My Cardboard Balcony

Aw, do I have to be introspective right now? Saw my girlfriend earlier this week, which was wonderful. Came to a standstill in my novel, but that's okay, I'll pick it up at some point. Working out job stuff and filling out forms to turn in. Saw Marin Summer Theater put on an incredible show of Les Miserables  that was of course at least three hours long. Yeah. My brain is incapable of introspection right now. Night, lovelies.

Descent by Belinda Roddie The blood of a savior drips from a crown of thorns Mingles with the rain from his eyes And the sweat from his brow The lightning strikes his shoulders as he tries to breathe The air moves in spirals, down, Down, until there is nothing left but The wine from a chalice The work you see here was written in the fall of 2009. It was last edited in December of the same year.

Clara Tankman was a very wealthy girl with very poor ambitions. And by poor, I do not mean mediocre - I mean impoverished, penniless. A word that many critics would claim was synonymous with "artistic." You see, three months back, Clara watched her father die, took seventy-five percent of his inheritance, and gave it all away to those she viewed as less fortunate. She sent the other twenty-five percent of it to her mentally disabled brother, before she took off to Morocco with only five hundred dollars to her name.

I Didn't Tell Her by Belinda Roddie I didn't tell her that I had purchased a ticket to New York because I hoped I had at least a teaspoon of talent. I didn't tell her that the second week of August would be the last week that I'd reside in my parents' house, or that I had already quit from my boring job pushing carts and enduring customers' abuse. I thought if I just disappeared, she would forget me. After all, we did not speak much, and any flame between us had flickered out long ago, or so I thought. It wasn't until the day before I left that she came to me wanting more.

"Does this have peppers?" asked Chastity. "I can't eat peppers." We were sitting at the table on my father's deck, the backyard spotted with color as roses of every type grew and separated patches of cherry tomatoes, summer squash, and cucumbers. My mother had just brought out a heaping plate of food, and sure enough, I could spot chunks of bell pepper throughout the casserole-like meal. "Sorry, Mom," I said somberly. "Chast' can't eat peppers. She's allergic." "Really?" my mother asked. "Tell me, how does she live happily from day to day?"

Six-Shot Pistol by Belinda Roddie There were six bullets, and she took out five, letting one lock in alone, daring to split my heart in half with it. It was her own, dirty version of Russian Roulette, and she taunted me for a while as I sat on the steel chair and drank the iron whiskey, and it was when she noticed my smile behind that glass that she shot wide, and the scar rattled on the wall behind me, and she began to cry.

The Pacific Ocean used to captivate me, but now it has contaminated me. Most people don't wish to tell you or don't know enough to tell you, but thanks to Fukushima, the entire Pacific is poisoned with radiation. The United States government tried to ensure the American populace that there was no need to panic, but already babies were suffering radiation poisoning, and many others began to be diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I am one of the latter, and each day, I remind people how much I detest nuclear power plants.