Trial

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"You mind if I smoke?"

"Suit yourself."

"Got a light?"

"You know, those things will kill you."

"Where I'm going, I don't need to worry about that."

A flame bit into the darkness. Silver handcuffs caught its reflection. Heat touched close to a pair of lips, and the cigarette was lit. And then fire became smoke.

"Why did you do it?"

Sitting back against the cold, metal chair, Sherry pulled the cigarette from her mouth and chased it with a long cloud of smoke. She watched it rise up before her, and little red cinders fell to the floor. And she took another long drag before answering the detective's question. "Why did I kill him?"

"You could have come to us for help."

"Please. I broke up with the guy five years ago, and two years later, I got a restraining order. But he still kept coming around. He claimed that since he had my social security number, he could find me anywhere, and he did. And it soon came down to me or him." She continued to smoke her cigarette.

"Like I said." The detective sat back in his seat. "You could have come to me for help."

"I tried that route, like I said." Sherry shook her head. "He just wouldn't let go."

"So it was your life or his?" Sherry nodded. "And then you plotted to kill him?"

"I did not plot anything. He broke into my place, and I so happened to have a gun, which was loaded." She stared back at the detective. "As soon as I heard someone in the house, I grabbed the gun, slowly exited the bedroom, aimed and shot."

"You could have just wounded him."

"I wasn't thinking at the time, and I don't call that murder." The cigarette smashed into the ashtray. "I call that self-defense."

"You shot him four times, Sherry."

"I was scared, detective." She sighed. "I live alone. There was nobody there to protect me, and it would take you a good couple of minutes to get to me. So, what should I have done during that time I was waiting for you? Pray that he did not kill me first?" Her gaze held the detective's for a long moment. "I made my choice, and I don't regret it."

"Obviously." He rose from his seat. "You can't take the law in your own hands."

"But if my life were on the line, which it was, who's to say that I can't do what is necessary to protect myself?" She looked down at the handcuffs. "How can you live your life when you know that he is out there? You can't. You're held prisoner to your fear, and the only way out... Well, there is only one way out, if they don't back off." The detective stared at the large mirror near him. "They just can't let go."

"So, you're claiming self-defense?" The detective moved toward her. "That's your defense, but it's not your first offense." Sherry looked away. "No, you don't get to look away." His eyes found hers. "I read your jacket, saw your history of abusive boyfriends, and you keep letting them in until you found this guy, and when you got tired of him, he did not want to let go. So, you took it to the next level, and you waited for him to make his move. And then you killed him, and you know what I call that?" He moved closer to her. "I call that cold-blooded."

"Everyone has a sob story. Why should mine be any different?"

"You're really something." He moved back to his seat. "So, what's your sob story?"

"You read my jacket."

"But it doesn't start from the beginning."

"Does it matter?" Sherry now rose from her chair and moved about the small interrogation room. "I lived through hell, and nobody can understand what I experienced."

"Were you attacked?"

"No."

"Were you raped?"

"No."

"Then, what is this hell that you speak of?"

"A circuit of men that continues to rotate around and around, catching me in their vice, and once these men have me, they mess with my mind, they tear apart my heart, and they leave me in pieces. I would be lucky to find a man to love me, but not one of them had my best intentions at heart. And this last guy? He thought I was property, and I am not anyone's possession! This is my life we are talking about, and this is my life to live as I want to live!"

"And your life to end." Her head snapped toward the detective's. "Just admit it, and maybe the DA will go easy on you. You killed him. Plain and simple."

"I know my rights, detective. Until my lawyer gets here, I could stop talking, and this story will come to an abrupt end." She moved closer to him. "And I did not want to kill him, but he would not go away." She took a step back. "Is there others out there living a life worse than mine? Yes. Are there others, whose lives have been destroyed, and are they still picking up the pieces? Yes. Still, I have suffered, and I have every right to be angry. And I have every right to do what is necessary to protect myself, and if a gun is a way of protection, then it is my shield to hold before me to ward off men like him." Her eyes narrowed. "Did you read his jacket?"

"He didn't have one."

"Because he looked like a saint." She started to pace around the room. "Everyone lives through hell, but not everyone makes it out. And where I'm going, I don't plan to escape."

"And where is it do you think that you are going?"

"Only God knows. Once you take a life, your hands are stained with their blood until death comes to take you, and once taken, you will find yourself repeating a similar life. And the circuit continues." She turned toward the mirror. "It's just a game. Life. It's a game of survival, but so many of us get lost somewhere in-between. What's the point?" She closed her eyes. "What is the point of living?"

"To survive." The detective moved away from the chair and walked toward her. "To become better, stronger, and to make something of your life. And to not throw it away." He watched the tears fall down her face. "And to find yourself once more."

"But I'm still lost." She turned away from him. "I don't know who I am, and I don't like where I am going." She could sense him now standing right behind her. "And I did not want him to die, but he crossed the line." She looked over her shoulder at him. "He came for me to take my life away."

"And he's gone now because of you."

"I did what I had to do."

"And now you have your life back."

"Until I am found guilty."

"Of murder."

"No." Her eyes held his. "Of death. You can't take a life, intentionally or not without paying some kind of price, and one day, that bill will come. And I'll have to pay." She smiled. "Until that day, I can finally live my life." The door behind them opened, and high heels thundered across the floor. "My lawyer is here." Her eyes flashed as if another fire were lit before them. "This interogation has reached its end."

Trial
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Music Review: Billy Redfield

~Download Silent Dreams here: http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/silent-dreams/2076243

Billy Redfield's Two Steps Closer is a beautiful, orchestrated album that plays across the strings of the heart like a violin, and Redfield's deep, soothing voice fades away any burdens that may be weighing down upon your shoulders. This album is a sweet blend of Jazz, Country, and Alternative that will melt the hour away and lift you to your feet to dance through the night, dance to your heart's content. And the depth of the lyrics will bring light to your soul and tears to your eyes as it is chased by the beautiful sounds of multiple instruments, and every beat, every rhythm is savored, echoing with love. And you are swept up into the arms of the music, haunted by a passionate, enchanting voice, and out of all the songs on this true artistic album, the favorite must rest with Die For You, track number 5.

You can find out more about Billy Redfield or listen to his music by viewing his myspace page: http://www.myspace.com/billyredfieldtunes

Along The Lines of Life

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The chords to my soul

drift along rivers of poetry,

and the song of my heart

whispers on

in silence.

And fingers numb

try to strike the chord,

but when the pen bleeds,

my soul weeps.

And the song to my heart

carries on

high above waves of static

but silenced by glass.

My heart is a prism

catching light,

but what if darkness turned it cold?

And the strings to my soul

wish to sing across the page,

and my heart cries to be heard.

My song carries on.


Along The Lines of Life

by, Melissa R. Mendelson

A Long Walk

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A Long Walk

by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Concrete baked under heat. Clear skies told of no rain to come. A breeze barely slipped by. Traffic roared like the ocean, and footsteps echoed along streets. And still the stranger walked.

It was the end of summer. The rain had finally died down, and all that was left was the heat. Bodies laid under sun against sand, and salty water splashed down along shores. And glints of light bounced off metal as cars made their way up and down the local roads, ignoring the stranger waiting for the light to turn green, and a boy on a bicycle cruised between street and sidewalk. And the stranger crossed the road.

Small shops decorated the Long Island roads. Gas stations and snack shops claimed corners of street. Parking lots were full near the strip malls, and cars shot out of exits and entrances. And the stranger dodged the cars without a care.

It was a day for walking. Families entertained themselves in parks or sunned themselves at the beach. Teenagers chilled at the mall or fun zones, and kids enjoyed a cool swim in the swimming pool behind their house. It was finally summer, a day to enjoy, and the stranger’s feet never stopped moving.

The glare of the sun was held back with dark sunglasses. Light clothing warded off the heat, but feet remained hot in sneakers. But the streets were too dangerous to walk in sandals, and glass had found its way into a foot once. And that was an experience to never have again.

“What are you running from?”

The thought came out of nowhere, and the stranger hesitated. Feet turned one way and then shifted into another direction, but then they paused by the corner as the traffic light turned red. And cars continued to cruise on by like she was never there, and maybe she was nothing but a nameless ghost wandering through life.

“Where are you going?”

The traffic light flashed green, and the stranger crossed the street. Sunlight bounced off waiting cars but dared not to touch her. Feet kicked at concrete, and white rubber met sidewalk. And the walking continued down another long block and along more cluttered streets.

“Why do you do this?”

The thoughts were becoming annoying now. These walks usually went on in silence, but the mind was in turmoil. Life had bitten in deep as of late, and the head was cluttered with mistakes done and mistakes that could never be taken back. And these walks usually cleared the air, dropped the burden off by the front door, but today, it was the unwanted companion that dogged each step.

“You can never escape.”

Life was no longer lived like a rat in the maze. The walls were finally beginning to fall away. Every path now led somewhere, and if a dead end was found, all that was needed was a u-turn. And then something else would come along, so why was her mind telling her that there was no escape?

“You can’t run away.”

For a long time, there was nothing more that she wanted than to run away from home. Slammed doors, loud arguments, and tension that could slice like a knife waited for her on days, where she was tormented in school. And it was never-ending, and nobody heard her, nobody saw her, and nobody knew her. And if she left, maybe, somehow she could begin again.

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

But she escaped. She found a new life, and in leaving home behind, she began to understand herself more. All those mistakes that she could never take back ripped her life apart, and all the turmoil left behind continued to leave things in ruin. She had to leave because if she never did, she would have remained lost, a ghost wandering along life, but was she finally alive?

“Don’t hurt yourself by these lies. You’re still trapped. The walls are closing in. You just don’t realize it yet, but nothing has changed. You can’t escape.”

The thoughts were cold like rain and continued to pour down despite the clear skies above, and its angry shadow lingered behind her. Tension touched her skin, but the heat burned it away. The roar of traffic echoed the rage boiling within, but why was she so angry? Was it because she had lived blind for so long, letting the wrong ones in, who tore down who she was? Who was she now?

“I don’t know who I am.”

That thought always haunted her. She knew where she began, how her life had taken the turns that it did. She knew her mistakes destroyed the person that once existed, but now the slate was clean. Who was she now? Was she on her way to living a better life? Would she be seen, or would she remain invisible?

“I don’t want to disappear.”

Her footsteps were growing heavy. The burden of life had settled back on her shoulders. Clouds covered sky, and depression tried to slip back in. But it was denied and would not be allowed to claim her life again.

“I don’t want to disappear.”

The move here was difficult. Her life or what was left of it was thrown to the side, and she had to begin again. But she was ready. This had to be done. She couldn’t live the way she did anymore, and these walks were her reflection of that choice. And she used to enjoy taking these long walks but not today.

“I want to go home.”

Home was still waiting for her, and she would return. But not until she was ready, and when she did go back, everything would be different. She would find herself closer to those that did not see things as she did, and there would be no more arguments or doors slamming closed. And maybe there would even be understanding, and she would be a ghost no more.

“I can’t go back now.”

Her new journey had only begun, and the days ahead would be long and difficult. But she would try to not fail again. She would try to not let the wrong ones back into her life, but she didn’t always see them coming. And she knew they lied in wait to waltz back into her life and tear her down, and they wore the masks of saints. But those masks merely hid their horns.

“My heart breaks.”

There was nothing more that she wanted than to love and be loved. She had looked for love in all the wrong places, and all the wrong ones brought her bitterness and despair. Did love really exist, and would it find her? Or would she continue to turn down blind alleys?

“It’s time to go back.”

Hours had already gone by. A cool breeze was now blowing. Traffic had even slowed down, and she found herself three towns over from where she started. But her legs were tired, and her feet hurt. She did not have the strength to turn around and start again.

“Until tomorrow.”

A slight smile crossed her face. Her eyes caught sight of the local bus, and she fished change out of her pocket. She would sit back and enjoy the ride, and she would no longer let her thoughts run wild. She had enough for one day, and the pain in her legs tomorrow would be proof of that. But when the next weekend approaches, she would take to the streets again and leave the world behind.

Rain

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Rain
By, Melissa R. Mendelson


I used to never cry

for I cried a thousand tears

in youth,

but tears fall

gently down,

rain pouring out

from my soul.

And the hands of change

hold this life.

Everything is different now,

but can I live in different?

My footsteps march into the unknown,

and the webs spun from the past

linger on my skin.

I have to go forward

but can’t forget what I leave behind.

I have to hold strong

against the winds of change

and hope that life different

is the life that I dreamed,

and the skies are clear.

But tears still fall

from my eyes,

rain pouring down,

and washing away the debris

of a world reshaped.

Walking Along Waves of Freedom

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Hands of the ocean gently touch the shore and leave its fingerprints behind. A crest of white rides the waves, and whispers of wind along each current echoes of a life lived free. And nothing can hold back the water as it flows to and crashes down against sand, and salty tears of life's pain is washed away. And the stars overhead burn bright, sparkling like diamonds against the deep blue.

A calm floods over the world. No violence can reach these shores. No lies, betrayal could make jagged edges to cut the water in two. Gentle voices are carried along the wind, pushing arguments out to sea, and the tears of salt that I cry are tears of freedom. Here I am free.

A pebble dances off the waves. Rippling currents follow in its wake. An echo of all the wrong I've done falls deep under water, but there is no promise that those mistakes won't surface again. And there is no turning back time but to go forward, and my hands are bound from the trials that I lost. But here, I can still find freedom waiting.

A chill filled the air. Lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder rumbled in the far distance, and the storm started to roll on in. And the turbulence of this world filled the sky with dark, ominous clouds, and no matter our chase for peace, it would always be denied. We always look beyond what we have and crave for more, and we are too blind to realize that freedom is being washed away.

And now the currents smash against the shore. High waves threaten to engulf whatever lies in its path. Winds whip around water, and pellets fly through the air. And freedom screams as the storm unleashes its fury on those that dare remain before it, but of all the darkest moments that I have lived, I no longer fear its rage. Whatever pieces of a world are left behind will be enough for me to rebuild and to call freedom home.

My hands are bound with the struggle of this world, but I can still stand. I can still dream, and my mind races along those waves rushing toward where I am. And my heart beats in sync with every crash, with every roar of thunder, and hope flickers against bolts of lightning. And here I am still free.

And the storm quickly ends, and calm returns to quiet down what was disturbed. And the waves become gentle, rolling back and forth from here to eternity. The clouds part and allow the moon to cast its light over me. No matter how heavy the burden of my life weighs down upon my shoulders, it is lifted up into the arms of the wind, and its soft whispers give me comfort and steal my pain away. And the waves keep on crashing, and freedom continues to breathe.

The hands of the ocean reach out toward me. Its fingers touch where I now stand. Moments of my life slips down beneath waves, and that girl I once was swims away. And life waits by the concrete for me to return, and freedom stands alone between sand and water. Where I am going, it cannot follow but in my dreams, and the story I leave behind are the footprints left deep in the sand.

"How do I define freedom but in the waves of the ocean that will forever flow free." M.R.M.

Television Pours in the Drama

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The heavy rains of Drama are falling hard. Tears from the heart flood the street. A cold but gentle wind blows through the corridors of stories told, lifting characters to life that drinks us in. Waves after waves of channels are surfed until the remote falls silent against the couch, and hours are spent in the arms of a television show to never be forgotten. And we return week after week to touch the chords of life, the depth of Drama.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1879938/television_pours_in_the_drama_.html?cat=9