My Cardboard Balcony

The System of Hierarchy by Belinda Roddie Upstairs, we hear the fizz of champagne, the clattering of six-inch heels on wooden floorboards. We keep to ourselves in our downstairs apartment, sipping warm cider for the sake of autumn, eating potato chips, watching movies online, ignoring the party going on in the loft above our heads. It's a cork-popping, heart-stopping, body-rocking night up there, apparently. Until we hear the scream and splash, we don't know that someone had the intent of jumping. The saltwater bubbles only a little bit, like the hiss of carbonation, and the man in white tails sinks into the oceanic debris that carries him away from the carnival.

Forty-two soldiers were taken prisoner after the Battle of Times Square, and over twenty of them died before we even reached the camp. One of the bodies, fresh and sweaty from exhaustion and sickness, slumped forward and onto another chained up "enemy of the state," who gazed silently ahead with beaded eyes as I monitored the back of the truck.

Talullah sat beside Billy Joe and watched her with a not-so-subtle look of intrigue. Billy Joe didn't look like the other girls in the classroom; in fact, Billy Joe was so unlike the other girls in the classroom that it also resonated in her name. Despite the teacher's objections, she wore her backwards baseball cap at all times, chewing some sort of minty gum as the hem of her long flannel coast draped over the back of her chair as she leaned forward on her desk with a glazed expression of adolescent apathy.

by Belinda Roddie As far as first dates went, it was all right, up until the point where she pulled out her gun and began robbing the restaurant patrons. While she made off with approximately twelve wallets, I was busy cramming the last of my gourmet pizza into my mouth, pulling on my jacket, and ripping my way through the shrieking mob out into the cold night air. She caught up with me quickly, out of breath and shoving the burlap sack of goods into my arms. Naturally, I dropped the swollen bag. "Um. Nope," I mumbled. My teeth were still clogged with chunks of pepperoni and green peppers. "Not me. I'm not the right person." "C'mon," she begged. "I'll split the amount." When we got back to her apartment, the amount of money was meager: A good sixty bucks or so, some of it in gold dollars, from a dozen wallets. "Don't people fucking carry cash anymore?" she grumbled as she sorted through the sad pile of green and...

"I pledge allegiance to nobody," the seventh grader snarled. So of course, she was sent to the principal's office. I sat behind my desk as usual, trying to ignore the phone calls and remembering that this was my last year being the school secretary. Seeing this particular student waiting to be reprimanded by the administration alarmed. She was a good kid. Everyone called her "Rocket," because her ideas just shot off into space in all their glory. And now she was being punished for speaking her mind.

Busy but exciting week! This upcoming Tuesday, I will be officially teaching a lesson plan for the first time at my student teaching site. I have a brand new student at my teaching job on Saturdays. I've been exhausted, stressed to high heaven, and sometimes pushed to low moods, but it is all worth it. I know it is. My fiancée and I both have a lot on our plate. And it's not just planning the wedding, obviously. We both have a lot to do workwise. We have a lot of creative goals that we feel like either we're not reaching or we just have to keep putting off (or both). We sometimes feel like we can't get a second to just relax and breathe without anxiety. And to top it off, our rent's being hiked on us. But as my dear Arden has said to me, "We can do this. I know we can." And I agree. The fact that I am still updating this blog daily is a reminder of how much I can do writing-wise despite my schedule and my obligations to my two jobs and to my teaching c...

Bluffing by Belinda Roddie She's armed with two guns, but the chambers are empty.