Satin Sheet on a Nail Bed - A Bar Fiction

The breeze was soft; like satin sheets on a nail bed.

"You ole sunuvabitch, how youse been?" Ole Charley said from the bar door, holding it open for me as I slowly marched down the side walk, heading home from work.

"I've been better!" I said, making a detour to a stool, next to the old beaten bar.

Ole Charley was dying, like we all were, but he'd be dying sooner rather than later, the consumption eating up his lungs, the mine had killed him before he ever decided to retire at 42.

"Damn boss man came in here, thinking he was going to get a brew!" he growled. "I knocked him flat on his ass!! And got three rounds of cheers from the bar!"

I laughed.

The jukebox was playing a sad song, something about a lover dumping them for a chicken lover or a rooster sucker.

I ordered a beer, three, two of them chased with a whiskey.

The bar was filled with the usual misfits; old men drinking their liver into a stupor.  Funny men hiding from their wives, all killing their pay checks on whiskey and beer before their wives found out.

A few wives were here and there, deciding it was easier to join rather than battle, their own livers being killed off.

A homeless man was there, a traveler who got stuck here back in 1979.

He worked some of the stores; sweeping the side walks of the leaves, dirt and dust that came rolling down from the Hill.

In the winter, he'd disappear for those months, too cold to find a sleep, when it was time.

"I head down to the heat..." he winked when asked where he went for his winter vacation. "I like the heat but you people make me laugh, so I come back in the spring!"

There was always a drunken fight, later on in the night, Tom Sheldon, the sheriff, would break it up, buy the combatants a drink, pat each on the back and say in his deep voice, "Be good and the rounds are on me!!"

Two years ago; the town was a buzz, Mickey Malone, a drunk and a crude human being, was shot to death right at the corner there by his mistreated wife.

"He beat me every night!" she growled, the gun still in her hand.

She got off with a warning never to do that again.

Tonight was a quiet night, just an argument over who had the best football team; everyone knew it was West High followed by them losers over at East.

"Last call!" the bartender yelled and we all laughed.

There was never a last call; 24 hours, as the mines ran, as the prostitutes did down the "Block".

There was talk, every election year, to make this town a better place; shut down the brothels, curb the bars to close at 2 am, not opened on Sunday, that would be church time, but the miners, a rugged bunch, wouldn't hear it.

"We need something to do between shifts!" they growled at the reverend who thought he could tame the Hill.

He got ran out by the train tracks.

"Go back east you cock fool!!!"

And we went back to drinking.

DEPRESSION IN A LITTLE BOTTLE - BROKEN LITTLE DOLL UP ON THE SHELF

DEPRESSION IN A LITTLE BOTTLE - A BROKEN LITTLE DOLL UP ON SHELF

Have you ever felt worthless, a loser, a broken toy just tossed up on the shelf, to sit and rot away into dust?

Have you ever felt the pain of loss, to never see that shining face again, never to hear that voice, telling you it will be okay, even when thousands tell you the same thing?

Every song you hear makes you want to cry, to crawl into a hole and pull that hole inside with you, to want to wander off this mortal plane, the only thing keeping you here is those who would be hurt by that action, a simple but complicated thing, to toss aside your life, to not hear those beloved cries.

To give up, that most precious gift, to lose that grip on what makes you see the light, to feel that darkness seeping up from the pit of your soul, to hear the anger building in your mind, to feel nothing but that pain.

I keep trying to live for the day but my mind decides to wander off into the dark corners, to shiver there, to feel like the broken toy that I am, I try to live happily and get kicked in the teeth by the world.

I feel like that broken little doll up on the shelf, the one that nobody wants.

Good night world, maybe I will dream about better times and will wake up happy.

To feel that wind beneath my wings, to see the horizon, the dawn breaking, the glorious colors of the dawn breaking, to hear that sweet song from the birds of paradise, to believe again, that life will be better, for the truth, for the reality, not just some dream.

I grab my pillow, pull the blanket close to me, feeling sleep coming over me, that darkness, to comfort me, hopefully I will sleep sweetly, to again, dream of better things, to taste the sweet wines of Heaven, to hear the choir sing beautifully, in harmony, to embrace me in their wings, though, I would not want to wake, to this reality, who others say is not that bad, to smile, but what if I don't want to smile, to not laugh, that fake laugh that others seem to believe is that reality?

I still sit here, writing this letter, not knowing if I want to share it to the world, it seems a depressing folly, almost a suicide letter to that world which isn't that bad, I have seen worse.

I still sit here, wondering, listening to the quiet of the darkened room, to hear the nothingness which is peaceful, contrary to those who say, you should surround yourself with everyone.

Everyone is madness, just ask the masses, to hear the many voices screaming inside your head, to rip out your eyes so you can truly see everything as it was meant to be seen.

Dear depression, you gnarly beast, you dearly fuck, go away, bother someone else this night.

So here I sit, writing, listening to my mind, it wanting to scream, but it sulks in silence, good night my dear world.

Dear Depression, go fuck yourself!

Memories - POEM

Memories slide into the brain,
Seeping into that dream,
Majestically impending doom,
Seeping into the life,
And there I stood,
Frozen there,
In that spot,
Trying to move,
Legs done melted.

I felt her spirit leave me,
Her body lifeless,
I could not feel my own limbs,
I felt my own soul wanting to leave.

Memories,
Like a sharp knife,
Ripping into flesh,
Tearing out the rest,
Corrupting the good,
In the mind's eyes,
Tears roll from my eyes,
Memories.

Here I sit,
Years roll by,
Tears still flow by,
Memories,
To follow me
As I walk this road
Called life,
Memories...