[ WP ] A man stops a woman from jumping off a bridge , but he finds out she really should have jumped .

It was the biggest mistake of my life. Of all my fuck ups - and there were a lot of them - this one out fucked them all. And though its magnitude was greater than any other by a large margin, this blunder originated in much the same way as all the rest; I was drunk and horny. 
 
 I remember it being an unseasonably cold night. Which season? Who knows?. It was a long time ago and, like I said, I was shit-faced. 
 
 What I do remember was there being a chill in the air, one which I did n't fully appreciate until stepping out the door of my favorite beer hall and starting the trek back home. 
 
 This journey I had many times before. From the steps of the beer hall, it was a short walk down a small road towards the river. There, a bridge would take me across the river to a place where working class gentlemen - such as myself - resided. And by working class, I mean low-bred, ill-mannered, and ( worst of all ) unmarried. Factory dogs we were called. Grease and grime covered souls whom lived for cheap booze and cheaper women. 
 
 On the night in question, I'd had my fill of said booze, yet remained unsatiated in regards to the latter. Stupid German beer. Always went straight to my loins. Something about it just gave me an itch, which I was sixty percent sure was n't crabs. When I first saw that woman, though, standing against the railing of the bridge and looking out on the moonlit river as the wind whipped through her long brown hair, I knew right away that I wanted to scratch that itch all over her. But first, I had to turn on some the charm. I kept that mind as I neared her position on the bridge. 
 
 `` Good evening, miss! And how are you tonight?'' I inquired while approaching her. She did n't respond. Just kept gazing out upon the black ripples barely visible below. Perhaps she was deaf. Or perhaps I was simply slurring my words. Assuming it was the latter, I took a giant step towards her and tried again. 
 
 `` *Good evening! *'' I shouted. `` What brings you to this particular bridge tonight, miss?'' 
 
 Still nothing, but this time, she slowly turned her head and looked me right in the face. This was the first I could actually see her features with any clarity. What I saw was a neat, yet solemn looking woman. Not a beauty, but not bad, either. Her face was pale and oval. Her grayish eyes just *stared* at me much in the way a recently lobotomized person's would. In spite of her stern, ghostly appearance ( or maybe because of it ), I found myself irresistably drawn to her. 
 
 `` You ca n't stop me,'' she blurted out suddenly, just the hint of a tear forming in the corner of her eye. I was confused. And not just because I was drunk off my ass. That kind of confusion, well, we were old friends. But this one... this one was different. 
 
 `` Stop you from what, miss? Throwing pennies in the river?'' I joked. She did n't laugh. Humor was n't working. It was time to take the serious approach, which required a mustache adjustment. 
 
 `` Are you... ok?'' I asked, brimming with a fatherly concern. 
 
 She shook her head no and leaned forward over the railing. She looked as if she was about to jump in. 
 
 `` Miss... please,'' I implored. `` Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help.'' 
 
 `` You ca n't,'' she hissed. `` I'm a cursed mother and should n't be allowed to exist in this world!'' 
 
 I recall thinkning she sounded just like one of my aunts. All gloom, doom, and melodrama. I was going to have to talk her down if I wanted to get in her knickers. But I was sure I was up for the task. I was thinking it would take, at most, twenty minutes, after which I would be stuffing her like a pheasant. 
 
 `` Come on, now; tell me what's wrong. Maybe we can sort this out. I'm smarter than I look,'' I lied. 
 
 She considered my proposition for a minute or two while looking out on the water. 
 
 `` Fine.'' 
 
 I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere. I just had to listen to some womenly drivel, most likely regarding her period or burnt suppers or something, then the pheasant-stuffing would commence. 
 
 `` Over the past few years, all three of my children have died...'' 
 
 Shit. 
 
 ``... and now I am pregnant with another...'' 
 
 Double shit. 
 
 ``... but I can not stand to lose another, so I came here to prevent any further suffering by ending my miserable life.'' 
 
 I glanced over the railing at the water. It was maybe twelve feet down. This woman was clearly not very smart, which meant she was right in my wheelhouse. My thoughts again turned to pheasants and all the ways one could be stuffed. I just had to listen to the drama queen a bit longer and soon I'd be stuffing all sorts of things. 
 
 And so I listened to that woman as she droned on for the better part of an hour about her life. God, it was boring. She married some dude that she had been working for. She was his third wife. They were actually second cousins or something, which made me mad. Not because I found such a thing unsavory, mind you. I was pissed because no one ever told me that second cousins were fair game. It was like something had been stolen from me years earlier and I was just finding out in that moment! 
 
 It was n't until close to three in the morning when I finally got her back to my dingey little one bedroom apartment. After sharing a couple brandies, we cozied up on my mattress and got down to business. I'll spare the gorier details, because I'm nothing if not a gentleman, but I will say one thing; that woman knew her way around a penis. She worked my thing with a practiced hand. At one point, I even suggested to her that she'd make a fine sculptor. I do n't think she ever took my advice. 
 
 The next morning, I awoke to her staring eyes. We spoke a bit about what had happened. Fortunately, there was no regret on her part, only a renewed sense of hope about the future. She was going to try her best to keep the baby she was currently carrying alive. Based on her track record, i figured the baby would be dead by the next olympics. No, she was n't going to see me again, which was actually a good thing since I'm pretty sure I gave her crabs. She assured me, however, that I would always hold a place in her heart. 
 
 `` After all,'' she said as she stood in the doorway of my apartment,'' You saved my life.'' 
 
 `` Wait,'' I shouted after her. `` What is your name?'' 
 
 She gave me a confused grin. 
 
 `` Why do you want to know?'' 
 
 `` I'm not entirely sure. I guess I just like to know the names of all the women I sleep with. For posterity and such.'' 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 `` My name is Klara. Klara Hitler.'' 
 
 `` What a beautiful name. And that baby of yours - I'm sure he or she will do the Hitler name proud.'' 
 
 She gave me one last smile, then walked out of my life for good. And that is the story of how my drunken lust made sure the holocaust happened. Sorry about that. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

