Saturday, February 18, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Let Me In
Lately with Horror movies, I'm either left disgusted with terrible endings like My Bloody Valentine or The Mist, or I'm disappointed in remakes of great classics like Fright Night. BUT I LOVE finding great Horror movies such as Let Me In, and here's my brief review on it:
Small footsteps kiss the white snow, darkness on approach. Innocence are the laughs and smiles forever gone, and bitterness are the bullies to rip you apart. A blade flashes through anger, and survival are the tears of blood now slipping under quiet. Raging fires of thirst threaten to consume, sirens flash of warning, and screams begin to fill the air, the end of a once small and quiet town. But boy meets girl, boy and girl become friends, and the wall between them, their secrets come crashing down. Would she keep him forever, or would he let her go? As stakes rise higher and higher, their lives intertwine, saving the other, and they steal away from madness, riding the train deep into nowhere, nowhere but where they would be forever, a heartbeat in a true chilling tale of Vampire, a tribute to the classics like the original Fright Night and Lost Boys.
Small footsteps kiss the white snow, darkness on approach. Innocence are the laughs and smiles forever gone, and bitterness are the bullies to rip you apart. A blade flashes through anger, and survival are the tears of blood now slipping under quiet. Raging fires of thirst threaten to consume, sirens flash of warning, and screams begin to fill the air, the end of a once small and quiet town. But boy meets girl, boy and girl become friends, and the wall between them, their secrets come crashing down. Would she keep him forever, or would he let her go? As stakes rise higher and higher, their lives intertwine, saving the other, and they steal away from madness, riding the train deep into nowhere, nowhere but where they would be forever, a heartbeat in a true chilling tale of Vampire, a tribute to the classics like the original Fright Night and Lost Boys.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Whispers in the Night Published!
Beep, beep, beep. Message delivered. Somewhere in the gray mass, sparks were flying. A warning screamed along its circuitry, but there were no clues as to where or when the danger would begin. And as the darkness closed in, I remained, lying broken across the bed.
Download a free copy today of Espresso Fiction: A Collection of Flash Fiction for the Average Joe featuring Whispers in the Night:
http://www.fictionbrigade.com/shop/espresso-fiction-a-collection-of-flash-fiction-for-the-average-joe-2/
Download a free copy today of Espresso Fiction: A Collection of Flash Fiction for the Average Joe featuring Whispers in the Night:
http://www.fictionbrigade.com/shop/espresso-fiction-a-collection-of-flash-fiction-for-the-average-joe-2/
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Living With or Without Ghosts
Living With or Without Ghosts
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
The normal life was never one for me. Working nine to five, driving commute, and sitting all day in an office was far from where I dreamed, but I'm here, in-between four pale walls. Time was the enemy, counting down my moments, and I begged for Saturday. I never wanted the ordinary life, but all the ghosts have gone home. Or have they gone at all?
I worked in several retail stores over the years. There was one big chain store in the mall that I was employed with for about a year, and I was doing the closing shift one night. The girls in Juniors swore up and down that their stockroom was haunted and refused to go in and to get the clothes to fill the racks and shelves. I took their warnings under consideration and walked inside, feeling nothing but cold air on my skin. I waited a beat, and when nothing moved or flew toward me, I grabbed the merchandise and left.
It was late at night. I sat up in bed and found him standing by the door. He stared at me, knowing that I saw him, but we didn't say a word. A few moments later, he gave me a nod, and then disappeared, returning to that stockroom in the store. The next day when I saw those same girls, I said nothing, glancing at those double white doors, knowing that he was there, waiting, waiting for something, but that was a long time ago. And I wonder, "Is he still there, or did he finally return home?"
The last retail store I worked for was also haunted. The girls there warned me that someone was around, standing behind them as they cleaned the fitting rooms or whispering hello into their ears as they organized the clothing racks. I had no reply, but I hoped that they were wrong.
One night, the manager left me her keys, leaving it up to me to lock the store. The night was slow. The racks were organized, and the fitting rooms were clean. Then, it got busy, and something told me to reach into my pocket to check the keys. They were gone.
I panicked. It was bad enough working with a girl eying my supervisory position, and I wondered if she were the culprit. We got on our hands and knees, searching the floor as customers asked for help. I dove into the fitting rooms that weren't occupied and waited for those that were. I even checked the bathroom, but the keys were gone. And I had no choice but to call the manager, and that girl smiled.
As I ran around the store like a madwoman, diving under racks, checking under clothes, the manager on the phone assured me that the keys were there. I walked into the stockroom, hoping against hope, but still there was no sign of them. Then I walked into the bathroom, and there they were, lying out in the open and on the floor. I hung up the phone, embarrassed and angered, and I lashed out at the girl, who explained to me how she could not be at fault. And then it dawned on me. It was the ghost, who to this day stills strolls throughout the store, standing behind you by the fitting room, and whispering hello into your ear as you shop for clothes.
They were the only two that I ran into when working in retail. In college, I heard stories, stories about those that killed themselves and that now haunt the dorm. When renting an apartment in Lake Ronkonkoma, I was aware of sharing it with an unwilling occupant, a woman, who radiated nothing but negative energy. I saw her once in the mirror as she glared at me, but unlike other stories I've heard, nothing went missing or went flying at my head. And shortly after hanging up an Asian talisman on the apartment door, that woman disappeared, but it still didn't change the mistake I had made, moving in with a guy that was completely wrong for me. That is another story for another time.
It's been some time since meeting a ghost. Life had grown ordinary, boring. The only supernatural encounters now belonged to the Ghost Hunters, but they don't waste my time. Instead, I melt into fiction, trying to escape my life, and then something happens, something that reminds me that fiction is not that far from real life.
He stood in the doorway, watching me. My coworkers here often spoke of the man in the black coat. He would be seen walking down hallways or standing near open doors. A calculator calculates by itself in a locked, dark office as my coworker comes in one morning, but no sign of him. And I don't think it was him that was watching me.
We all reach turning points. We get those knocks on the door. Two if someone is trying to get your attention. Three if someone is going to die. Sometimes, they appear in person, carrying a message, but just knowing that they are there is sometimes enough to know that something would happen soon. But who would believe that, if you told them so? We get that vibe of not being alone, hearing our name when nobody calls it, and sensing something, unsure of what it is. Every time we fall back into the comfort of regular lives, they rattle our cages. No matter the years gone by, we still remember, living with or without ghosts.
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
The normal life was never one for me. Working nine to five, driving commute, and sitting all day in an office was far from where I dreamed, but I'm here, in-between four pale walls. Time was the enemy, counting down my moments, and I begged for Saturday. I never wanted the ordinary life, but all the ghosts have gone home. Or have they gone at all?
I worked in several retail stores over the years. There was one big chain store in the mall that I was employed with for about a year, and I was doing the closing shift one night. The girls in Juniors swore up and down that their stockroom was haunted and refused to go in and to get the clothes to fill the racks and shelves. I took their warnings under consideration and walked inside, feeling nothing but cold air on my skin. I waited a beat, and when nothing moved or flew toward me, I grabbed the merchandise and left.
It was late at night. I sat up in bed and found him standing by the door. He stared at me, knowing that I saw him, but we didn't say a word. A few moments later, he gave me a nod, and then disappeared, returning to that stockroom in the store. The next day when I saw those same girls, I said nothing, glancing at those double white doors, knowing that he was there, waiting, waiting for something, but that was a long time ago. And I wonder, "Is he still there, or did he finally return home?"
The last retail store I worked for was also haunted. The girls there warned me that someone was around, standing behind them as they cleaned the fitting rooms or whispering hello into their ears as they organized the clothing racks. I had no reply, but I hoped that they were wrong.
One night, the manager left me her keys, leaving it up to me to lock the store. The night was slow. The racks were organized, and the fitting rooms were clean. Then, it got busy, and something told me to reach into my pocket to check the keys. They were gone.
I panicked. It was bad enough working with a girl eying my supervisory position, and I wondered if she were the culprit. We got on our hands and knees, searching the floor as customers asked for help. I dove into the fitting rooms that weren't occupied and waited for those that were. I even checked the bathroom, but the keys were gone. And I had no choice but to call the manager, and that girl smiled.
As I ran around the store like a madwoman, diving under racks, checking under clothes, the manager on the phone assured me that the keys were there. I walked into the stockroom, hoping against hope, but still there was no sign of them. Then I walked into the bathroom, and there they were, lying out in the open and on the floor. I hung up the phone, embarrassed and angered, and I lashed out at the girl, who explained to me how she could not be at fault. And then it dawned on me. It was the ghost, who to this day stills strolls throughout the store, standing behind you by the fitting room, and whispering hello into your ear as you shop for clothes.
They were the only two that I ran into when working in retail. In college, I heard stories, stories about those that killed themselves and that now haunt the dorm. When renting an apartment in Lake Ronkonkoma, I was aware of sharing it with an unwilling occupant, a woman, who radiated nothing but negative energy. I saw her once in the mirror as she glared at me, but unlike other stories I've heard, nothing went missing or went flying at my head. And shortly after hanging up an Asian talisman on the apartment door, that woman disappeared, but it still didn't change the mistake I had made, moving in with a guy that was completely wrong for me. That is another story for another time.
It's been some time since meeting a ghost. Life had grown ordinary, boring. The only supernatural encounters now belonged to the Ghost Hunters, but they don't waste my time. Instead, I melt into fiction, trying to escape my life, and then something happens, something that reminds me that fiction is not that far from real life.
He stood in the doorway, watching me. My coworkers here often spoke of the man in the black coat. He would be seen walking down hallways or standing near open doors. A calculator calculates by itself in a locked, dark office as my coworker comes in one morning, but no sign of him. And I don't think it was him that was watching me.
We all reach turning points. We get those knocks on the door. Two if someone is trying to get your attention. Three if someone is going to die. Sometimes, they appear in person, carrying a message, but just knowing that they are there is sometimes enough to know that something would happen soon. But who would believe that, if you told them so? We get that vibe of not being alone, hearing our name when nobody calls it, and sensing something, unsure of what it is. Every time we fall back into the comfort of regular lives, they rattle our cages. No matter the years gone by, we still remember, living with or without ghosts.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Raising the Collar
Raising the Collar
Acting my Life
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Hi, my name is Melissa Mendelson, and I am an addict. I am guilty of being addicted to myself. With all my demons, troubled youth, and the scars that I carry, I find it hard letting go of myself. Who would I be, if I wasn't me? How do I walk away from myself?
In Acting class, we talk of letting go. Forget who you are. Be the character. We love the movies, the television shows, and even the comic books, and we want to be the characters that we love. It's not as easy as you think because in becoming them, you can't be you. It sounds easy to imagine being them, but imagine really being them. Could you be like Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Kevin Spacey, Angelina Jolie, Brittany Murphy, and Rachel Weisz?
I leaned back in my chair, variations of myself, and radiating defensiveness. I was vulnerable once upon a time, and the bullies, the monsters descended on me like a pack of vultures, picking my bones down to their pearly whites. I have loved and have had my heart ripped out, and I have destroyed relationships of those that could've saved me. I've lived through the worst of times and hardly the best, and I remember memories that haunt my pen. I know who I am, but can I leave myself behind? Rise from this chair, escape the shadow of myself, and become you, a character that captivates and thrills and chills? Would you see who I have become, or would you still see me?
It's all in the baby steps. One foot after the other. With a vivid imagination, I paint the scene, create the character, and set the story in motion. No memorizing the lines. Be in the moment. Don't think. Just step one foot after the other, and it's like a sweet dance that carries you far, far away. But then you see yourself, but who do you really see?
I live the normal life. I come home to a crazy house. Past and present clash, and the future remains in fog. I know where I've been, but I question where I'm going, unhappy of present circumstances. I need to move on, step away, to live, and Acting is the door, opportunity knocking. Lessons are to be learned, and a mentor is waiting. It's no easy task, but life never is. We have to try, or we have to give up. I won't give up. I want to become more. I want more than this average life, and to do that, I must pull all these layers away, revealing the butterfly fluttering deep inside.
http://www.collarthemovie.com/
Acting my Life
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Hi, my name is Melissa Mendelson, and I am an addict. I am guilty of being addicted to myself. With all my demons, troubled youth, and the scars that I carry, I find it hard letting go of myself. Who would I be, if I wasn't me? How do I walk away from myself?
In Acting class, we talk of letting go. Forget who you are. Be the character. We love the movies, the television shows, and even the comic books, and we want to be the characters that we love. It's not as easy as you think because in becoming them, you can't be you. It sounds easy to imagine being them, but imagine really being them. Could you be like Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Kevin Spacey, Angelina Jolie, Brittany Murphy, and Rachel Weisz?
I leaned back in my chair, variations of myself, and radiating defensiveness. I was vulnerable once upon a time, and the bullies, the monsters descended on me like a pack of vultures, picking my bones down to their pearly whites. I have loved and have had my heart ripped out, and I have destroyed relationships of those that could've saved me. I've lived through the worst of times and hardly the best, and I remember memories that haunt my pen. I know who I am, but can I leave myself behind? Rise from this chair, escape the shadow of myself, and become you, a character that captivates and thrills and chills? Would you see who I have become, or would you still see me?
It's all in the baby steps. One foot after the other. With a vivid imagination, I paint the scene, create the character, and set the story in motion. No memorizing the lines. Be in the moment. Don't think. Just step one foot after the other, and it's like a sweet dance that carries you far, far away. But then you see yourself, but who do you really see?
I live the normal life. I come home to a crazy house. Past and present clash, and the future remains in fog. I know where I've been, but I question where I'm going, unhappy of present circumstances. I need to move on, step away, to live, and Acting is the door, opportunity knocking. Lessons are to be learned, and a mentor is waiting. It's no easy task, but life never is. We have to try, or we have to give up. I won't give up. I want to become more. I want more than this average life, and to do that, I must pull all these layers away, revealing the butterfly fluttering deep inside.
http://www.collarthemovie.com/
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Letters Cast Away Published
The promise of February was the soft green below my feet. Cool cement kissed my bottom, and hands fell through air. Eyes were the sands of time glistening in the brilliant sun, and winter was a second thought. Spring was here now, but what would that make the summer? Would it be scorching hot, and as thoughts sifted together gently like a subtle breeze, I waited for the mail truck to pull up on the side of the road and leave me letters to find, more likely bills, or long awaited contest entries, but what if my mailbox remained empty? And what if the mail truck became a barren, white shell forever out of gas?
http://www.gadflyonline.com/wpblog/?p=2276
http://www.gadflyonline.com/wpblog/?p=2276
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Bleeding Through Reality (TV Shows in Review)
Bleeding Through Reality (Let The Fiction In)
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
We are held captive to Reality. We cannot escape it. It blares from the radio and screams from the television set. Imagination is slaughtered under nonsense and pop stars, the grapevines of gossip that twist us until we burst. We want to know, and we don’t want to know. And when we want escape, to forget this dismal world that breaks our backs, we do not want to tune in to the lives of the rich and famous or those that simply annoy the hell out of us. We want to let the fiction in, be Touch, cruise the Alcatraz, love the Grimm and Once Upon A Time.
Alas, The 4400. I knew them so well, loving the details and the crisis of their lives. Our future, our fate fell into their hands, and their humanity was beauty. But innocence was deadly, threatening to break this world apart, and their story’s end came on swift wings but with red ribbons, tying together an unforgettable series while other shows had no such finale like Angel, X-Files, or The Event. And you, Alcatraz cannot hold a candle to them, but you still shine like a brilliant beacon across the void of time. And like a moth to the flame, I am drawn in especially by the LOST atmosphere and music. “Is that you, Elias? No, it’s me, Ben,” a creepy character that now reflects through Emerson Hauser, whose bad side you don’t want to get on. All those secrets that he keeps are honey for the bees, and we’re buzzing for answers, desiring for more.
And we will be in Touch. How intricate are our lives, symmetry in perfection for we are all connected, but do we connect the dots? We have been the Sliders cruising the Fringe, and we have danced The Triangle dance. We have seen the future, and now we know the past, Terra Nova, and we have come Flash Forward. But it is here, now, where life begins, vibrating with fate along the electrical wires. Are you listening? Make the call. Connect for we are one, and lives are waiting to be known, to be saved. And a hero begins, rising from where all other Heroes have gone, Smallville, but this story has just begun, a young boy, whose presence holds this world in his Touch.
And it is time to say farewell to the vampires. They have kissed us eternal, gripped us in True Blood, and carried us across the pages of The Vampire Diaries. We hunger as they thirst of Being Human, but the sun has set over Moonlight. We are held captive in Twilight and dipped in the Supernatural, but no more angels or demons to contend with. The nights now belong to the Grimm, and we follow in the footsteps of legend, monsters wanted. Turn the page. Know the world Once Upon A time, and let the fairytales in. Believe like we once believed, a child’s dream, and we will live again, wrapped in fiction and finally free from the prison of Reality.
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
We are held captive to Reality. We cannot escape it. It blares from the radio and screams from the television set. Imagination is slaughtered under nonsense and pop stars, the grapevines of gossip that twist us until we burst. We want to know, and we don’t want to know. And when we want escape, to forget this dismal world that breaks our backs, we do not want to tune in to the lives of the rich and famous or those that simply annoy the hell out of us. We want to let the fiction in, be Touch, cruise the Alcatraz, love the Grimm and Once Upon A Time.
Alas, The 4400. I knew them so well, loving the details and the crisis of their lives. Our future, our fate fell into their hands, and their humanity was beauty. But innocence was deadly, threatening to break this world apart, and their story’s end came on swift wings but with red ribbons, tying together an unforgettable series while other shows had no such finale like Angel, X-Files, or The Event. And you, Alcatraz cannot hold a candle to them, but you still shine like a brilliant beacon across the void of time. And like a moth to the flame, I am drawn in especially by the LOST atmosphere and music. “Is that you, Elias? No, it’s me, Ben,” a creepy character that now reflects through Emerson Hauser, whose bad side you don’t want to get on. All those secrets that he keeps are honey for the bees, and we’re buzzing for answers, desiring for more.
And we will be in Touch. How intricate are our lives, symmetry in perfection for we are all connected, but do we connect the dots? We have been the Sliders cruising the Fringe, and we have danced The Triangle dance. We have seen the future, and now we know the past, Terra Nova, and we have come Flash Forward. But it is here, now, where life begins, vibrating with fate along the electrical wires. Are you listening? Make the call. Connect for we are one, and lives are waiting to be known, to be saved. And a hero begins, rising from where all other Heroes have gone, Smallville, but this story has just begun, a young boy, whose presence holds this world in his Touch.
And it is time to say farewell to the vampires. They have kissed us eternal, gripped us in True Blood, and carried us across the pages of The Vampire Diaries. We hunger as they thirst of Being Human, but the sun has set over Moonlight. We are held captive in Twilight and dipped in the Supernatural, but no more angels or demons to contend with. The nights now belong to the Grimm, and we follow in the footsteps of legend, monsters wanted. Turn the page. Know the world Once Upon A time, and let the fairytales in. Believe like we once believed, a child’s dream, and we will live again, wrapped in fiction and finally free from the prison of Reality.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
