My Cardboard Balcony

The New Year by Belinda Roddie The new year is always supposed to be a celebration, as we start anew, but the new year won't mean that much to me, since I will be starting it without you. The arguments began in August, and in September, the accusations flew, so many questions about where we'd been, whom we'd been with, each little rendezvous a threat to us. In November, you left with one suitcase and a short letter. I was left with nothing valuable, bereft of love, of happiness. As days go by, I am exhausted. The new year does not mean much to me as I sit here and rot.

All the Noise by Belinda Roddie The crackling crunch of fireworks as the asphalt splits beneath my shoes. The bubbling cider down my gullet on a dry, dry New Year's Eve. These old acquaintances are forgot and never brought to mind. They leave words in my head like drums, the percussion repeating as endlessly as the DJs' screech of bass blasts. Cacophony, insanity, the beginning of the same.

"Lord," intoned Darcy, much to everyone else's amusement, "have mercy on me this upcoming year. A house without a rat problem and a dog that doesn't have three tumors in his ears would be really, greatly appreciated." "2014 was not a good year for you, huh, Darcy?" Yasmin laughed, lounging in the corner with a very large bottle of beer. "This just hasn't been a good decade," Darcy corrected. "But hey, maybe the halfway point means a turnaround in fortune."

A Dish by Belinda Roddie A dish of fish, and a liter of something sweeter. I fill your bowl with crunch while you debate what you should have for lunch. You've opened a can of salty guilt, as the leftover mushrooms wilt. Here, a spoon will serve you well to feast on cuisine from Hell.

No update on the website today. Let's see what New Year's Eve brings!

Secrets by Belinda Roddie A lot of history is behind that door, the dreaded consequence of stifling past daydreams. Turn the knob, and you may be assaulted.