I missed my bus today. My timing sucks.  I always want to be on time, but I can never do it. Something about me is out of place. The other day I tried to get to the store before it closed. I had all day. I planned on leaving at ten in the morning. The store closes at midnight. That leaves a fourteen hour time period for me to get from my house to the store. The store is not any further than two miles, but yet I got there late. What is wrong with me? I think of throwing myself in front of a bus often, but I am worried if I tried my timing would be completely off and I would end up throwing myself into the side of the bus. That is a lot more embarrassing than jumping in front of a bus, because jumping in front of a bus at least you get squashed and you’re dead, but throwing yourself into the side of a bus, well nothing happens, you get a bad bruise at worst. Now I have the opportunity to walk.

Walking is not so bad. Walking helps me clear my head. I like looking at all the people trying to get from one end of the maze to the other, hoping to find that piece of cheese. The little girl cries as her balloon flies away, the mom pays no attention to the girl’s wail. All the mother does is grab her by the wrist and tug, this made missing the bus worth the walk. Next the girl respectfully pulls her arm away and mouths a word that sounds like “itch.” Many people complain about today’s generation not being disciplined enough, but only reason people say that is because they are disconnected with the people of today. The mother instantly reaches back and she smacks the girl’s mouth so hard that for an instant her mouth goes numb. I know this because the girl grabs her jaw to make sure it is still there. Watching the deserving tears run down her face gave me such a laugh that I would walk every day, all day.

A man searches for hope while walking through the cold dark streets of downtown at one in the morning. Waking up early that night in a cold sweat he needed to clear his head. The many thoughts that flowed through and the feelings he uncomfortably felt towards his life told him to take a walk.

The night stood high and the cold sank in low. His bones chilled every step and at times they even cracked. His heart fell to the ground in pieces with every beat. Shaking and coughing he rubs his hands to make sure they work still. The feet no longer hear the brain tell them left, right, left, but instead move on instinct. All connection that the brain and the rest of the body once knew of was severed by the gust of winds. Noticeably he holds onto his heart. A heart, that for the fourth day now, continues to break off in pieces. Only if it stood whole, then this walk never would have taken place, but when booze and late night television do not fix the problem the choices start to limit and run out. Each step leads me to a destination, one that never begins or ends. Finally my feet stop.

I look at the steps and follow them to the doorway, strange I stopped at a church. Never been to a church, let me peek my head in. It looks kind of funny, old, a little dusty, but nice and calming. A man invites me to sit down I decide that a rest sounds good. He talks and talks and talks, says something about things and I nod my head. My body feels better, I thank him, for whatever he said and I walk out. Church is a great place to rest, I think I will go more often.

My foot went through a chef’s hat today. In court I will testify guilty, there is no contest to the crime I have done. The officer asked me if it was worth it, I thought it was. All I wanted was a good lunch, just one good meal. My plate showed no sign of a meal at all. It showed a large pile of cow chips that the restaurant wanted me to pay twenty dollars. I figured if I was going to pay twenty dollars for this, I should at least meet the wonderful piece of chef that served it to me.

I politely walk myself to the back of the kitchen and poke my head in and I see him. I walked in on him in a meeting, he was a fat greasy, disgusting, slob sitting on his butt picking his nose and making the clam chowder. He can tell on  the expression on my face that I am unhappy. Already, even before I can make a move he picks up a large butcher knife that was on the counter. This guy thinks he can intimidate me? If I am willing to fight over a twenty dollar meal I am definitely willing to kill over an insult like him picking up his butcher knife. But, I did not kill him. I ask him to put down his knife I just want to talk.

“Why are you such a bad cook?” These are the words I use exactly. He said nothing just sat there with his mouth open and smiled a bit. At this time a few more people; waiters, busters, hosts stood around us. He looked down and mumbled something. I forgot to listen to him as I began to stomp on his head. Stomping his head in made me feel better than any Big Mac ever could, so yes it was worth the trouble.

A cup of coffee means the world to some people. The value of the coffee outweighs the dollar twenty five that I gladly pay. Without my cup of black gold my functionality drops to somewhere between zero and intolerable. My eyes stay closed; they glaze over with the night’s rest still strongly holding them down.

My medicine is held in a Styrofoam cup or a short, but sweet mug. The smell rushes through my nose in burst of beauty, I breathe differently, I walk differently, my entire body changes dramatically. It truly is an amazing sight. Not having this cup causes a beast to arise out of its tomb.

Walking from person to person hearing every dumb word that comes out of their mouth makes my head bleed. Their mouths move and my head shakes, but all I think about is my coffee. I wish death upon them, because ever second they talk is a second without my coffee. Once I almost killed a woman for my coffee.

She stopped me to talk about her dog, I cannot remember the dog exactly, but I do remember she was standing in front of a window. I remember that because I thought about pushing her out after every word. All I saw were my hands shoving against her chest, slamming her against the window and watching her fall five stories. The only reason why I did not do it was because I heard the coffee in prison is horrible and they do not have hazelnut creamer, love that hazelnut.

Following the days that past I look at the sky and watch the clouds fly over me. Not knowing how I got here I listen to the wind hoping that one day I will find my answer. The bright light reminds me of images that lurk in my head and only come out at night. Images that haunt my every sweat drop, covering my pillow and soaking my bed. I close my eyes and I see it almost perfectly.

It hurts initially all the pain flowing through my veins. Seeing all the things fly by over my head. I wanted to catch them all, I tried, but there were just too many. My hand flailed in the air grabbing at the nearest piece of scrap. Either all the scraps slipped through my fingers or cut through my hands, either way I caught nothing. Blood and glass fly in the air now, screams of horrible pain burst in and out. They are my screams.

Screams of confusion and wonder, not knowing what to do next I continue to scream. It worked so far. Covering my mouth does nothing to stop the screams. The sound waves go right through my fingers and through the holes in my hand. My blood drips on my lips and the salty taste stains my tongue. Nothing helps me forget this.

Hoping to remember more I continue to lie in the middle of the street. The street that caught my fall and cradled me down to the earth making sure I hit every sharp rigid point it had to offer. Every morning this happens, every morning.

I really miss my heartbeat. Something changed recently that caused my heart to leave. It said it had to go get fixed.  I understood fully, but it was my heart. I need my heart, but regardless I willingly let my chest open and let my heart jump out. The arteries were tugged on, ripping itself out, I felt it in my gut, my chest ran with blood, my body began to change colors, I knew I would hurt, but I kept telling myself I would be alright. It seemed like it didn’t want to go, but we both knew that it needed to go. Now everywhere I go I see people with their hearts and I wonder “why the hell can’t I have my heart.” Then I remember I told my heart I would support it decisions in whatever it does, so I did. Things just are a bit harder, nothing big, just simple things. Maybe that’s big.

Breathing for me now takes a longer. It hurts to walk and move. Eating and sleeping don’t feel the same either. Nobody will ever notice how things change once they’re missing their hearts. I knew if I would have kept my heart in its place it would have not been the heart I wanted. The irregular beat would have thrown me off and it always pacing trying to find out what was wrong with it would have driven me crazy. I enjoyed my heart just the way it was, but my heart thought it needed improvement. It eventually will work out for the best.

I will lay on the table with my chest wide open, no anesthetics, and no pain killers. I want to be fully awake and aware when it jumps back into my chest. Jumping off of the operating table I will be able to walk with my heart again. My beautiful heart, making my chest warm again, beats at a holier pace, it making me a better person, and the world an easier place to live. I just really hope it decides to come back, without it I can’t really control my bowel movements and I constantly shit myself.

A missing person poster hung in the post office. Strangely I saw the girl at the super market yesterday. She looked like hell; tired, skinny, sad. I paid little attention at first, but at a second glance she caught my eye.

I noticed her looking straight at me, mumbling something sexy, looked like “hump.” Now I know she mouthed “help.” An easy mistake, anyone could have made it. I honestly knew better, but she looked so beautiful, all I thought at first were lustful thoughts, her hips were so nice and her breast almost made me forget about her gorgeous smile, even though her smile did seem a bit force. I almost went over to talk to her, but her boyfriend or whoever he was gave me the meanest stare. Quickly diverting my eyes to his shoes and acting like I saw something interesting on the floor I slowly noticed him. He looked just like the guy from the gas station.

This guy never looked happy, but when he did it never looked like a good happy. Kind of like the happy a person looks after punishing a kid down or something. I always tried to be nice, just in case he went crazy. It looks like he finally went crazy. For a minute I think of getting a few guns and going in shooting, having a fatal encounter with that crazy person, a last man standing kind of ordeal.

I would see the girl tied up to a chair and his sick self lurking over her. Right before he does anything I burst in knocking the door down. He reaches for his gun and fires a round. I dive towards the floor and fire off my gun. Both shot miss, but he keeps firing. I roll in order to avoid the bullets. He hits me once, but the adrenaline pushes out the pain. After the last shot all I hear are clicks, this is my sign to get up and rush him. Finally all the pain he caused this young lady will be ended; finally my life will amount to something. I tackle him to the ground and use the butt of the gun to beat him senseless. His blood is all over me and my pride steams off of my body. I untie the girl and she kisses me. I lead her out the door, but before we get out she wants to have sex right on the couch in front of the crippled and beat man, showing him all that he missed out on.

All that sounded great and I knew I could do it, but I had something to do that day. I will just call 9-1-1. “Hi Officer, it’s me Chris. Yeah he did it again.”

Disgusting! I work all week and I go to breakfast at the end of the week to treat myself for a job well done and this is the stuff they put in front of me.  I asked for a simple two eggs, two pancakes, two hash browns, and two sausages. Nothing more, nothing less, I kept the order short and simple. There were no substitutions or special ways of cooking the meal, just the regular meal I order weekly. Normally I hate complaining and making a huge deal out of something small, but this ignorance shall not go unnoticed.

“Excuse me, sire!” He calls the waiter over to his table. The only thing he worries about is that the waiter may not understand him and the problem. A young man in a white shirt and black pants walk up to the table with a name tag that says “Tim.”

“Tim, these eggs are scrambled.” He spoke in a low voice and looked Tim in the nose.

“It appears they are sir, I’m sorry about that I’ll bring them back the way you ordered them. How did you order them?” Tim half heartedly asked knowing well he cared less than a pig eating day old slop. It only took two minutes to cook up any order of eggs.

“I ordered them sunny side up. Please bring them that way this time.” The words “please” meant nothing in this sentence. He might as well have said “jerk” or “punk” instead; those words would have been more accurate.

“Alright” mumbled Tim, in a sassy fashion in a way where his voice insulted the man’s intelligence.

“Alright? Alright? Is that all you have to say?” Angry about the way he has been treated the man grabs the plate of food out of the waiter’s hand. “No it is not alright. I work hard all week and I need a little me time, this kind of stuff interferes with my me time, you understand.” He slams the plate on the floor, shattering it and making food go all over the restaurant. Breathing heavily he walks out of the restaurant, jumps in his car and speeds out of the parking lot.

“Alright.”