The Cliff I'm going to kill you. The thought rang clear in his head like a gong. The road between the towns where he worked and lived was completely deserted. It was just after nine, the car's clock said. A bit later than usual, but his wife would understand. She always did. The road was clear, and the night dark with no moon. The headlights illuminated only the road directly ahead, leaving everything past the shoulder in quiet darkness. The yellow dotted line was hypnotic, making him dazed, trance-like. The radio was off. I'm going to kill you. It was his wife's voice, quiet with anticipation but with an edge of warning. She didn't sound doubtful - she knew what she was talking about - but there was a measure of uncertainty, perhaps hope, in her voice. But still she said it. And she had every right to do it. He wasn't a good husband. Hell, he was a horrible husband, downright detestable. A part of his mind jumped into self-defense mode, saying "But I wouldn't have to hit her if she just didn't do those things." "No," another part answered, "there is no excuse." She would kill him. He could picture how she would: He would come home to a beautiful dinner, elaborate and expensive; no doubt his favourite meal. There would be a bottle of red wine on the table, something old, something strong. She'd have something soft playing in the background, maybe Chopin's Préludes, or better yet, Mozart's Requiem. Ironic, beautiful music. And candles. Yes, there would be candles. Soft light, everything soft and gently - seductive. Dinner would be fine, beautiful. Despite his late return home from work, his wife would be calm; relaxed; just plain normal; timid; soft and gentle - just like the lighting. A turn in the road caught his attention. He was starting into a more hilly and rocky stretch. There was a barrier on the right hand side, guarding a steep fall down a sharp hill - practically a cliff. The dotted yellow line turned solid. Not long until he reached home. Home. She was going to - and was right - to kill him. But why had he done all those bad things? Why had it just started suddenly after their marriage, not before? He wasn't that way with other people, just when he lost his temper around her. Hell, most people just thought of him as a pacifist. So was she the problem, or was it just him? As a child growing up, he had never thrown a punch or even been in a fight. In fact, he would always back out of them. But then he remembered the dishes and furniture. His parents said he was a normal child having temper tantrums, even though they lasted until he was eight or nine. He could never have struck his parents, especially his mother, but anything else that got in his way... Maybe that's what I think of her, he thought, as just a piece of furniture. Something to use, but then push out of the way when not needed. No, that's not right. He loved his wife. He had from the moment he had first met her, and still did. He loved her, but she just drove him crazy sometimes. It's just those little things, little inconsistencies that make it sound as if she's lying, though he knew that she never would. He suspected that she never would. But there were just so many things to indicate otherwise... But tonight she would lie outright to his face. She would put on the farce of loving adoration, while she softly slid her knife between his shoulder blades. I'm going to kill you for all the terrible things you've done. The horrible way you always make me feel. You don't deserve any better. You deserve to be lied to, to be seduced, entranced and then have your heart savagely ripped out like you have done to mine. But I never meant it, he pleaded desperately. I don't want to hurt you. I love you, I adore you. I would give my life for you. You would... But still I must. I must. You've destroyed my heart; made me sick by it. You deserve no less. But what of the good times? Life hasn't been totally horrible. If you are blinded by power and domination you see things only from your own perspective. Think of those you touch. Those I touch ... All I touch ... Think of everything you touch. Everything I touch ... Everything in my world ... And where is my world? My world, your world. Your world, whose world? My world, my world. And others' worlds? Others' worlds? What others? Those outside your world. All outside have been locked in. Locked in where? Locked in the car that I drive. Locked in with me driving. Can you drive for everyone? I can manage. But does everyone want that? They say nothing. The line turns solid. Their protest is great. Solid line ... Dotted line. Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line around the bend ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... Solid line ... She kills him. The next morning the headline on the fourth page of the local newspaper read: "Man Drives Car Over Deadly Cliff." May 22, 1998 (?)