My Cardboard Balcony

Give Me A Break by Belinda Roddie My head is a fucking whirlwind, all dust and dirt and shrapnel, the debris of a past life swirling fast and getting hotter and hotter with time. The seas are bubbling over, the cauldron thick with brew. All artificial, too. And it clogs my every pore, and it makes it too difficult to think, or smile, or laugh, or breathe. And I'm absolutely tired of it. Let me live a life without fear. Let me straddle the South Pole as the ice collapses without another panic attack. This, I swear, I wish for: a day in which I do not pace, or fret, or steam, or sweat, or scream inwardly for a minute of calm. While the missiles are at the ready. While the dollar becomes just paper. While paper burns the nearest forest down. While I cling to what I believe is little hope and watch my last bit of sanity be stripped from me like the last of the gold from a sunset - dripping fear, icing anxiety to my brow while the temperature is rising, and...

"This sitcom's still going?" my mother snapped as I turned on the TV. "It hasn't been funny for years!" "I still think it's charming," replied my sister. She was sitting on the couch already, munching on a bowl of partially melted mint chip ice cream. "And the guy they have playing the new boyfriend is definitely worth it." "Super dreamy, huh?" I murmured, rolling my eyes. My sister snorted. "Just because you don't see good beefcake when you see it, Alex, doesn't mean I can't."

With my leg injury, I would never ski, snowboard, mountain climb, or even trek through a hillside of snow again. And really, winter, as well as its pastimes, were what kept me happy even during the summer months. Now all I could do was stumble up a slope once in a while with a makeshift cardboard sled, struggling to keep my balance so I didn't tumble into a ditch. Because if I did, God help me, because I wouldn't have the strength to crawl my way out.

by Belinda Roddie "Purple is my favouritest of all the colours," announced Chadwick as he furiously scribbled in his colouring book. And he wasn't joking - everything on the page, from the trees to the buildings to the people to even the sky itself - was a rich violet, lovingly stroked onto the paper by a tired, half-eaten crayon. When Chadwick flipped the page, he began to fill in the body of a scientifically inaccurate Tyrannosaurus Rex in a swamp with even more purple. I poured myself another glass of cider as Chadwick's mother, wrinkled around her cheekbones and graying at her temples, sagged deeper into her easy chair. The three hours I had spent thus far with them had been quiet and uneventful - we had had our supper, watched a cartoon on the telly, and now relaxed with drinks while Chadwick happily worked on his colouring book. Only this time, as I turned to gaze at Mrs. Alston, she looked even more exhausted than before. "His father," she comme...

"I suggest you leave quietly," I intoned from behind my helmet's visor, pointing my spear directly at the bare-chested man's chest. "Before you and your friends get hurt." The man with no armor or weapons didn't seem fazed. He simply cracked the knuckles on his right hand, which alarmed me. No person would exude such confidence unless he was either a full-blown idiot or a mastermind with a few tricks up his sleeve. Slowly, I lowered my weapon. "What is it that you want?" I heard my voice hum. The man's eyes brightened. "Your company."

Okay, first of all, it's too damn hot where I live. Freaking summer and climate change and record-breaking heat wave temperatures. Why do I have to enjoy the cold so much. Guh. Second of all...what a week. It has been a rough, terrifying week financially, with a little bit of hope at the end. So let me break it down: I had to pay three hundred out of a six hundred dollar car service, one hundred twenty or so dollars for new tires, and one hundred eleven dollars for various other things. Because my hours have been cut again, I did not have enough money to pull from my checking, so I had to dip into my savings. The result: My savings has five hundred dollars fewer than it did at the beginning of the week. Given the fact that I rely so heavily on my fiancée to pay rent, I was definitely less than a happy camper. I felt disappointed, dependent, inconvenient, and unhelpful to anyone around me. It is amazing how such an object like money can do that. The good news? I got my stude...

NOTE: This is the third full-act play I ever wrote, at the age of nineteen. While I cannot specifically remember when it was finished, I am going to hazard a guess that I was done with this play and beginning to write my fourth play by the spring of 2009. It's a risky guess, but it'll have to do. I will be releasing the play in its appropriate two acts, so you'll see Act II next week. Enjoy. Be Still, Little Lotus Eater (A Play In Two Acts) by Belinda Roddie CAST (in order of appearance) MUSICIAN MUSE SILVERS GRIMM JENCI FAIGEL AYLIN JAREK SETTING An Uncharted Island WRITER’S NOTE: All stage directions and emotions listed in this script are open for suggestion. Altering them should not decrease the caliber of the play, but they should serve as guidelines for the director and the actors. Remember, nothing is set in stone. Act One Overture (The lights come up on MUSICIAN and MUSE on center stage) MUSE. (Sings) I had a dream w...