My Cardboard Balcony

"The odds, my friend, are even." "HA!" Ulrich frowned. His opponent was giggling like an idiot, which was entirely unexpected. "Erm..." "I get it! I get it! The odds are even ! Haha! Classic!" "...I don't understand..." "What's next, a trio is an even number? GAHAHAHAHA!" "Sir," said Ulrich's squire, "if you don't kill him now, I will."

by Belinda Roddie A crumble of bricks, a few rusty metal beams, and broken glass belie the deaths here so long ago that disgraced this town. No one has dared to move away the residue, or perhaps no one has simply bothered to. Like it'd be an inconvenience to rid the place of this traumatic memory once and for all, and instead, the wound should simply scar. The muddle of this broken residential skeleton rests on the outskirts of town, beside the abandoned gun store. Gabriel Russells worked at that store, before he took two revolvers and a shotgun from the wall and infiltrated what used to be the tiny Unitarian Church of Christ. A wedding was being held there for Tommy Cain and Hilary McGuff, the former having once been Tammy with brown hair that sprung up in dainty curls. Russells killed seven people before turning the gun on himself, and instantly, the town became notorious for being full of rednecks and transphobes. It wasn't like that. Never was. Russells was a rare sp...

Zack had a silver hoop that looped through his right looped lobe. It was a hoop that looped about seven times in loop-de-loop fashion. Like a roller coaster that looped around until it made you dizzy. The silver would always droop from his face like a sad, lonely little lump of metal, but Zack was proud of it. It was a hoop! That looped! ...In his ear!

It's been a relatively quiet week. I've had a couple of interviews, done a lot of volunteer work at my former elementary school, but other than that, not much besides my musings and occasional smatterings of writing. So it's a bit amusing to me that what's on my mind right now isn't my job search, or my future, or even the French movie I just watched. Instead, I'm thinking about the game of Scrabble I played with my parents a few hours ago. And yes, I was thinking of self-awareness earlier, as evidenced in one of my Poet Corner entries. But since I pretty much went over that, there's no sense in repeating myself. I had a strange hankering to whip out the board game, which I am notorious for not being so good at. Words come easily to me, obviously, but when left with a limited line of letters, I can't do much damage. Tonight, however, was different. I scored 148 points and beat both my parents as a result, my highest score for a word being 45 points. ...

My Favorite Daydream by Belinda Roddie I've always wanted to fly, to soar across the sky with the wind beneath my arms. That's what I love to daydream about! I daydream about flying everywhere I go, including malls, school, soccer games, etc. A lot of people want to fly, and I'm one of them. Sometimes I daydream about flying so much; it feels like I'm in a different galaxy! I don't pay attention because I love daydreaming about flying so much. Oh, sure, people love to daydream about being famous or having an imaginary friend, but what about flying? Some people I know daydream about flying. They don't think flying's useful! I think flying's the best way to travel. Traveling by car's okay. Boats aren't bad. Trains, fine. But flying is the best, and I mean best, way to travel. Flying would be my favorite hobby if I could fly. I daydream about flying over the world like an airplane, flying over tall buildings, or just flying a few feet ab...

At our northern cabin, there is a spectacular view of a lake behind a monstrous growth of redwoods. It looks very green from a distance, but if you edge closer to it, the hues of the grass shy away to reveal the light blue of the sky overhead. At night, when the swarms of stars and cosmic dust emerge in swirls and whirlwinds, you can see the water glitter.

The Silver Spoon Was Brown by Belinda Roddie The silver spoon was brown with rust when they drew it from the baby's mouth after it was born. Although the boy would grow bloated with luxuries, it wasn't bound to last. The man had grown accustomed to garbage can flames on the street corner every night. He kept the rusty silver spoon with him to remind him of mansions, butlers, pools, gold pocket watches from his great-great-great- grandfather, and so many toys and games. True, he had grown up having it all, but he squandered life on golden frothy guilt. An opportunity better deserved by brilliant yet poor young boys and girls.