Jamie Schoffman

“On January 27th, 1945, The Red Army arrived. We were all free. As four soldiers entered our barracks, Pesha gave one a hug and started to cry. Mikhail and Vladimir shook the hands of all four. One of the soldiers began to lead us in “Gosudarstvenny Gimn Rossiyskoy Federatsii,” the new National Anthem of The Russian Federation. We hadn’t heard it before.

A young soldier approached me. I had been sitting on my bed, with my head in my hands, weeping. He said, “Ты в порядке?” “Are you ok?”

“Нет, я не в порядке. Я не могу жить в другой день после этого.” “No. I am not ok,” I said. “I cannot stand to live another day after this.” I hit the soldier in the stomach quickly, grabbed his standard issue Nagant M1895 Revolver from his hip, put the barrel to my head, and pulled the trigger.

Now, I was free.”
― Jamie Schoffman, John at The Bar

“She examined it. It was covered in Mayor Quimly’s blood. A bullet had pierced the left side, passing through the top of the bag without impacting the other side. She held the bag up to the incoming morning light.

“It’s empty,” she said aloud, although no one was alive to hear her. She opened the bag, fingering a white label, stitched into the inside pocket.

She slowly made her way down from the pulpit and walked towards the exit. Her hand touched the door. As it swung open she could feel the warmth from the sunrise upon her face.

She took a step outside. She stumbled and fell.”
― Jamie Schoffman, John at The Bar

“As I got closer to him, I could see that he was right. The years had not been kind to him. He was heavier than I remembered, with even less hair, and his smile was a disaster. I saw soldiers in Vietnam that couldn’t even spell “dentist” that had a better smile than John’s.

“Oh, a man can dream,” he said, brushing past me and heading behind the bar. He pulled a draft beer from the spout and placed it on the bar. “This one’s on me.”

I slammed the beer down in one sip, replaced the empty glass on the bar, and walked out. “John,” I said, nearing the door. "If I don’t get outta this place, I never will.”

I got into my father’s Mustang, put the top down, and headed for the interstate. Destination unknown. People tell me I have a nice smile.”
― Jamie Schoffman, John at The Bar

“In the blink of an eye, Barbara had turned ninety-five. Taking her final breath in the Ottowan Nursing Home in Goodsprings, Nevada, she couldn’t believe her life would end like this. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She had had so many plans growing up. Where did it all go wrong? Looking back, she realized it was all Roger’s fault. Roger, that bastard.

Her mother had told her once that she could be anything she wanted, as long as she set her mind to it. Barbara had wanted to be a nurse. She enjoyed helping people, and even as a young girl, felt that she could make a difference in people’s lives. After finishing high school in 1915, she had enrolled at the Johns Hopkins Hospital School of Nursing, only a short distance from where she had grown up, a little town called Fort Howard, Maryland.

That had been before The Great War.”
― Jamie Schoffman, John at The Bar