King of the Lonely Hill

King of the Lonely Hill
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Brilliant eyes flashed in darkness.  Haunted words touched pale lips.  Heroic features mirrored the legends in time.  Conspiracy whispered across strong, metal frames.  Flaws etched across glass, but the glass would not break.  A space rested against the long, long wall, awaiting my presence, and I was ready, ready for my destiny.

The long hall stretched out before me.  I walked upward, noting the heroes to my left and to my right.  I would become one of them, and I continued moving up, up to where I should be.  I would get there.  I was almost there, and I would never look back.  Why should I?  My destiny was almost at hand.

The phones rang somewhere in the distance.  I hardly noticed them, but the ringing would not be silenced.  Strange, but I had those to come to my side, assist me in my goal, and keep me moving upward.  Why weren’t they answering the phones?  Where have they all gone?  I started to turn around, but then fear struck me.  I couldn’t afford to go back down.

Still, an eerie silence now filled me.  The phones were quiet.  The hall was quiet.  Where were my bustling bees?  Why were they not doing my bidding?  I should go and check on them.  I should turn around, but then that fear is waiting to bite into me again.  Why should I be afraid?  I can turn around for a moment, go back down, and then come back up.  Right?  There’s nothing stopping me from going back up, up to the highest level, where the white throne awaits me.

I turned around.  What I saw threw an icy pick into my heart.  There was nothing.  It was like staring into a black hole.  Everything was gone.  Everyone was gone.  All I had left was the part of the hall that I remained in.  There was no going back down.  There was only going back up, moving as fast as I could before the darkness swallowed me.  And it would swallow me just like the men that came before me.

I moved upward quickly.  Those men on the wall smiled at me, knowing my fate.  How could they betray me?  I was to become another great man.  I changed this city for the better.  I made it my own.  How could anyone betray me, but then I realized the truth.  I betrayed myself, and the darkness followed.

I made it to the top of the hill.  The white throne waited for me.  Just sit down in the chair and claim its power, I said to myself.  The world will return for you.  The world needs you, so I sat down in that chair.  And the world did not come back.

The darkness grew closer.  The great men were gone.  The long hall was gone.  There was nothing, no one to help me.  I did this to myself.  I paved the road with good intentions, but we all know where that road leads.  And here I am.  I am king, but I am now king of the lonely hill.  And the world has forgotten about me.  They just won’t forget the damage that I’ve done.

Mystical Knights

Mystical Knights
Dedicated to my Grandmother
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Knights of wonder.
Knights beware.
Danger’s coming
for you anywhere.

Behind a tree.
In a mountain.
Floating on a sea.
Anywhere, it can be.

Keep your guard up.
Do not put down your sword.
They will be coming.
Maybe, once or as a hoard.

Tonight or tomorrow.
Yesterday or even today.
Who really knows?
Just be ready anyway.

Knights of wonder.
Knights of dreams.
We are the mystical knights.
Reality isn’t what it seems.

Are We Having Tacos?

Are We Having Tacos?
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Noontime.  We gathered in the bright, warm office.   The telephones rang, but we ignored them.  People walked by, glancing in, and we glanced back.  This was our time, a short half hour break before the return to work.  We wouldn’t waste it.

“Who wants tacos tomorrow?”  Beverly leaned back in her chair, waiting for her coworkers to answer the question.

“I don’t know if I want tacos,” Kelly replied, picking at her sandwich.

“Anyone see American Idol last night?”  Jamie sat at a desk behind her.  She ate her salad, waiting for an answer.  “My favorite’s still there.”

“I’m watching The Voice,” Meghan said before staring down bitterly at her banana  yogurt.  “Tacos sound good.”

“So, is that a yes,” Beverly asked the room.

“I don’t know why they have the heat on still,” Kelly whined.  “It’s like seventy degrees outside, and ninety in here.  I can’t eat.  I’m too hot.”  She dropped the rest of her sandwich onto the plate.  “Someone needs to tell them to turn off the heat.”

“I know.  Last week, we were freezing.  This week, we’re baking.”  Jamie shook her head.  “Hey, anyone watch the news last night?  Did you hear about the kidnapping?”

“Oh, yeah.  That was insane,” Kelly said.

“And she knew the guy too.  She thought he was a nice guy,” Beverly said with distaste.

“She was wrong,” Meghan muttered.  “Whose bringing in the stuff?”

“For what,” Jamie asked.  “What are we doing again?”

“Tacos,” Kelly replied.

“I’ll bring the meat in,” Beverly said.

“I got the shells,” Kelly chimed in.

“I’ll get the salsa,” Meghan said.

“Not hot this time,” Jamie scolded her.  “It was too hot last time.”

“It’s too hot in here,” Beverly said.

“I know.  How do they expect us to work in this environment,” Jamie asked.

“At least, we still have a job.”

“That’s true, Meghan,” Kelly said.

“So, tacos tomorrow,” Beverly asked the room again.

“Anyone watching The Following,” Jamie asked everyone.  “That’s a sick show.”  She glanced at Beverly.  “Tacos are good.”

“I don’t know if I want tacos,” Kelly repeated.

“Then, what do you want?”

“To go home, Beverly.”  Kelly laughed along with everyone else.  “Time to go back.”  She slowly rose from her chair.  “Tacos sound good.”  She left the room, and the others followed her out, ready to take on the afternoon in hopes of going home soon.

Walking Past Fire

Walking Past Fire
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

The road stretched out before me.  Nothing but trees clustered my view.  The sun tried to blind me as I twisted and turned, hoping for a glimpse of civilization, but there was none.  There was just road, the unknown destination that lied ahead, but I know what waits for me, my end.

Sunlight bounces off metal.  Another asshole cut me off.  If only he knew who was behind this wheel.  I was born to play the villain, and he was born to be the fool.  Road rage is not for my liking, but I never liked getting my hands dirty except when the price was right.  I wouldn’t waste a dime on the idiots flashing their brights and honking their horns or the idiots that don’t believe in yielding before merging.  They want to go to war?  I’ll give them a war, but it’s only a distraction.  I’m not fooling anyone.  They’re already waiting for me.

I knew better than taking this route.  Its wicked twists and turns though give me a sense of peace.  I’m going nowhere, but I’m going somewhere.  There’s no world here.  There’s just life.  This is what remains of what we have not yet destroyed, but we’ll get to this.  We’ll bring the whole damn world down until there is no tranquility left, but even at my chapter’s end, I can find peace here.  When they come to destroy this last slice of haven, I shall be long gone, and now I see the toll booth up ahead.

Their pretty lights are flashing.  Guns at the ready.  Will I go quietly?  I think not, and they expect that.  I was born to be the villain, but they’re not heroes.  They’re as crooked as I am, as this road is, but they’ll deny it.  They’ll stand there proud, ready to do their duty, but they are not heroes.  To find the one to kill the villain is to do the unthinkable.  I’ll kill as many as it takes.  The line of fire is drawn, and it’s the quiet before the thunder of guns.

“Turn the engine off, and get out of your car!”

I remained sitting behind the steering wheel.  I did not blink. One hand caressed the wheel while the other held a .9 millimeter at my side. My eyes moved along the sea of cops in front of me, and I knew they were ready to go, ready to kill me. And all I could do was smile.

The long stretch of highway behind me was now blocked off. There was no place to go. My car was in-between a wall and them, and I did not plan on dying today. But this was my end.

“Turn the engine off, and get out of the car! I will not ask again!”

“So much for keeping these men standing like statues before me,” I thought with amusement.

It was a hot day, one of the hottest, and I could see the sweat run down an officer’s face. His hand shook a little. He would be the first to fall.

As they wished, I cut the engine. I smiled as the men before me relaxed. My eyes shifted from each one of them, and only a few kept firm, guns ready to fire at the wrong move.  I stepped out of the car with a gun held behind my back.  I focused on the one that I had selected.  If I was going down, he would go with me.  And I slowly began to move toward him.

“Stay where you are! Get down on your knees, and put your hands on your head!” I ignored the request. “I will not ask again!”

“Make me,” I barked at them.

The gun was ready, ready to fire. My finger twitched, finding its trigger. The hammerhead pulled back, and the bullet was waiting.  I crossed the line of fire as the man slowly stepped toward me.  I watched him look at his comrades, waiting for their approval. Another step in my direction, and he lowered his gun.  That was his mistake, and I opened fire, watching him dance in the midst of bullets. I hardly felt something strike me as my eyes took in every movement, every expression of shock and pain, and then something else struck me.

As I fell backward, I dropped my gun. A river of blood poured from my wounds. A smile tickled my face. My eyes found him lying not too far from me, still clinging to life.

“Hold on. You hear me? Hold on,” his friend begged as he held him in his arms.

“Isn’t life precious,” I called to him. “We take it for granted, but we never see the day that we die until we stand before it. We think we have all the time in the world, but the clock is ticking. It’s ticking till now.” I watched the officer rise to his feet and move toward me. “We all have a number, and I called his.” The officer had his gun aimed at me. “Only the strong survive. Only the strong will survive, and the weak will fall.”

“My friend was not weak.”

“He’s as weak as you are, if you cannot pull that trigger.”

“Do you want to die so badly?”

“I’m already dying. You’ll just finish the job.”

“So, you want me to show you mercy? You don’t deserve mercy.”

“If I live today, someone will die tomorrow. Do you want to live with that?”

His eyes met mine.  He was searching for a shred of humanity.  He had a heart of gold.  He was born to play the hero, and I was his villain.  He would decide my fate, and his finger curled around the trigger.  All I could do was smile and say, “Thank you.”

My final words rang out along the deserted highway. A cool breeze came to sweep the heat away. Sirens flashed in the distance. Men holstered their guns and stood around their fallen comrade. The hero remained with gun in hand, and I was no longer to born to be his villain.  I crossed the line of fire, trying not to get burned.

Journey’s End

Writing’s on the wall.
It was a title of a book
left on my desk,
a desk full of memories,
long memories
that have come
to its end.
Its pages are filled with endless moments
of laughter
and shakes of the head.
Its ink tells the stories we told,
the stories shared,
and the pages once new
fold back,
saying good-bye to yesterday.
The unknown are the pages left blank,
left at the end of a journey here,
and now it’s time to start anew.
The writing’s on the wall.
This story’s finished.
Yesterday’s faded
to a photograph tacked to the bulletin board,
and the desk is now cleared away.
Good-bye,
the final chapter says.
Good-bye,
my friend.

Journey’s End
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

Waiting for the Fall

I was sitting at my desk, auditing vouchers that were awaiting payment when I realized the hush that fell over my boss’s office.  Whispered voices rose in the air, followed by more silence.  A word or two slipped out, and my fingers paused over the calculator.  My ears strained to capture a conversation that pulsed with every need for attention.  Something was going on.  Was it about me, or was it what was about to happen?

Waiting for the Fall: http://www.fiction365.com/2013/04/waiting-for-the-fall/

Welcome Back to Tango of the Road Rage Drivers

It was a typical morning.  Feed the cats.  Walk the dogs.  Change the litter boxes.  Defrost my car.  Take my pills.  Make tea.  Make lunch, and eat nasty cold cereal.  Welcome to my middle-aged life.  Jesus, am I really 35?

http://www.gadflyonline.com/home/index.php/welcome-back-to-tango-of-the-road-rage-drivers/