Pen > Sword

He 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.

She laid there, streams of blood pouring out of her chest as her heart beat quicker and quicker.

BUMP BUMP. BUMP BUMP. BUMP BUMP.

She was laying in about 4 pints worth of her own flavor. Her skin was as white as a sheet of paper.

“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.

Sealed 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.

Mother Nature.

She proved that theory wrong, you know the one.

"Lightning doesn't strike twice".

every time she showed up, a crack of thunder always followed.

The 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.

April 18, 2009

White 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.

February 15, 2009

The Mystery!

The Mystery!

The Mystery!
By Dave Scheidt

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!

February 28, 2009

Missing 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.

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.

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.

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.

“' '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.

“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.
“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.

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

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. “
“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.

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.

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.

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.

January 18, 2009