My Cardboard Balcony

The Turkeys Ran Away by Belinda Roddie The turkeys ran away once they heard news that Thanksgiving was upon them again. One turkey played the banjo, sang the blues, and practiced paltry (and poultry) laments. The birds all gathered and set up a camp, serving each other plates of pecan pie, and burned their feathers just to light their lamps at night so the bravest could keep an eye out for hunters or animals hungry for white or dark meat. When the morning came, the last notes of the banjo left to die, and a gunshot was heard across the lane where the turkeys slept. Boy, they clucked and prayed, but they could not escape the holiday.

I gave Roger twenty bucks in exchange for one of the fattest, juiciest turkeys he had prepared in the deli. When I took it home, I was giddy. Soon, the feasting would begin. The crispy skin on the poultry goodness as it simmered, gleaming, in the oven. The mashed potatoes laden with fresh butter and salt that would make my tongue dance. The casseroles and salads set to complement the copious wine and beer flowing from the bottles, just in time for the richness of the pie.

Romance In The Middle Of Nowhere by Belinda Roddie We casually hold hands under the table. The waitress doesn't notice. Neither does the redneck wearing a baseball cap and a Confederate flag T-shirt sitting nearby, slurping down a chocolate milkshake way too loudly. You pay the bill, and I add the tip. When we get in our truck, we share one very brief kiss, our eyes straying to the rearview mirror to make sure no one saw us. You tuck your hair into your hat, and I rub the remaining lipstick away from my cheek. There's dust in our mouths, and we choke on the heat as we peel away from the ramshackle diner, where more like us hide in booths, chewing on cold pancakes, braiding their fingers under red plastic tables.

"I was thinking of seeing that new feature at the local theater," said Anthony. "Wanna come?" I cocked my head to the side and looked at him. "Feature? That's what you call it?" "Whatever. Movie, dude. I heard it's pretty damn fun." "Like, DVD fun or overpriced evening tickets fun?" "C'mon, man. I'll buy you a drink when it's over if you don't like it." "Buy me a drink if I do like it, Tony. Either way."

Childhood Hideout by Belinda Roddie Under the couch, we find the keys to an attic that leads us to odd antiques: clocks that don't tick right, and jewelry that doesn't fit right, and enough hats to cover the heads of everyone in California and Texas combined. You pull on a fedora that belonged to your grandfather. You look so suave, but your smile is frail. I want to give it strength by kissing it, but my lips are pale, and quivering, and cold. We promise that this secret place is ours and ours alone, and as the years squeak by, we drink the dust like wine. We weave the cobwebs into clothing, and we're silver like a cemetery, hearing the rattling of watches that tell us the hour, but never when it's time to leave.

Both Seamus and Rowan stayed in the Old Man's Fortress just on the edge of the Wine Dark Continent. They did not speak to each other. They did not take note of one another's presence. In fact, it was common knowledge that Rowan remained in the western wing of the fortress, while Seamus resided in the eastern wing. And both of them spent hours reading and writing. The Old Man's Fortress had belonged to a baron about seventy odd years back; no one remembered that, however, because the baron was a raging, inhospitable drunk who had squandered one small town's fortune, causing it to become abandoned and for the noble himself to become nameless - ergo, it was a perfect residence for the isolated and poetic siblings.

Dead Man Walking by Belinda Roddie Sitting in my personal electric chair, I wait for the sponge to soak up all the sins that inflame my poor brain. The executioner is beautiful. She keeps her curls under a gray cap and won't look me in the eye. I can't remember the trial or the verdict. I only know the beginning and the end. I know that Tesla's hand will be placed atop my head, a high voltage crown sending me up to Mount Olympus, where I will be made the new god of thunder, and Zeus shall remain imprisoned in my tiny barred cell. The center of my nervous breakdown, An homage to my fractured humanity.