My Cardboard Balcony

Paying Customer by Belinda Roddie A dozen strangers around me stir sticks into lukewarm brew, the tea too steeped, the sugar too sweet, the coffee too weak, and the entire atmosphere lacking heat. I sit in the corner with a lost boy book, where the crumbs settle against my half-eaten fingernails - neither savory, neither satisfying. A worker confronts me. He asks me if I am to order a cup of potion to calm my nerves. If not, I must soothe myself elsewhere, with softer attitudes and dimmer expectations. "Have you read this book?" I ask, and my voice has a pulse. "There is death, but there is also hope." He ignores the sentiment of a reader. I find a seat outside. The wind is cold, the pavement scorching. Words are absent, the print faded. The ink becomes hard to scour, and I am desperate for strangers.

Her cat brushed against my shoulder and issued an exasperated meow, but I was too busy staring at the screen to pay attention. The accident had been very close to the apartment, and the description of the wrecked car was just like her. I felt two of my fingers slip into my mouth, my teeth scraping at my raw cuticles as I waited for any new update to emerge. But nothing. I prayed it wasn't her.

My Humble Guest by Belinda Roddie delirious, she sat across from me with her brow askew, her lips lopsided, her eyes as red as the carpet swallowing the half-mad mites beneath our boots. I offered her a glass of noir. she licked the stuff from the vessel  like a deprived hound. when she was done, she stared at me for more. I poured her more. she begged for more. I knew that, if I catered to her, she'd crumble like pastry in her chair. nothing but crumbs spilling from her funeral attire. the horns outside were blaring. she was far from me. her skin as mottled as the tablecloth. her hair as white as the chandelier's quartz. I raised the bottle to my lips and drank. Wine stained my ascot in violet hues as if a blossom were bursting from my chest. she watched. she waited. I poured her no more. I gave her no more.

Still no new OneWord prompt. We'll see about tomorrow!

Wild Children by Belinda Roddie There are wolves to be tamed in these stained glass woods, where the prophets are frozen in time, their fragile halos glistening with the canopy's forgotten rain. I will offer the hunters a pot of stew made with the bones of the gods, so that, when they dine, they are imbued with a vision that zaps the folly from their brains and dredges the fear from their watering eyes. I am not strong enough to walk this path of enlightenment alone. If you hold my hand tightly, I will feel heat in my stomach strong enough to light the ground beneath my heels. When I step, I will skip, and when I skip, I will dance. And you will carry me in your choreography. The beasts will witness the shadows' surrender. They will follow us to our personal den, and protect us while we, at long last, sleep.

Should've known that the webmaster of OneWord.com would be taking a deserved vacation. Happy Labor Day, everyone!

No new OneWord prompt today! Phooey. Maybe we'll see one on Labor Day.