My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Contrary to popular belief, dragons can't actually fly. But they can swim, and very well. In fact, I know of dragons who can swim longer distances than whales and sharks without having to rest. That being said, my friend Barthos in Scotland would please ask that you refrain from calling him the Loch Ness monster. He's getting a bit tired of being misidentified. Also, Nessie's been spending a life of retirement in the Bahamas since 1942. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.

No update on the OneWord website today. Happy Saturday, everyone!

It's official. My wedding date is set. We've picked a venue, we have a contract filled out and ready to send in, and we have the specific day on hold. I know exactly where I will get married and where we will have the reception. I am more than excited. The very word excited doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm sure a lot of you know that I very much love my fiancée, but some of you may not understand exactly how much I do. It can sometimes be easy for people to think about the "what ifs" - what it'd be like to go on a date with someone else, or kiss someone else, or hold someone else. But when it gets down to the less physical and more emotional things - getting married, buying a house, raising a family, growing old together - my fiancée is the only person in the world who I can ever imagine being at my side for my entire life. There's a lot to plan and a lot to work on, and I'm glad that we have a good chunk of time to do so. Once the contract...

Post-Apocalyptic Papa John's by Belinda Roddie "Damn you!" shrieked Gabby. "Now the world's out of pizza!"

I thought we lived in the modern era. Why do we have white, gray-haired governors deciding who gets to be turned away from businesses? Why do we have a government more interested in their own paychecks than the people's savings? I step outside, and there's an initiative proposal claiming that people like me deserve to be shot in the head. This is the year 2015, and we don't know any better as a society? Give me a freaking break.

Her Hair Was Wet by Belinda Roddie Her hair was wet, and her skin smelled like peach just plucked from an orchard. I held her in my arms and lifted her so she could reach the cabinet to get a jar of gin. We drank hard liquor together, our throats tightening, and our words locked up inside a figurative box. Outside, the boats were sailing in their parade, endless pride in their captains' hearts. My stomach heavy from the booze, I let my rough fingers brush the stumps of where my love's legs used to be before the accident. She let me touch each scarred and battered part of her, and yet there was no comfort she could ever get.

The detergent that Ariana used for her husband's laundry wasn't exactly stellar, and sure enough, when she pulled the garments out of the dryer, she could still see the faint remains of coffee stains, ketchup marks, and grease kisses all over the fabric. They weren't horrible, but they were like the tiny ghosts of meals past, reminding the woman of her significant other's poor attempts to keep food in his mouth and not on his shirt.