My Cardboard Balcony

Still Going Strong by Belinda Roddie Five years of sweaty fingers slipping against a keyboard. Five years of laughs and musings, of bad days and regrets and hopes. Over two hundred fifty stories told, short and sweet or longer tapestries, and over a thousand poems to boot. A solid two hundred sixty-one solstices settling on the screen, and one hundred and three tales hugging ten words to their chests. Nearly two thousand wandering OneWords bubble up in this champagne I've poured for myself during my self-congratulatory anniversary. I mean, Hell, it's worth it. I'll sip the metaphorical carbonation and enjoy the sweetness. Five years, I've stood on my cardboard balcony and braved the winds and storms. No upgrade needed, and even when things change, this author will spill out lingual adventures whenever they get the urge to escape. Today, September 14th, 2016, marks the fifth anniversary of my first post on My Cardboard Balcony. Thank you to th...

I found a half-empty bottle of twenty-year-old scotch in the basement cabinet, and by the time I carried it back to the kitchen, my guests were arriving. Just two visitors: A woman no older than twenty, and a man no younger than eighty-five. They both were wearing blue flannel and jeans, the lady's curls kept short and bouncy while the man was so bald that you could almost see your reflection on the top of his head.

No Words For Now by Belinda Roddie I stopped talking on the car ride home after we stopped at a run-of-the-mill grill that smelled like garlic bread and grease. We were discussing our futures and the end of the world. I stopped talking once you started crying, because I had brought up the size of a cat's carbon footprint. We would get a furry feline friend, I promised you that. Maybe a tabby or calico. One that liked getting scratched behind the ears. I stopped talking and started singing instead. The stereo buzzed along with my strained voice. To the left, blue trucks lined the telephone poles, and light poured from panels like we were reflecting the sun off sheets of steel. Then I got quiet, and as we pulled into the driveway, your eyes were a little drier. "I just needed to cry for a bit," you told me, and I understood. The air was chilled by the hands of an arriving autumn, bay water running through the canal beside our apartment windo...

No update on the OneWord website today. Oh, well!

A Lovely Outing by Belinda Roddie Put on your dapper shoes, 'cause we're going to the Ferris wheel and rising to the top so we can touch the constellations. They'll feel like spider webs against our rough, callused fingers, still sore from digging in the earth and planting dreams that never take root. You saved up a lot of money just to buy those dapper shoes, and I got myself a bowtie with a hue to match the sunrise, a burst of orange and gold to rival the explosive size and color of the real thing in an autumn dawn. Maybe one day, we'll be able to ride the bumper cars, too, if we could scrounge up some extra silver from the corners of our shack. Father said to savor every moment under this wild canopy of stars, 'cause you and I are so small, and this roller coaster of a vacuum is so damn big.

"Hey, is that Sylvain?" No. It couldn't be. The timing was too perfect. Way too perfect. I stood frozen with my beer growing warm in my clammy hand. Sylvain walked over to us in a short red dress and a heavy chain of pearls around her neck. She smiled a scarlet smile. "Heya, tootsie roll pop," she crooned. "Miss me?" "You, maybe," Chester grinned, "but not that nickname."

The woman in the long, blue coat held out two fists before letting her fingers unravel like rough, loose twine. Nestled in the palms of both her hands were small, multicolored crystals. They looked almost as if they were directly plucked from a rainbow in the sky, collected like charms for people to wear or treasure.