My Cardboard Balcony

Wow. Lot of stuff to cover, actually, because a lot has changed in my life, for better or for worse. So I better crack my knuckles and get started, shall I? My girlfriend, sister, and I recently moved into our new apartment, which we call The Three Broomsticks (an homage to the Harry Potter series and suggested by my friend Kyle). Let me put this out here right now and say that the place is gorgeous. It's right by the canal in the city, so you get an amazing view of the water and the boats that pass. It's getting more and more decorated and furnished each day, with bookshelves and desks and a coffee table and all that good stuff. While most of the apartment has ungrounded electricity, the surge protectors we have work, so we're not concerned about any sort of blow-out with our stuff. Our apartment manager is fantastic. Our neighbors are respectful. It's really just a good fit. The main concern I have, of course...is money, as the apartment is definitely a little exp...

Sex In The Oven by Belinda Roddie Jesus fucking Christ, I think I need skin grafts. Yes. This was, in fact, a story I wrote for my creative writing workshop class in my final semester of college. Flash fiction, indeed, at its flashiest.  And of course, it has not been edited nor modified since May 12th, 2011.

"Don't stereotype him! He might not be gay!" cried Lorraine, looking indeed very offended after the comment was made. "But he is  gay," Shawn protested. "He has a boyfriend. They went to homecoming together." "You don't know that! They might be BFFs!" "BFFs who make out behind the cardboard cut-out of John Travolta, then?" sneered Chris, though she still winced at the thought of our homecoming dance being disco-themed.

My Demonstration Of Volcanoes by Belinda Roddie My demonstration of volcanoes knocked the school principal off her feet, nearly killing her, and cries rang out like the clocks going, "Cuckoo!" The possibility that I would be suspended, however, dwindled when the superintendent clapped and laughed, yelling, "Bravo!" with such a slur that I thought that he might be drunk. The staff surrounded the fallen principal as I tried to disappear behind the booths of the science fair, just to have the class clown stride up to me, his canine still loose. "Dude," he said, wiggling his tooth, "that was so awesome! Remember - next time, more play-doh."

They took us to the hidden compound, and they left us in window-less rooms with our hands cuffed behind our backs. We weren't sure if the Trinity had also been captured, but in the end, we were in the hands of the United Nation of Supremacy's military. And that was fifteen kinds of bad. Struggling to prop myself against a wall, I ignored the pain in both my tied wrists and sore back. Beside me, my partner was half-asleep. Feverish.

Shut Me Up by Belinda Roddie Make sure I'm quiet when Dorothy's onstage, clicking her rubies three times so they sparkle a little extra before the dry ice sends her spiraling into a crazed, soggy fog. Toto, of course, won't stop yapping, and his tail already caught the wire of the scarecrow's microphone box, so as he was singing, a sore throated growl erupted on the word "brain." Brain, brain, go away. Come again at the end of this play.

I tried a cup of European chocolate yogurt while I was waiting for my bus, at the cost of three dollars and ninety-five cents from the small shop located just a few feet away from the transit center. The owner was very nice - and incredibly Greek - speaking in full, floral sentences as the sharp ends of his consonants were polished enough to slice the air cleanly, not hack it. And he was the one who suggested the yogurt.