My Cardboard Balcony

The Hanging Man by Belinda Roddie don't you ever get tired of dangling upside down from a ceiling that's scarred with more cracks than the mirror in your mother's bathroom, after she flung her stiletto heel into its face as it wordlessly begged for mercy? don't you imagine a life that's better and outside the apartment where you lost your virginity to a man who never loved you, and you were left with crumbs after he consumed the feast, while your mother did her mascara over your crying body as she laughed and laughed and laughed? and don't you get scared of the voices you hear from the upstairs loft - the ones who whisper your name after two AM, and somehow your mother answers back, but you can't find the saliva to scream, and all you want to do is drop to the floor and run, run, run?

I want this country to be well-educated. I want children to feel like they are given the most, and best, opportunities to succeed. I want public schools to flourish and teachers to be paid what they actually deserve. I'll give you a hint: They deserve a lot more than what they're given now. What my government has decided on today is a slap in my face and in the face of educators and students across every state. This may not be a piece of flash fiction as per usual, and I may be spoiling the fun on this website, I have one word (appropriately enough) to say to the United States Congress for confirming Betsy DeVos - an unqualified, plagiarizing master of political bribery - as Secretary of Education: Shame.

And The Clocks Went Dead by Belinda Roddie I had a dream that time stopped, and the chemistry of our bodies couldn't handle the change. Light burst from our eyes like tiny supernovae, and we screamed, for the pain in our heads was too much to bear. But then, it was over, and the darkness faded, and the throbbing subsided like a fading drum. I walked out into the snow and saw shadows there, some in dark coats, and some with no purpose at all. When I was actually awake, I went out to grab lunch at the burrito shop, and the girl who served me rice and chorizo had a tattoo under her right eye: A green dollar sign, like a fragile wish for success drawn in ink on her translucent skin. I stepped out into the rain, and the shadows were still there, though time moved as quickly as it always did, and there were no dying stars in my eyes.

Avery didn't know how she could repay Ramona. She wouldn't have to. Unfortunately, Ramona passed away in her sleep mere days after assisting the high schooler, having dealt with a terminal, yet closely guarded, illness for the last four years of her life. Avery attended her memorial, and she felt like a mere shadow among the other mourners. Her hands were cold and stiff while folded together, feeling as rigid as the preserved corpse in the coffin in front of her.

I knew that I was going on a boating trip, but I didn't expect a voyage. Yet there she was: My grinning, bucktoothed, wily aunt, all beaming blue eyes and white hair, wearing a long blue oat with gold embroidery and a broad black hat. She was the captain of this ship, and by God, she told us all, she would lead us on the adventure of our lifetimes!

by Belinda Roddie If you move fast enough, it looks like everything else is frozen. If you keep your speed consistent after that, it's almost as if you're traveling through one singular moment in time. The gentleman caught mid-bite while decimating a pear. A paralyzed young girl with her jaw hanging open at the sight of a glob of ice cream suspended in the air. And the clear, monotonous tone of words and songs that are caught on one note, one syllable, resulting in a mesmerizing, mechanical hum that sticks in your ears like accumulating wax. I am not a superhero. I do not have super speed. But I can catch moments, and save them, like I'm preserving human passions in amber. Like I'm sticking idiosyncrasies, smiles, and questions in the freezer and refusing to let them thaw. I went spelunking one time and let my hand fuse itself onto a monolith of blue ice. Once I removed my palm, the skin did not tear, but the imprint stayed, like the tower had stolen a shadow of m...

They locked us up in tiny cages, and they fed us black gruel from grody spoons. We couldn't feel the warmth or see the light from outside, and so we shriveled up into husks of our former selves.I felt my own brain threatening to slide out of my rotting skull. I let my bony fingers slip through the rusted bars, and instantly I felt the urge to scream like a wounded animal.