Showing posts from May, 2019

"The Pink Skies" on Tall Tale TV


New Poem: I Don't Live Here

I Don’t Live Here by, Melissa R. Mendelson
The land was once green with flowers in bloom.  My brothers and I chased each other into the late afternoon.   My mother made dinner in the kitchen, usually meat,   and my father would come home from work, beat.  We would all sit at the table and share this time,  moments for me to visit, moments to call mine.   Then one day, a knock came at the door,   and a bag of money crashed to the floor.   Arguments ensued, arguments were lost.   They would not fall back at any cost.   Now, we’re all packed up in a car,   going away to somewhere far,   and the land once green with flowers in bloom  has been ripped and bled to make more room.   All those memories that I held dear  were demolished because I don’t live here.  

New Horror Short Story: When The Laughter Died

When The Laughter Died Melissa R. Mendelson
The ticking of the grandfather clock was thunderous.  Each tick was a vibrating boom chasing hollow steps and empty hallways.  Every second ticked down into nothing.  Time died. At least, it struggled to. Instead, it clung to the metal spoon plunging harshly into a bowl of hot oatmeal, and the metal against the porcelain was just another tick, just another notch of life not spent. “Are you ready for the talent show today?”  My mother’s voice carried across the endless ticks.  “Did you prepare your monologue?”  She barely looked at me.  Instead, she drowned herself in the black abyss called coffee.  “Stop staring at his chair.  He’s not coming back.” “Do you miss him,” I asked.  “Do you regret turning him in?” “You know the price for laughter.” “You pay it with your tears.”  I flinched as my mother slammed her cup against the scratched, wooden table, and a small fragment chipped away, biting into her hand.  She barely noticed.  “I’m ready for the s…

Poem: Burnt Sand Castles

Burnt Sand Castles by, Melissa R. Mendelson
All the land around me is afire,   burning down to their heart’s desire,   and all my memories lie in ruin.   That’s what we get for assuming  that they would just be satisfied,   but all it did was feed into their lies.   Now, we plant the For Sale Sign,   and they continue to buy their time  to turn this ash into clay  and build a world for only them to stay.

Horror Short Story: Tears of a Clown

Tears of a Clown Melissa R. Mendelson
The cold beer felt good against Paul’s hand.  He nursed each sip as he sat back in the loveseat, staring at the man seated before him.  He savored each taste, running the man’s words across his mind.  He heard of small towns having their secrets, and some of those secrets were dark.  But what this man was telling him went beyond drama, and he didn’t believe in the supernatural.  He only believed in the cold beer in his hand. “I know that you are new to this town, Paul.  This town, Poenitet has its secrets.  Actually, it only has one secret,” the man sitting before Paul said. “Does that explain the adults dressed as clowns here?”  The man before Paul nodded.  “Does that explain why each family has their own clown?”  The man nodded again.  “So, what happened to your clown?” “Dave?  He died. Heart attack.  No one saw it coming, which is why I am here, Paul.  I heard that you were looking for work, and I am willing to pay you.  Just name your price.” “Matt,…

Movie Review: Clara (2018)

We spend our lives adrift, but we hardly notice being lost.  Instead, we set our sights on the furthest star, and we throw ourselves against the wall because we have to believe that something better waits on the other side. Or maybe it is all random, and we are nothing but particles, dust.  Our lives ebb and flow in so many alternate ways, and loss cuts us deep.  And we’re disconnected, never realizing that the strangers who find us are leading the way back to shore.  Their stories are fragments, little rocks to fall into the holes that have eaten away at us, and their foundation builds us back up and returns our hope.  And we regain our footing, only to slip once more across the jagged edge of tragedy, but instead of falling do we cling to their words, their vision.  And we see what they see, and no longer are we adrift but anchored to them.  And we move forward, throwing the past to the waves and saying good-bye, never expecting an answer back, but somewhere in the distance, the uni…