to see their father after such a long hiking trip.” She continued blinking in the conversation lull that followed, a stupid grin on her face. How can she smile while doing this to him?

He retreated inside, opening the front door smoothly on hinges that made it fly across the threshold weightlessly. He looked down at his beloved marble floor. Rivers touched by Midas ran through the tiles and stood out like a golden seal stamped on pure white paper. In the polish coating of the floor, a blunted facsimile of the chandelier swam as if below the surface of a pool, like it could float to the air to emerge in all its diamond splendor. The crystalline source of light cascaded pure white luminance over the room and projected countless crossed rainbow beams when observed directly. The wife followed behind him. Blink. Wince.  

She closed the door behind them and the bracing cold draft abated.

“Dad!” Sarah, who was in a constant state of showing blood through her cheeks.

“Daddy!” Rebecca, her hair looked dirty with its auburn coloring.

“My little ducks! How was our pond without me?”

“I missed having our morning talks, you always understand me,” Sarah.

“Boring without you doing the voices in my bedtime stories,” Rebecca.

“Fear not, I have returned from my journey. I will read your story with my silliest voices tonight. And tomorrow, I will wake up before dawn to make hot cocoa to spice up the meeting of the early risers club.”

Wife smiled.

Sarah smiled.

Rebecca smiled.

Their lips were grotesquely uneven.

He smiled. Then he saw it. Far off in the kitchen. The black handle protruded from the knife block looking so delicate and subtle in form. It called. He could rid the world of these hideous creatures so easily. Just grab the handle. Pull blade from block. And let his desires take over to finish the rest. He stood at the top of a cliff. One push. And he would smash his way down to the only natural conclusion. One push was all he needed. Blink, Wince.  

He shook his head and broke his concentration

“Who wants lunch? “ He said

“I do! I do!”

“I’m hungry”

“That sounds lovely dear. What are you making this time, Chef”

“Let’s make sushi, it’s Rebecca’s favorite, the kids can cook the rice and I need to practice my knifework.”

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