The View

Linespiration: a writing exercise where you form a short work based on a single line from literature, lyrics, etc. This is based on the line "The view is so beautiful all the way down" from the song "This is Life."

The wind was powerful this high up, blowing her hair back from her face in a wild, thrashing tangle that exposed the fading gray-green bruises at her temple. She removed her sunglasses, blinking into the brilliance of sunlight reflecting off of the water through a puffy black eye. Her lips, swollen and cracked, upturned slightly as the breeze carried the cool, damp scent of the river over the bridge.

That smell… it brought with it fond memories of her childhood, of crashing over the wakes produced by freighters in her father’s motor boat. She recalled her grandfather’s big, warm hands against the cold, scaly bodies of the bass he’d catch; he always let them go. She thought of picnicking with her mother by the riverfront, watching their Labrador splash after driftwood in the shallows.

Their first date had been by the river, barely a year ago but it seemed a different epoch. He’d held her hand in the moonlight as they sat huddled on a bench, their breaths a fog intertwining like lovers in the cold night air. His fingertips had been cool on her cheek when he cradled her face for their first kiss; it was an exhilarating moment.

But much as the river eroded the bedrock and carried it to the sea, those days had been worn out and washed away. It started innocently enough; she thought it was funny the first time he ordered a meal for her at a restaurant. Sure, he was jealous of her male friends - but only because he loved her and feared losing her, right? It was harder to rationalize the time he left bruises on her forearm that lasted more than a week while pulling her out of a department store because she was “flirting” with the sales clerk.

Last week she’d tripped and fallen, spilling his mug of beer on the floor. She remembered thinking as she lay with her face pressed to the carpet tasting blood from a blow that forced her teeth into her cheek. And what she thought, despite the long months of being berated and belittled, was that a real man would help a woman up if she tripped and fell.

She hoisted herself up onto the railing, an exhilarated shiver running down her spine as balance alone stood between her and that vast distance to the water’s surface. It seemed bitterly ironic, having the will to stand here at the edge, but not to leave him. He’d made it clear that he owned her, and in a way she knew he always would even if she did find the strength to leave. Physical and emotional scars, the memories of what he’d done, what she’d let him do, would forever bind her to him - true ownership indeed.

She looked up to see a gull drifting lackadaisically in the breeze. She wanted to feel that way; carefree, adrift in perfect comfort and ease. She was a bird with wings clipped by a persistent gnawing anxiety and terror, a creature caged by his domination and wrath. She was the stupid little sparrow who had tried to take shelter under a hawk’s wing.

Below, light danced on the surface of water. The trees, made diminutive by distance, swayed gently in the breeze. The gull wheeled downwards towards the surface in pursuit of prey. A sailboat far upstream left its moorings to greet the open water. She breathed deeply, taking in the sweet, familiar smell of the river once more…

She was in awe. The view was so beautiful all the way down.