Killer At Heart

Michael Keihler. "Be proud of your name, son," his mother had always told him, and he supposed he was. After all his ancestors had fought in wars; they had been in battles, killing those who treated others unfairly. "You'll always be a Keihler at heart, so you should be proud." And so he was. In fact, he was planning on passing the name on: Alice Patman. They had been dating for a good year or two now. He figured he was in love and needed to get married one of these days, so he decided to.

They were going on a date that night, and it was the night. He had the ring, he was completely ready. They went to her favorite restaurant. One of those really fancy, expensive places. It was located right next to the park, it was a beautiful park at that. The park had a big lake and a beautiful board walk, dim with only lanterns giving off light. He decided that was the perfect place to ask, so after dinner that's where they went.

They were walking on the board walk alone, holding hands. With his other hand he checked his pocket. Good, the box is there. He cracked open the box and felt the ring. Good, the ring is in it. He slid his finger out of the box and it popped shut. "What was that?" Alice asked. "What? Oh, nothing." he replied, nervously. He hadn't been nervous, not until just now. It was probably because now she knew that there was something, even if she didn't think anything of it, he did.

"Alice, there's something that I haven't told you about me yet." She looked at him with a questioning look. "Alice, I love you." Then he brought out the lovely black box with the lovely gold ring inside.

It was on that dim, romantic board walk that he asked her. And it was on that dim, romantic board walk that she said yes. After all was done, after the restaurant and the dim, romantic board walk they climbed into the car, fiancé and fiancée, for him to bring her home. They pulled out of the parking lot, drove away, and then they were stopped by a stop light.

That stop light was the last thing that he really remembered clearly, everything after that was just a blur. He remembered reaching down for something, then a flash of white lights, he remembered something wet and warm covering his hands, he remembered looking at his hand and seeing the color red, then red lights, then darkness...

- - -

It was 4:02 PM. All the feelings and emotions rushed back to him when that time came. Everyday, he would be crawling along on the ground only to be beaten and robbed by the memories and the sadness of her being gone, exactly at 4:02 PM. That was when he'd gotten the call that she was dead. Not Alice, she had died in the car crash nearly 7 years ago, these memories were of Heather. Heather had been his wife. He married her a few years after the loss of Alice.

Heather and Michael were nearly a perfect couple. They'd been truly in love when they were married. Then a few years later the separation came along, it was terrible. Michael was torn apart; he didn't know what to do. Why was this terrible separation coming into his marriage? What was it about? Fortunately they had finally worked out their problems and come back together. Things were finally going back to the way they had been before the separation, possibly even better than before the separation when it happened. They had only been back together for a month when he received the phone call. That was when he died, died on the inside. He had been killed and robbed of his love. This had happened only three weeks ago, and it haunted his life. 4:02 PM.

- - -

The police had been investigating the murder of Heather Morson Keihler for the past three weeks. Yes, it had been murder. She had gone out to run some errands and then she was found with a knife wound in her stomach and her wedding ring missing. That was all, just her wedding ring. None of the money in her purse was gone, none of her credit cards were stolen, just her wedding ring.

This is why the police were so interested in this case, because it was so suspicious why that was all that mattered to whoever the attacker was. Whoever it was...

- - -

Michael heard a knock on his door. That knock pulled him out of a nap, and when he woke up the world rushed in on him so fast that he was dizzy. He had been asleep, away from this world where both Alice and Heather had been taken from him. In his dreams they lived on, and they were there-- to comfort him and to remind him of his happy days when love wasn't murdered and robbed from him. --KNOCK KNOCK-- He rose and went to answer the door. It was the investigator.

"Hello Mr. Keihler. Sorry to have bothered you, but I needed to ask you some more questions about your wife's case."
What more information could they possibly use from me? "Yes sir, whatever you need."
"You never found her ring did you?"
"I'm sorry sir? What do you mean?"
"Alice, I mean. Wasn't her ring missing too?"
"Yes, it was. I suppose it somehow came off in the wreck, what does that have anything to do with Heather?"
"We found that what was believed to be a wound from the broken glass in Alice matches the same knife wound that was found in Heather."
"What are you talking about?"

The investigator glanced over at a seemingly ancient chest that was on the other side of the room. On top of that old chest was a seemingly older knife with an exquisite case. The investigator made his way over to it and brought out some sort of measuring device.

"Mr. Keihler, This knife's width is the same as both of the wounds."
"Sir, that knife belonged to my grandfather. He fought in World War II. My mother brought that here because she wanted it to stay in the family. I never actually touched it."

The investigator opened the case and looked inside. Gleaming up at him were two gorgeous diamond rings.

Michael froze. He froze in confusion, and in horror. Images began flashing through his mind as clearly as someone looking through a photo album. He remembered the stop light. He remembered reaching down to retrieve the knife, then violently stabbing his fiancée and the blood running out all over his hand. He remembered vividly colliding with the other car. He remembered the red lights flashing from the police car, then he remembered removing her ring and pocketing it as well as hiding the knife before he passed out.

He remembered Heather saying she would be back in a little while and driving away to the corner store. Then suddenly like an overlooked page in a photo album he remembered grabbing that knife and riding down to the corner store, murdering his wife and stealing the ring.

"Mr. Keihler, you're under arrest for the murder of Alice Patman and the murder of Heather Keihler."

Michael was speechless. All he could think of was how he'd felt like his love was murdered and stolen from him. How he'd died on the inside when he received that phone call. In a sense he had killed himself.

Thoughts And Memories

the bus pulls in, then stops. its door slides open and it unloads. he, along with everyone else, shuffles off. the sun was just beginning to rise causing the sky to turn a vivid red color. the color of love. the color of hate. the color of blood. the color of pure emotion.

he arrived at his usual spot. the hall was strangely full this morning, of all the other students. he sat there trying to read, glancing up occasionally to see who was there and then looking back down at his book. escaping the world of reality and reentering the world of fiction. the world which is created by one's own mind and rests with all other thoughts and memories. thoughts and memories that can be stirred by the slightest scent, the slightest gesture, the slightest glance.

he glanced up again and saw someone. memories flooded back to his mind. he remembered when they had been so much more. and then that had just faded. he looked over and saw someone else. he thought of how they had been through so much together and how much they had grown together and then split apart it seemed. he remembered how much he loved her and how he feels now. someone coming down from the hall. someone who he was so close to, who he'd known for so long and so well. he looked around and saw everyone sitting in the hall and thought to himself how everyone had their own life, how everyone had their own story. they all had their own future, their own present, and their own past. they all had their own memories.

he returned to his book and the world of fiction that rests in our mind thinking to himself one thing:

it's amazing how so much of life is made up of reflecting on the past. whether it be browsing old photo albums, watching old home videos, talking about old times with friends, or just thinking about past events. maybe we've done something in the past that we regret and we think about ways that we could have gone about it differently. but, the fact remains that we can't change the past, so why do we continue to brood?

Photo Album

pictures flashing before my eyes
coming around from behind
memories of what all i did to you
and what i have done to myself

pictures of the past
pictures changing the present
pictures making the future better

living with all this regret
something i can not change
they've already been taken

(can't throw them away)

already taken and printed
placed in the photo album
which is placed on the shelf
it will always be there

throw it to the side
they scatter about
this gallery full of memories
this world full of pictures

pictures of the past
pictures changing the present
pictures making the future better

living with all this regret
something i can not change
they've already been taken

(can't throw them away)

Recycled Trash

the realization just shot through me like a bullet
the fact that i used to be new
and now i'm old and used,
broken and thrown out like trash
recycled trash

yesterday - sitting around and useless
today - sitting on the curb
with so much potential
the recycled trash is bound to come back around
come back around

there's nothing i can do but sit here and wait
wait to be picked up
picked up and recycled
for one man's trash is another man's treasure
another man's treasure

recycled, reused
it all comes back around
and i can promise that ill come back around
in one form or another
recycled trash

Sinking Again

it was her. she was here. she was beautiful, lovely, and walking toward his table. why had he asked her here? why... again?

she sat. they both said hello. the meeting wasn't awkward, it was--it seemed--cautious; like a child trying to sneak behind its parents backs and get away with something. at the same time, everything came naturally: the verbal language, the body language, the almost psychic language between them.

the question kept swimming through his mind, like a fish looking for food, a fish that would probably starve to death, or come close to it. the question: why? ...why did i start it again? he could wonder as much as he wanted but he wouldn't find the answer. the answer was in plain sight, he'd just looked it over as you would a stack of papers on your desk: he loved her, but he would never admit it. not to himself, not to anyone else, and especially not to her.

there was no way he would go back there, even though he'd already gotten out the map and begun reading the directions. the thing about him is that he kept going one place, then he'd retrace his steps and find himself right back where he'd started. then he'd set off someplace else and somehow end up back at the beginning. how he did it he'd never figure out. but he did it nonetheless. and it really did suck to not ever get anywhere. no matter how far you went you never really did go anywhere. it really was just annoying.

the date was going well actually, at least it was until they'd both finished their food and the only thing that was left was each other. his arm was resting on the table. so was hers. they were but inches away from each other. almost instinctively he moved his, slowly and naturally his hand touched hers, softly. then their fingers interlocked.
(he was stepping into a lake)
he leaned forward.
(a very deep lake)
they gazed into each others eyes.
(he couldn't swim, and he knew it)
once again, slowly and naturally, they both moved. they both drifted closely to one another and then--
(he was drowning)

A Mere Silhouette

he was sitting there. on the cold, rough driveway; on that cold, rough night. the others ran around playing games. games of the past, of the simpler days. games like hide and seek, and freeze tag. it was actually rather cold outside as he sat, looking up at all the stars. he didn't have his jacket, he'd left that inside. it was also rather dim outside. the only light came from that of a street light overhead. and although it was so dark, the street light was so bright in his face. shining so bright, in fact, that it seemed that it was laughing at him. saying, "haha, look at you and your sad poor little life. ha! you even have to rely on me for light!" he wished it would just turn off. he didn't want the light. he just wanted the stars. but that light continued shining.

there were other street lights too. behind the trees, behind houses, causing the trees and houses to be mere silhouettes. the shape is clearly seen, but what is in the shape is a complete mystery. he hears the others laughing and playing. knowing that he could be too, if he wanted. but he sat, gazing upward at the stars. wishing that he could just pocket one of them. carry it away with him. for times when all was dark. then those around him would just see his silhouette. but he would have the warmth and the light of the wondrous star.

light is such a mysterious thing. the way it works. the way it affects life so much. it affects the shadows: their length, whether they be long or short, whether they even be there at all. it affects peoples vision: without light all would be just blindly following nothing. light helps us all to find where we're going. it helps us to see. but at the same time, when something obstructs the light from view the light hides it. causing this silhouette. this mystery.

is it possible that at some point people can be standing right in front of the light, see just what is right and what is there and yet, to be a silhouette, to be a complete mystery, to be a mere silhouette?

The Fisherman's Decision

its an overcast day. the fisherman had just caught his fish. he spends all day trying to catch fish. all of his life he spends trying to catch fish. and thats all he ever does. you'd think that he'd get really excited when he catches fish. i sure am when i catch them. but he's so used to it by now. sometimes its even boring. he's actually considered going off and doing something else for awhile. considered changing his ways. maybe doing something more exciting than catching fish. eh.. this is his job, he cant just switch.

the fish he'd just caught wasnt the right one. he puts it back in the water. sets his pole again. waits. sitting there in his chair. really the last thing on his mind was whether or not there was a fish on the line. he was picturing himself as if he werent a fisherman. what else could he be doing with his life, other than playing this little game of "go fish." solitaire had even been more exciting sometimes. at least it was a different game. something out of the ordinary. "maybe i will go do something different. im tired of this fishing. im tired of it." he stands up and stretches wondering what else he could do when he realizes there was another fish caught on the line.

should he go get it or just ignore it? let it free? maybe he could came back later and it would still be there. would it really wait around that long? the complication of this simple task was curious. why is it such a big deal? its just a fish on a line. right? nothin to worry about. right? the fisherman turns back around, away from the fish "i guess ill come back later, and if im lucky it'll still be there."