Short Story: A Child’s Game

A Child’s Game Melissa R. Mendelson
“It’s just a game,” she said to him.  “Won’t you play with me?”  Nobody believed that Helene could see Death.  At first, he looked like an old man pacing the hospital hallways. Then, he seemed like a shadow that lingered right before a flatline echoed against the machines.  Sometimes, he was the whisper in the waiting room before the doctor came out with the bad news.  Even when she didn’t see him, she knew that he was there, watching and waiting for the next person to die. Helene knew the waiting room well.  She was barely allowed in her mother’s room.  The doctors were always working on her, and there were so many machines plugged into her mother’s body, trying to keep her alive.  And Helene hated the sound of the ventilator, the harsh gasps that echoed into the air, but she was also starting to hate the non-stop news blaring in the waiting room, telling stories of despair and death. It was always death.  He was everywhere.  Today was just like any oth…

Poem: The Devastation In His Wake

The Devastation In His Wake by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Like the others before me,   I found him at the edge,   throwing rocks into the water.   At first, it was just a pond,  and he was tossing pebbles.   Now, it was a crater,   and he was lifting boulders.   He hurled the rocks like they were nothing,  and he laughed at the deep splashes below.   He didn’t care that I was there, watching  for I meant nothing to him,  and he picked up another bone,   crushing it into another rock.   And down it goes,   followed by another and another,   ringing the bells of chaos,   and then he turned, moving quickly,   throwing a rock  at my head.   And down I go,   falling head over feet into a gaping hole  with an image of a broken world.

Sirens Call eZine Publishes Short Story: The Pink Skies

I ran toward the door and tried to close it.  Skeletal hands wrapped along the side, trying to keep it open, but I pulled it harder.  Finally, the door slammed shut, and skeletal fingers dropped at my feet.  I looked up through the little glass window in the door and stared at a skeletal face, and the skeletal face leaned closer, daring me to open the door.  But I refused.
The Sirens Call Publications has released their February Women in Horror eZine, and my short story, The Pink Skies can be found among the pages of so many talented women.  Please, check out the eZine for free here:

Romantic Comedy Short Story: Life is Temporary, Love is Forever

Life is Temporary, Love is Forever                                                                 Melissa R. Mendelson
Xena Connon stared at the monologue in her hands.  She glanced up into the rearview mirror, staring into her clear, blue eyes.  Satisfied with her lines, she folded the paper up and placed it into the glove compartment.  Then, she pushed a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear, and she stared out at the one-level house in front of her.  She did not want to be here, but she did not want to get stuck in retail or fast food. She got lucky at the diner when reading through the classified ads, finding this one: Need Care Taker for Disabled Adult. Would require cooking and cleaning. Must be good with people.  Must be willing to reside at the house.  Call for more information. “Come on, Xena.  Be a warrior princess.”  Xena hated that television show, but her mother loved it.  Hence, the name.  “Can’t be that bad,” and Xena took the key out of the ignition.  “The ad agency …

Short Story: When The Pennies Fall

When The Pennies Fall
(Inspired by Rest Haven, Monroe, NY) Melissa R. Mendelson
The birds wake me up in the morning with their chirping and flapping.  I hear them inside the walls.  I always wondered how they got in there, but it was a familiar, comforting sound.  There was no sound today.  That bothered me.  Summer was not over yet, and they usually left right before winter.  Then, they would return, telling me that spring was on its way.  They should be chirping and flapping right about now, but they weren’t.  And the silence broke into a symphony of snores. Becky had started to sneak into my room at night.  She didn’t want to startle me by crawling into the bed.  The bed was also small, so she slept on the arm chair to the left in the corner.  I didn’t know she was there until she started to snore.  Sometimes, she would even talk in her sleep.  At least, she would try to.  It was like she was chasing conversations with a ghost. The breakfast call sounded from the kitchen and marched up …