Short Short Stories

by Melissa R. Mendelson

Melissa R. Mendelson is a Horror, Science-Fiction and Dystopian Author.  She is also a Poet.  She has had both short stories and poetry published online and in print.  She recently recreated and re-released her Sci-Fi novel, Waken.  Her prose poetry collection, This Will Remain With Us was published last year by Wild Ink Publishing.

She is currently working on three projects that were left unfinished in 2020.  She hopes to have two Horror novels, Lizardian and Porcelain released in 2024.

More TTTV Stories by Melissa R. Mendelson

 

 

We’ve Been Bitten

We have been bitten. We got the bug bite bad. Our heads are spinning. We Can Do Whatever We Want To Do. Everyone else be damned. Fuck the Consequences. The Fever rages on, and so do we, scratching that enlarged bug bite until it blisters and bleeds. The infection continues.

 

The Neon Booth

I slid into the booth and closed the door behind me. I wiped the chair down, then the console and phone. I dropped the rag into the wastebasket, trying not to pay attention to the items scattered around it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two quarters. It was enough for forty-five minutes, and I slid the coins into their slot. The console lit up, and blue curtains raised upward over the glass windows. I could see shadows moving in the other booths. Most of them were probably having sex, but I didn’t feel like listening to that tonight. Maybe, another night, and I picked up the phone. Numbers one through five were indeed fucking. They probably fucked in here too, and I was holding the phone against my face. I pushed number six. It was an older woman crying hysterically. I could barely understand her, catching a few words like death, and I did not want to catch that. Seven was laughing hysterically, high as a kite. Eight was confessing to a series of murders. That would almost hold me for the remainder of the time, but I switched to nine. Heavy breathing. That was all that they were doing, and I didn’t want to know why. I pushed the last number, ten, and a small voice said, “Help me.” I scanned the booths around me, but the neon light made it so hard to tell who was number ten. “Help.” I listened to their last breath.

 

One More For The Daily Grind

He returned from work and stood by the wall. The computer scanned him. The wall formed into a door, and he walked inside. He stepped to the left, and a shower compartment emerged. He stripped off his work suit nd washed the dirt and oil from the factory out of his hair and off his skin. Another compartment opened, and he threw the work suit into a cannister. He pulled out a white sleepwear from another one. He got dressed and stepped to the right. The wall opened, a table and chair were pushed outward. A hot meal greeted him along with a glass of red wine. He needed that after a long day at work. As he ate his dinner, music played overhead, soothing to his mind and heart. He leaned back in his chair as the table disappeared. He looked toward another wall. It formed into a window, so he could look outside. But he never saw the sky. He would dream of the stars, and a bed rolled out nearby. He stood up and yawned. The chair was gone, and he fell into the comfort of sleep. Tomorrow was another day. As he disappeared into darkness, a red light blinked. It was satisfied with his behavior, but it did not like how his neighbor behaved. The red light blinked again. That cube went dark, but he would never know someone was gone.

 

Unchangeable

“Doctor, that’s her third bag. She can’t take much more of this.”

“We don’t stop until we get her blood clean.”

“Well, maybe her blood isn’t the problem.”

“What do you know? You are just a nurse. Keep going with the procedure. We need to bleed this cancer out.”

“Doctor…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it. Continue the process, or I’ll find another nurse that will do it.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“You’re still standing here. Why?”

“It’s just…”

“Just what? Spill it out already.”

“We can keep continuing the process. Sure, but it won’t change anything. We won’t change her.”

 

Sometimes, We’re Better Off Not Knowing

“I need to know him.” I saw the expressions on their faces. “I know that he is me, another version of me, but I need to talk to him.” They weren’t convinced. “I’m going to talk to him whether you want me to or not. I’m going in there.” They knew that they could not stop me, and nobody as far as I knew would ever have this chance to talk to another self, another version of them. I had to do this. I had to know where I went wrong.

I reached for the door, never once hesitating, and they stood behind me. I knew those expressions were still there on their faces, and their voices tried to hide their intent. But they failed. “If he does this,” they said, “he doesn’t come back out.” The click of the gun confirmed their words, and the door closed behind me.

 

Blaze

I am so cold that I wonder where the heat could have gone. The fire before me cannot shake the frost bite that clings to my hands. I am blue within as my skin glows from the frost. I am trembling so badly that I must find some heat. I see the blaze rise up in front of me as if to answer my prayers. I can feel the embers kiss my face like a rough lover. I can’t throw myself into the fire, but I can focus upon it. I can draw the warmth into me. I have been ill all winter long from the bitter cold that slips into my body. I can wrap the orange and red fingers around me. I am no longer cold, and I can feel the essence of spring approach.

 

The Past Is Not Entitled To Live Again

He put the CLOSED Sign on the door. He shut the lights and walked into the backroom. He listened to the ticking of a thousand clocks. Time to turn the world back, make this country great again, but as he struggled with the ancient grandfather clock, he broke its hands.

 

We’ve Done This Before

They made me wait on the line as people spiraled down into darkness. If one dared to bolt for escape, a bullet would kiss their head. My feet were molasses, dread filled my heart. I had no idea what waited for me down below. Once there, I was told to strip, and I was given a pale uniform to wear. After that, they really didn’t care what I did. I spent my days walking around, staring up at the solid rock above my head, thinking of the sky, the stars, what real food tasted like. I missed my bed, my home, my family and friends. None of them were here with me. They were somewhere else, some in a place far better than here, where they could no longer be harmed. But I could be, watching those around me lose hope and contort into savage creatures eying my every move.

 

The Parts Cleared Away

Her hands strummed along her stomach, making a hollow sound. Her eyes gazed down at the welding, gingerly tracing each one, but at least, they were small scars. Her mind pushed forward, returning to its tasks, even daydreams, eyeing a small bird hopping on a branch outside the window. Her hands lingered for another moment but then moved over to the keyboard. The data entry refused to end, and many stopped by to ask how she was. Some even commented that she seemed better, but she was confused by this response. After all, the parts cleared away wouldn’t be missed.

 

Everyone Loves Slinky

When I walked into the store, the old man told me that whatever you do, don’t touch the slinky. It looked like it was old, bent carbon steel wire. It seemed harmless, stuck on one side of a bookshelf. When he walked away, I poked it with my finger. It didn’t budge, so I poked it again, this time cutting my finger on the wire.

“Told you not to touch it.” The old man watched me wrap a tissue around my finger. “Think it’s best, if you leave now.”

The rest of the day, my finger hurt. I hope I don’t need a tetanus shot. I was just killing time during lunch, but the day was over.

After dinner, I sat on the couch, flipping through the channels when I heard a strange sound. It reminded me of a pocket full of change. Something moved down the stairs, slithering across each step.

I walked out of the room, but nothing was there. I bent my finger, flinching at the pain, and there it was, that sound. I had wrapped my finger tight and not given it another thought until now. I moved my finger again. It made that sound.

I worked at the bandage, trying to open the top, then the bottom. With every motion, that sound filled my ears. Finally, I tore the bandage off. There was no finger. Only a smaller slinky that jingled back and forth. Before I could react, it leaped up, wrapping around my throat.