tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10787296364772873802024-02-06T20:53:39.280-08:00Lip-Lock and Load: The Fractured Prose of David ScheidtDavid Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-32057706504915487602011-05-31T21:56:00.001-07:002011-05-31T21:59:51.791-07:00Remember That Time?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCGnTTwrvRXpTZHfPegu81Ra1yEj-JOKJ5Q5wIuPQWr3-s2PB_414c2B_ZAelm7wljnreXpPLunDkJijhAFGLqyxnzrZ8slreI-K-gFkIZi5jWYgYZLqkGUnvrk3DcsH4n4Z1h20e-Jmx/s1600/remember1web.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCGnTTwrvRXpTZHfPegu81Ra1yEj-JOKJ5Q5wIuPQWr3-s2PB_414c2B_ZAelm7wljnreXpPLunDkJijhAFGLqyxnzrZ8slreI-K-gFkIZi5jWYgYZLqkGUnvrk3DcsH4n4Z1h20e-Jmx/s400/remember1web.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613111183414611314" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkN7ZHeFOl9C0_TTxyMgjj91xVS48zPYnAKFw_hClyWtPY1Y7KM86NT7E5goysFGOTBBOFyCeAH5hKQucn8bKCqxvzMWO4f2oxK72kMi-8esUZnrQWbOsLcf7SS0y_U5uDfyCAJnSTpr1K/s1600/remember2web.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkN7ZHeFOl9C0_TTxyMgjj91xVS48zPYnAKFw_hClyWtPY1Y7KM86NT7E5goysFGOTBBOFyCeAH5hKQucn8bKCqxvzMWO4f2oxK72kMi-8esUZnrQWbOsLcf7SS0y_U5uDfyCAJnSTpr1K/s400/remember2web.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613111146890571394" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3dyTCfRUjWlIFsRXadgAiC2sBhz00gyp0WtWehf0W-FNyTa11e3l6vT9PlU03EGz1vMM0zQASK1Bf_vccJXGe543R7_WSbnqn6eJpmT9DlM6lV0D-s0KPPb-pyE1a4B5Gpjhd2-7Pent/s1600/remember3web.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3dyTCfRUjWlIFsRXadgAiC2sBhz00gyp0WtWehf0W-FNyTa11e3l6vT9PlU03EGz1vMM0zQASK1Bf_vccJXGe543R7_WSbnqn6eJpmT9DlM6lV0D-s0KPPb-pyE1a4B5Gpjhd2-7Pent/s400/remember3web.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613111113432890898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBHfiiP5uaZu9CzzrmgSQZllxLRAKIjza_lsYZ5sCgwJXMe7MuN5MksffJ5WdVo0gb2rIurDTEMxil1KoEVQh3UNUpQ_fkhmHsE0LgEgSmMZDRE1L7BrK3t1UF6JHeuTyJ5iPLBWyhnJi/s1600/remember4web.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBHfiiP5uaZu9CzzrmgSQZllxLRAKIjza_lsYZ5sCgwJXMe7MuN5MksffJ5WdVo0gb2rIurDTEMxil1KoEVQh3UNUpQ_fkhmHsE0LgEgSmMZDRE1L7BrK3t1UF6JHeuTyJ5iPLBWyhnJi/s400/remember4web.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613111085004848994" /></a><br />Here's a short I did with the always lovely, Leslie Gauthier. Check her out! http://lesliebot.blogspot.com/ Her art if fantastic. Hopefully we'll do more stuff together. I had a lot of fun writing this and it's crazy seeing her bringing my story to life. Surreal, almost.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-22776719628258010312010-09-29T20:44:00.000-07:002010-09-29T20:49:00.078-07:00"Let Me Tell You.."Let me tell you about me and my girl. We'd sleep, a lot. Most people would be bothered by that, 'wasting the day away' they'd call it. Most days are the same though, so I guess you could say we probably didn't miss much. Nowadays I sleep by myself, and in between that I do whatever I can to keep my mind occupied. It doesn't take much. I've lived with her a good part of my life, but it's not really much of a connection anymore. It started off great like it always does, then people change and fires burn out. It happens, that's life. <br /><br />She's never met my family, and I resent her for that. I think she would understand me a lot more if she would see where I came from. She's very needy, and I think that is part of the reason why we fell so hard for each other at first. To tell you the truth I loved the attention, I always need it. I'd do ridiculous things just to get her to notice me, just to make her know I'm there. I'd act like an idiot. I always hated feeling invisible. <br /><br />Years passed and we grew apart. We became more distant, and sour towards each other as each day ended. To tell you the truth, I blamed her for it. I blamed her for what happened to us. <br /><br />One night, I was having dinner by myself (a can of tuna) because she decided to go out without telling me anything. Minutes turned into hours, and I began to worry. I stayed up all night, pacing back and forth waiting for her return. Eventually, I checked the clock and after 3am, I heard the door creak open. She came barreling in the doorway, swaying back and forth in a drunken waltz. I hesitated a bit, a calm before the storm then I approached her. At first she didn't notice me, then glanced over and saw me standing there.<br /><br /> “Come here” she said, then made a strange noise. She gestured towards me, and I walked over a bit until we were looking at each other. I didn't say much, and out of nowhere she ran her hands over the top of my head. I shook my head a bit, not wanting her to do that again. It was annoying. She did it again, then I got angry. I got angry and lost my temper and lashed out. I bit her hand and scratched it, and panicked and ran away. We both fell asleep on the floor. Let me tell you, it's not easy being a cat.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-76802038130885180082010-09-01T16:48:00.000-07:002010-09-01T16:49:13.484-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh8wGw6ceMQQRrpUed90xF5j8rD5-h1V4QxzZ_rDmh3cTkq-886sDW2GywtkFtl5AvD2zpnPSfXwRRZEgC0WdlUl7wgBVV5_jTccc33BormnrvDCSD0lBA5Bm6Bv4L2YDk8nQuBxtnOzr/s1600/47756_1407123894956_1138170010_30939594_4174697_n%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh8wGw6ceMQQRrpUed90xF5j8rD5-h1V4QxzZ_rDmh3cTkq-886sDW2GywtkFtl5AvD2zpnPSfXwRRZEgC0WdlUl7wgBVV5_jTccc33BormnrvDCSD0lBA5Bm6Bv4L2YDk8nQuBxtnOzr/s320/47756_1407123894956_1138170010_30939594_4174697_n%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512096355102890722" /></a>David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-20895022370336660212010-08-31T21:36:00.000-07:002010-08-31T21:40:29.084-07:00Here, But Not.“Summers almost gone, ya know.” he told me. “Gee, thanks for reminding me.”<br />“How do you feel?” I thought about it for a second. “Good, not great,” I said it like I felt it. We sat outside on the front porch. What I wanted to tell him, was that it never really felt like summer was ever here. Sure the weather was hot, and the city was full of sundresses and freeze-pops but that feeling was never there for me. I pulled out a smoke from my front pocket and fired it up. Across the street pranced two young, cute girls. Long legs and their heads and shoulders draped in yellow and brown hair. I took a drag off the cherry-lit cigarette. “Those things will kill you, ya know.” he pointed at the tip of my cigarette. I took in another deep drag and said “THOSE things will kill you” as I pointed across the street at the passing girls. He smirked a bit and we both laughed until the moon and sun switched places.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-77795866705077697302010-08-23T19:58:00.000-07:002010-08-23T20:00:02.603-07:00Moving."You're the kind of girl I write stories about" I told her. She sat across from me on the bus. Her eyes greenish blue like the earth. She carefully arched one eyebrow and smirked a bit. "Like me, huh?" her eyelashes fluttered.<br /><br />I cleared my throat but never broke my glance. "You must say that to all the girls you meet.." she said as her eyes scanned the outside windows of the moving bus.<br /><br />"Only the pretty ones." I looked over to her again. She smiled. She wore a blue sun dress that hugged her chest and hips. It blossomed down to her knees like a tulip. "So..what sort of story do I belong in?." she asked.<br /><br />Our glances met again <br /><br />"Hmmm” she sounded. She ran her hands threw her oak brown hair. Twisted it with her fingers. Something straight out of one of my pages.<br /><br />“Let me tell you all about it..” I told her.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-66240333167811814852010-06-22T22:27:00.000-07:002010-06-22T22:28:53.747-07:00TreeThe wind carried a nice breeze of warm air across the courtyard. I remember it was the first day in awhile that I didn't need a jacket. People of all types walked up and down the streets, the pavement dense with the sound of sneakers sneaking and high heels clicking. Brown leaves crashed landed onto the ground and were swept up instantly by the wind. The sun warmed my face.<br /><br />I sat at the bench, with bad posture and my hair blowing in the wind. I sipped on a bottle of cheap iced tea and glanced around at a set of trees that sat anchored in the ground in front of me. They sat bare and scrawny, but tall as their arms reached out to the sky, leafless and asleep.<br /><br />The branches bounced up and down with the wind that carried them. Not paying much attention, I fiddled with my phone a bit. Towards the back, walked a group of workers (from the way they were dressed I assumed landscapers). Some donned in faded blue jeans, some in dirty khakis. Each wore a bright red shirt with matching company logos. <br /><br />They carried various, gardening tools with them. Saws and sheers and pruners and scythes. I glanced over and made eye contact with one of them. The worker gave me a strange look back and I looked away, awkwardly. <br /><br />I lost myself for a second and closed my eyes as I heard the clanking of one of the metal pruning tools. Then instantly I was shook by an abnormal piercing shriek, followed by the unmistakable, blood-curdling screech of a man. The sound painted the air with agony.<br /><br />My head shot up and I saw the worker being flailed around in the air, his body gripped by the branches of the bare brown tree. The man screamed and another shriek followed as he was thrown and shaken and juggled in the air. His limbs flipped and flopped like a rag doll. <br /><br />I tried to move but my limbs turned to ice. Couldn't run,couldn't yell, I could barely think. More screams filled the air as the other workers ran panicked, some toward the tree and the smart ones ran away from it. <br /><br />Some of the workers screamed and yelled, carrying their tools and swung them drunkenly. One of the shorter workers, mustached and face full of rage bran-dashed a set of stainless steel sheers. <br /><br />More metal clanked, and then came a snap. His neck twisted completely around as the slender branches of the tree tapped on his neck playfully. The only sound made after his neck snapping was the sound of the sheers falling onto the paved concrete. <br /><br />In a blur, the ground was covered with neatly landscaped stones and lime green grass, splashed with blotches of crimson. I stood there, my knees wobbly and feet sinking into the sidewalk. <br /><br />A gust of wind grabbed a hold of the notebook in my hand and 7 or 8 pieces of paper went dancing into the air. <br /><br />The thumping in my chest blocked out all the sound around me, that was until I heard that shriek again.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-68880097125028339222010-05-27T20:54:00.001-07:002010-05-27T21:53:28.195-07:00NameShe didn't remember my name.<br /><br />I reminded her. <br /><br />Then looked her in the eyes and asked,<br /><br />"Is it weird that I remember your name?"<br /><br />She smiled. <br /><br />"What is it then?" she asked.<br /><br />I answered.<br /><br />She blushed.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-78577966993221038932010-04-04T20:25:00.000-07:002010-04-04T20:31:21.184-07:00Train Ride.I sat there in a daze that was broken the second I thought heard your voice among the click click clatter of Chicago.<br /><br />It hit me like a splash of water to the face. Was it warm water? Cold water? The suddenness of it didn't matter, it still hit me when I least expected it. That's the wonderful thing about water, it can run calm and serene like a tiny stream. It can crash and splash and swallow ships whole.<br /><br />It hit me. I was drifting asleep then you woke me. My senses sharp and my heart thumping against my ribs. There I sat by alone on a crowded train car. The view of the streetlights below looked as if the stars got sick of the sky and decided to join us down here.<br /><br />Right away I looked around and none of the faces matched the voice. People where there but none of those people were you. It was a funny sort of feeling, hearing you and more importantly feeling you there with me, but alas you weren't there and neither was your ghost.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-91013677818342013632009-12-31T16:10:00.001-08:002009-12-31T16:10:38.719-08:00SweetYou could be somewhere at sometime and see someone and something happens between two strangers. A connection, eye contact, body language, funny looks, awkward approaches. Tension follows smiles and smiles lead to laughter. Chatter is mixed with wobbly knees and comfortable pauses in conversation.<br /><br />Then you get a cup of coffee or see a movie. Then maybe you have a nice meal. You order the cheese-burger,no onion, she gets the house salad, french dressing, croutons.<br /><br />The waitress asks, “Would you like dessert?” She seems reluctant, and you act the same, even though it's your favorite part of the meal. Even though you know your just stalling so this night lasts longer.<br /><br />“Cheesecake, New York Style.”<br /><br />You nod your heads in agreements.<br /><br />You split it, she picks up the silverware and slides a piece of it onto the fork, rests her index and middle on your chin lightly, and smiles. She bats her eyelashes and with each bite you come to the conclusion that nothing could be as sweet, as the girl sitting across from you. <br /><br />The cheesecake lay there on it's plate, defeated.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-73781573976851491812009-11-30T22:04:00.000-08:002009-11-30T22:05:24.773-08:00Drag.“A girl like that has her feet always on the ground and her heart on the road.” said a deep, low sounding voice. He stood there with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Dressed in a thick black cotton coat, lint hugging his sleeves and collar. He wore black slacks that have probably never been ironed before. His hair,long and barely brushed peeked out of the side of his hat like a houseplant flipped upside down. “I wouldn't leave the light on for her..I mean. Maybe you should count your blessings and move on?.”<br /><br />“You wanna know how long I'm gonna wait? I'm gonna hold my breath until my fuckin' cheeks turn blue.” a voice responded, slightly higher pitched, calming but upset. His shoulders broad but always slouched. The man in the black took his hands out of his pants pocket and gave himself a pat down. Checking each pocket until he pulled out a box of Marlboro's Reds and a tarnished, gold plated Zippo. Hit the back of the pack and out slides a single square. He grabbed it with his thumb and index finger and handed it to his friend. <br /><br />He flicked the top of the lighter with his thumb and out danced a tiny flame. Swaying back and fourth were hues of tangerine orange, ocean blue and lemon yellow. He lit his partners square then pulled his head toward the lighter and lit his cigarette. The smoke filled their lungs and danced out of their lips and nostrils, filling the sky.<br /><br />“Jesus, man. Third time's a charm, you'll be lucky to make it through the second.” the man in the black coat was worried and seemed tired of having this conversation again. His voice was stern but still caring. “What do you mean by that?” asked the man, inhaling from his cigarette. “These girls. This is the 2nd one, right?, this is your 2nd, “One...” he cleared his throat. “The One..”<br /><br />“I was never able to tell her..Maybe that's why I'm looking out at a city full of strangers and she's seeing nothing but the highway in front of her.”<br /><br />He took another drag of his cigarette and a bit of ash danced off the burning, cherry tip and into the air grabbed by a gust of the cold city air.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-66965644315416298272009-11-07T16:51:00.001-08:002009-11-07T16:51:56.314-08:00Wind.We waded through the flock of bodies, packed wall to wall. It was crowded but it was just you and me, me and you. You peered at me with those big emerald eyes of yours,batted both eye lashes causing a gust of gorgeous wind that would have knocked me back a few feet. Good thing you were holding my hand as tight as you were, otherwise I'd have been blown away, swallowed by the Chicago sky.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-35587886563712170682009-11-07T16:05:00.000-08:002009-11-07T16:11:21.466-08:00BACStreet Journal Fall Issue Available Now!Hey there, just giving everyone a heads up that I have a story published in the Fall issue of the BACStreet Journal, published by the good people at the Beverly Arts Center. it's an anthology book of all types of writing and such, featuring a story, (conveniently located directly below this post!) and many others<br /><br />Copies are $5 I believe and you can go to the Beverly Arts Center and score yourself a copy or you can get some from me. <br /><br />Follow them on facebook or check em out here! <br />http://www.beverlyartcenter.org/David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-37899291858178298862009-08-17T17:55:00.000-07:002009-08-17T18:01:19.831-07:00The Getaway Plan.I remember those nights we'd talk about getting out of this place. We'd lay on the front lawn, our bodies poked by the sharp, damp grass. The cars trotted by obnoxious and exhaling breaths of smelly fumes into the summer air. We'd pretend they weren't there. <br /><br />I'd close my eyes and wish that for just once when I opened them, you'd be looking at me and not the stars.<br /><br />I guess I was always more hopeful of things back then when I should have been more realistic. You'd tell me about faraway lands, beaches and lighthouses, deserts and jungles. <br /><br />“Exotic lands? As far as I'm concerned, anywhere past city limits would be an exotic land to us...” the way you smiled at me after you said it made me realize you really meant it. that was our getaway plan.<br /><br />“What about our families, our friends?” I remember asking you. You had a very calm look on your face and just shrugged your shoulders. That didn't seem like too big of an issue for you. <br /><br />“I..wish I could go..but I...I have a life here..I love you...I can't...just”<br /><br />I tried to finish my sentence but we locked glances and I couldn't get the words out once I seen the expression on your face. <br /><br />Without saying a word, our bodies collided, you grabbed my hips,held me and kissed my forehead, slow and very punctual. You held me for a moment I wish lasted longer and let go.<br /><br />You turned around and walked to your car without saying a word. <br /><br />I went home and laid in my bed listening to our favorite records over and over as<br />I fell asleep staring at the stars, the night you left town without me.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-89958936533403253852009-07-13T20:32:00.000-07:002009-07-13T20:34:31.580-07:005 Seconds.I'd walk you home most nights. We'd walk underneath the train platform as it would zoom by. For about 5 seconds of noisy silence our voices would be muted by clanking rails and locked glances.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-48616728307419887972009-07-04T00:06:00.000-07:002009-07-04T00:07:11.367-07:00Ink and PaperI got a voice and I'll be god damned if you never hear it. I just pray <br />there's enough ink and paper left in the world when all is said and <br />done. I have this feeling that once the ink runs dry, my veins will <br />follow. I'll tell you this much, as long as I have these words, I <br />got a shot.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-69948241609363089222009-06-04T21:21:00.000-07:002009-06-04T21:22:46.436-07:00Count/Counter PointHe tucked his hands into his pockets. <br /><br />She stood there, glancing at the sidewalk.<br /><br />He hunched his head down, and they're eyes met. Light Green and Dark Blue. <br /><br />She looked up at his face, studying his expressions. <br /><br />He smiled (awkwardly), tried to think of something to say.<br /><br />She had a million things to say, but couldn't think of which. <br /><br />He knew he had to do something quickly.<br /><br />She stood there, waiting for him to do something.<br /><br />He slowly placed his hands on her hips.<br /><br />She felt her knee's wobble<br /><br />He heard his chest thumping.<br /><br />She heard something.<br /><br />He leaned in.<br /><br />She closed her eyes.<br /><br />He went for it.<br /><br />“Mwwwwwwah!”David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-15655233629463203322009-05-19T20:46:00.001-07:002009-05-19T20:50:25.340-07:00Pen > SwordHe jammed a ballpoint pen straight into her chest. Cracked through her breastbone and out sprayed splatters of cherry red and midnight black. His body trembled for a split second as her body flopped onto the concrete. He quickly grabbed the bottom of his shirt and wiped off smears of dark blood and ink off his face. Beads of sweat slithered down his cheek and hit his lip, tasted salty. There she laid, lifeless and frozen, like someone hit the pause button. <br /><br />She laid there, streams of blood pouring out of her chest as her heart beat quicker and quicker.<br /><br />BUMP BUMP. BUMP BUMP. BUMP BUMP. <br /><br />She was laying in about 4 pints worth of her own flavor. Her skin was as white as a sheet of paper. <br /><br />“So I guess it's true what they say, the pen IS mightier then the sword.” joked the man, as he wiped a trickle of blood off his shoe. He smiled and took a picture with his hands, and paced out the room.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-49725862879951973172009-05-03T21:00:00.000-07:002009-05-03T21:01:30.689-07:00Sealed with a what?I remember how hard she'd press her lips against mine each time we'd kiss. It was an air tight seal, like the hatch of one those jet planes.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-81745359029997760532009-04-26T20:23:00.001-07:002009-04-26T20:28:50.724-07:00Mother Nature.She proved that theory wrong, you know the one.<br /><br />"Lightning doesn't strike twice".<br /><br />every time she showed up, a crack of thunder always followed.David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-48508774385860167062009-04-26T17:29:00.000-07:002009-04-26T17:30:04.802-07:00The Walk Tonight.Stiletto heels crashed against that pavement, loud as thunder. Her hips swayed back and fourth as she walked, crashing cars and stealing each boy's breath. Her long brown hair bounced up and down as she strutted across the avenue. She stopped at the corner, her lips as red as the traffic light. Took a breath, hiked up her pencil skirt, winked at each guy that laid eye's on her. She couldn't remember the last time she felt alive, she felt like she was sleepwalking. Instead of dreaming at night,she walked.<br /><br />April 18, 2009David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-51780448892617508402009-04-26T17:28:00.000-07:002009-04-26T17:29:30.491-07:00White Hot.Her blue eyes were like little tiny oceans. Her silky blond hair rested on her shoulders, and swayed back in forth with the wind. Bright red lipstick hugged her lips and blue jeans hugged her hips. Her skin was soft to the touch, and made most other ladies jealous. She was the color in room, the reason why I couldn't keep my jacket on. God damn did this girl make the temperature rise.<br /><br />February 15, 2009David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-63590989973677923402009-04-26T17:20:00.000-07:002009-04-26T17:28:12.761-07:00The Mystery!<!--- blog subject ---> <div class="blogSubject"> <label id="pBlogSubject_473719471">The Mystery! </label><label id="translatedBlogSubject_473719471" style="display: none;"></label> </div> <!--- blog body ---> <br /><br />The Mystery!<br />By Dave Scheidt<br /><br />The place was pretty crowded, enough of that I could remember. It was a younger crowd then usual, everyone seemed to be dressed well enough for a nicer setting, but alas they were all in the same shit-hole I was in. I took a breath, swallowed the lump in my throat and shot my drink down the hatch. Music blared, bounced off the muraled walls and filled the room. I couldn't recall what song it was, but it was heavy and fast enough for most people there to enjoy it.<br /><br />I kind of made it a habit lately, to frequent places where people didn't know who I was. Sure occasionally I'd bump into a familiar face, but I tend to ignore situations like that. By no means is it a me being a creep or anything, I just prefer to have an element of uncertainty. I think once you get to know someone, once you 'figure them out', the mystique fades and that's half the fun.<br /><br />So there I sat, leaning against the wall as the loud bass shook and vibrated the building. I sat there fiddling around with my phone and sipping my drink as the song on the jukebox changed. I've heard the song before but I couldn't place it. I glanced around the room and there were more people piling in. There seemed to be a pretty good mixture of people in the joint, and the guy girl ratio was in my favor.<br /><br />I can't really say any one particular girl seemed to catch my eye immediately, but I really wasn't in the soul seeking mood that night. More songs played and more people crammed in the place. I decided that standing in the corner wasn't particularly the best spot in here so I decided to stretch my legs and walk around a bit. I got about two feet from where I was standing and realized there was no real walking room, so I said fuck it and walked out to get some air.<br /><br />It still was pretty cold that night, and I definitely regretted not dressing warmer. The air smelled like snow and cigarette smoke. So there I stood, just lurking around, while everyone smoked and made out. I glanced to my left and a group of girls stood smoking and laughing at some odd inside joke. I looked over probably with a weird look on my face and locked eyes with one of the girls.<br /><br />She was small and cute but her spirit made up for her little frame ten fold. I smirked as one of her friends made a very loud and obnoxious noise and shook my head back and fourth. I really had no idea what they were talking about, and that didn't matter because I wasn't listening, I was transfixed on the gal who kept glancing over at me. Was she looking at me because I was looking at her? I know sometimes I can come off as a creep,but surely this wasn't the case?<br /><br />I let out a brief chuckle of awkwardness, waved over to her and then put my hands in my pockets. She looked nervous as well, but said something to her friends then walked over to me, as her friends looked at me and seemed to poke fun of her. Maybe they were poking fun of me? I didn't know and didn't care, because the girl I couldn't keep my eyes off of was walking right towards me dead center.<br /><br />She was heading right towards me, and in a situation like this there is never any time to prepare what to say or fix your hair or anything like that. you had to wing it or run the risk of looking like a complete idiot, which I have a pretty good track record of.<br /><br />I was nervous and my introduction was obviously awkward, since I was convinced she'd bring up the fact that I'd been staring at her the past 5 minutes but alas she spoke. Her voice didn't sound like I expected it too, it was a lot softer, her voice was calming, like a singer.<br /><br />We joked around about the eclectic group of people, the smelly guy next to us and the outrageously priced liquor. 5 minutes turned into 30 minutes and there it was, last call. I told her how it was nice meeting her, and she asked if she thought we'd ever bump into each other again. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I looked her in the eyes and said goodbye. I left her standing with a smile and the gift I missed ever so much, the mystery!<br /><br />February 28, 2009David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-12153204865202077792009-04-26T17:18:00.002-07:002009-04-26T17:19:42.746-07:00Missing The War.The train platform was cold and snow covered with the design of a thousand fancy footprints. I sat down on that cold cement bench, and my warm breath danced out between my lips like a tea kettle. The air was brisk and windy. Men walked by in long coats and ladies strutted along with long legs and spiked heels.<br /><br />I bit my bottom lip and sat up from the bench. I looked off in the distance and saw the familiar lights of the inbound train. The headlights looked like tiny little suns and the train always seemed to have a sarcastic smile to the front of it. I stood about a good two feet from the line and the train whizzed into the terminal, loud and windy as ever. Everyone crowded together, businessmen, school children, working class stiffs, and as the doors open they all squeezed into the train car.<br /><br />Trailing at the back of the crowd, I finally managed to squeeze in. the train was packed, and I scoped the car for an available seat. There, towards the back of the car was a spot, “Good as any”, I said to myself. Grabbed my bag, unzipped the top of my coat and had a seat. In front of me sat a scrawny older man, with a great big mustache. His glasses were too big for his head, and he was dressed almost too warmly for winter.<br /><br />His face was covered with wrinkles and his head with liver spots. His expressions as he observed others on the train seemed very sour and grumpy. Next to him sat a dark haired woman, probably about 30ish. On her way to work, obviously, because she was dressed much too classy for anything else. Her light blue eyes popped in the sunlight and she sat there,black nylons hugged her legs.<br /><br />“' 'Scuse me, everyone. I'm a war veteran and ima askin if any ya'll have any spare change you can help me out wif..” The deep loud voice of a homeless man aged around 50ish. He had a scruffy gray beard and long matted hair. He walked back and fourth down the train car with a cup with change already in it and proceeded to shake it. The jingling sound of change filled the car and annoyed most. People either ignored him, gave him a dirty look or nodded there head as to signify they don't have any. They did. The homeless man looked around and made eye contact with the the old man sitting behind me.<br /><br />“Pardon me sir, I was wondering if ya'll could help me out.. I'ma war veteran..” before he could finish the old man interrupted the homeless man almost right away. “Look pal, I'm a veteran as well.. I don't go braggin' about it. “Sir, I am just lookin to get myself something to eat, I haven't eaten in 2 days... It's very cold and I'm just... “Look guy, I told ya, I don't got anything for ya.” the old man interjected. He was obviously quite agitated. He pushed his larges glasses further up onto his face, as they dropped down.<br />“I did not mean any disrespect sir, I am... just trying to get back on my feet..” the homeless man's voice tone seem much more somber and quiet.<br /><br />Only a few people in the train car seemed to notice the conversation, including me and the lady across from my seat Our eyes connected and I gave her a shoulder shrug. We both had no idea where this conversation was going. The old man was still giving the homeless man a very stern glance. I'm talking daggers, he was just boring a hole through the back of this guy's head. All of a sudden, the old man seemed to loosen his glance The homeless man was clearly upset and just generally broken.<br /><br />“Nam?” The old man asked. The homeless man's expression changed almost instantly, the look on his face changed to a very sad, helpless expression.<br /><br />“I bet it's been years since you've made that face.” the old man jabbed. “We lost a lot of good men in there, I mean for what?” The bearded confused homeless man started nodding his head back and fourth, he bit his lip and he was clearly in distress. “We lost more then men in that war sir..” the homeless man said very low. “Huh? Whatda mean?” the old man asked. “Mother's lost sons, father's sons, girlfriend boyfriends....” The hobo continued, almost like he's been holding all of this in for longer then he should have.<br /><br />I continued to glance over as the conversation got more serious and almost like seeing two old friends catch up. They clearly didn't know each other, but the way they exchanged glances , that look in their eyes. They've seen things I could only imagine.<br /><br />The homeless man proceeded to go on about what he lost, and how he's been looking for it ever since he left. The homeless man then made eye contact with me, as I was clearly listening in. “I couldn't been any older then this guy when I got back, but I wasn't like him..” he continued to look at me. “Excuse me?” I asked him, I had no idea if he was about to insult me, or excuse me of being ungrateful. “<br />“The way you sit there in your seat, the way you look out the window.., You haven't given up on the world yet.”I was unsure of what to say, I was just wondering to myself if this was going to escalate.<br /><br />The older man with glasses sighed then turn his head from the homeless man to me. Looked me straight in the eyes and stated to speak. “I think what my pal here is trying to say is that he realizes that you're still fighting for something. All those years ago, we fought for freedom, fought to free the world of terror. We fought, a lot of good men died but that war is over.” The train rolled to a stop, and the homeless man pulled a hood over his head and walked out the doors, glanced over to me and the old man and nodded.<br /><br />I eventually got off the train and carried on with my day. It's been years since that train ride, and I think I've finally made sense of what actually had happened. That sad, broken homeless man, he never finished that war, he was still in it. He had seen and experienced terrible and unmistakable things. He found solace in another 'War Buddy', he hadn't connected to someone since the war. For some reason, he saw something inside of me. He seen the way I carried myself and probably saw what he wished he had. A Chance.<br /><br />Killing a man, seeing others die right in front of you, makes you old really damn quick. I realized that I may never actually fight in any sort of war, but the past is the past. It'll haunt you, tear you apart, consume you. You just gotta keep your head up and look toward the next day. Victory can arrive in all types of forms, you just have to keep fighting the good fight.<br /><br />January 18, 2009David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-91559059879710120552009-04-26T17:18:00.001-07:002009-04-26T17:18:29.392-07:00She Just Waits.She's frozen solid. The city, she's cold and silent. Her heart still beats, it's just a lot harder to hear over the sound of snow blowers and plow trucks. Her concrete and steel skin have layers of ice upon her, squeezing her, embracing her, hugging her. Eventually, Spring will show up, and thaw her back to life. She's knows everything with be just fine, she just waits.<br /><br />December 10, 2008David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078729636477287380.post-31779433488769235672009-04-26T17:16:00.000-07:002009-04-26T17:17:36.320-07:00The Long Ride HomeHe reached into his blue jeans and his pockets seemed much deeper then usual. The air tasted like menthol and his car ran extra toasty. The streetlights blurred together as he drove down the road. He shook his head a little bit, shook it off. He was bored, he was numb, he was hungry. He slept more but always woke up tired. A stop sign crept up on him at 105th, he boot kicked the brake pedal in its face. His fingers ran down the side of the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1240791427_5">steering wheel</span> and he stared off into the distance. He hit the gas and drove and drove and drove some more. Glanced over to the passenger side and it hit him like a ton of bricks. The look on his face, wasn't much about what he saw, more so what he didn't see, Her.<br /><br />Anytime he felt something he couldn't explain, he'd grab his keys and drive. Something about the open road and the air blowing in his face he would tell you. The smell of gasoline and the blaring radio was a temporary sort of calm. He would drive around until that right song came onto the radio. You know the song, the one that your convinced was written for you, the one you would take a detour just to here the whole thing. Sometimes it would come on seconds after you put the keys in, and sometimes it would come on right before you turn off your headlights and park. That's the thrill of it. Life suddenly makes sense once you hear that right song at the right time. He once told me “I may not be the first one with a <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1240791427_6">broken heart</span>, but I sure as shit won't be the last..”.<br /><br />He had been driving around for about an hour or so. Waiting for it. He drove around till his car was eating fumes. He took the long way home and about half way though his car ride his song indeed came onto the radio. The hair on his arms stood up and the thumping sound in his chest drowned out the song on the radio. For the first time in 8 months, he suddenly didn't feel so alone. “For every broken heart, for every long car ride home, there's a song for you. you'll hear it when you really need to hear it.”<br /><br />October 04, 2008David Scheidthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00505678946106369519noreply@blogger.com0