By Melissa R. Mendelson “Do you think they’re dead?” For a machine, Spectral sounded human. Fear almost shined in those pale, copper eyes. Their head swiveled to face the others standing nearby, all wearing the required Science uniform, yellow on the right side, silver on the left. Their head snapped back toward the bridge doorContinue reading “The Black Hearts”
Search results for: Melissa R. Mendelson
Unprotected
By Melissa R. Mendelson (Based on a Dream) I found the camera in the backseat of the car. It was under the driver’s seat. I was curious as to what was on it. Most of the pictures were scenery. There was one video. I played the video, and a teen-aged boy came into view. HeContinue reading “Unprotected”
Amber Dream
By Melissa R. Mendelson The rain poured down on the Town of Chester as cars drove along Route 17M. People scurried into the supermarket, movie theater, or other stores in the shopping center as others stood by the bus stop and watched the rain fall. Further down the road was the Chester diner where aContinue reading “Amber Dream”
Transition
Inspired By My Dad By Melissa R. Mendelson Farewell. Light blue letters on a white banner hung against a nearby wall. The tape failed to hold it up, and one side caved, falling into a table set up with vegetables, chips and soda. A toddler squealed with joy, jumping up and pulling the rest ofContinue reading “Transition”
I Won’t Be Me Tomorrow
By Melissa R. Mendelson Her fingers drifted across the steering wheel, falling across the keys. The ignition was cut. Her hand withdrew but paused, falling gently near the cup holder, her fingers stretched outward, reaching for the leg nearby, brushing gently against it. But she moved away. “Still have cramps?” Bailey brushed her hand againstContinue reading “I Won’t Be Me Tomorrow”
The Dead Are Smiling
By Melissa R. Mendelson Johnny Cash battled the static, but he was losing, fading in and out. The screen door to the diner wasn’t helping. It screeched opened and clattered shut, and the swearing of the cook in the kitchen was louder than the small radio over the counter by the pies. Even the buzzingContinue reading “The Dead Are Smiling”
That’s Not My Face
By Melissa R. Mendelson The smell was sickening, but nobody seemed bothered by it. People on the left sat in large, black seats with hood dryers over their heads, covering their faces. People on the right were positioned in short, black seats with their hands held inside white, metallic boxes, some flinching from the pain. Continue reading “That’s Not My Face”
