My Cardboard Balcony

Oh, Heaven Help by Belinda Roddie Oh, Heaven help the stranded refugees, who stand with branded names upon the shore. They're called terrorists and monstrosities, not welcome in this country anymore. We gobble fear down like an extra meal, washing the palate with cold ignorance, as fizzy as a beer. With greater zeal then ever before, we restart the dance of prejudice, of targeting the souls of war-torn, ravaged families abroad. Yet still we act like Christians while hate pulls at our cheekbones, removing the facade. Yes, Heaven help the refugees at last, whose final hopes have suddenly been dashed.

Lawrence held the paper in his hands and couldn't help creasing it in his rigid grip. This was not possible. Ten years after leaving the family to seek a life in New York, his brother George - or rather, his sister Georgia, as she preferred to be called - was suing him and his parents for emotional damage. He wanted to shred the letter with his bare fingers, rip it into pieces, but something - he couldn't ascertain as to what, exactly - stopped him from doing so.