My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Turns out Dad was the original inspiration for the Hamburglar. I was beginning to wonder where he always got those cheeseburgers. He claimed they were free because he was friends with the manager of the local fast food joint - but somehow, even as a clueless five-year-old obsessed with television and cool bicycles, knew better. 2015 was when Dad died, and that was also when the Hamburglar got a make-over. Now sporting jeans a five o'clock shadow, he was like me in my twenties - only probably with better aspirations than I ever had. At least the Hamburglar had good amounts illegally smuggled protein while I played video games and devoured cheetos like they actually had nutrients. Dad also liked wearing masks and wide-brimmed hats. I don't remember him ever talking in gibberish. But hey, it was 1971, and McDonald's was going through its weird phase. I just hope Grimace wasn't inspired by my mom. This week's prompt was provided by Dan...

As September ends, the OneWord website remains...not updated. Oops!

I don't know if I'm as happy as I can be right now. Don't get me wrong - maybe it's just my mood today. Maybe it's the fact that I'm fighting a cold, worrying that I won't be able to go to the final Giants game of the season with my family and friend if I get too sick. Maybe it's just my ongoing adjustment to my new job and surroundings. Maybe I haven't been eating enough lately, or sleeping enough, or exercising enough. Maybe I haven't paced my workload well enough, or I'm just not used to getting new things piled on or changed on me even when I've finally got everything figured out. Maybe I'm just a little annoyed that my paycheck's going to be smaller than expected. Or maybe I'm just grumpy and whiny and should just shut up and understand just how damn good I have it. I mean, I could be in a situation that's a lot worse. #firstworldproblems! All of those things could be factors as to why I'm feeling the way I ...

The Audacity Of Students by Belinda Roddie For teenagers to learn, you have to make them care.

Finish your burger, drink your beer, and don't forget to tip your waitress. She'll spend it on some groceries so she can make ham sandwiches for lunch for the next two weeks. And then she'll smell like mustard and relish, and she'll have to douse herself in deodorant and perfume, just so fat fucks like you enjoy her company and her service as she works in this filthy, garage-like hellhole where the ale is cheap and room temperature and the food's got a mind of its own.

My Throat Constricts by Belinda Roddie My throat constricts as the autumn air turns to dust, my breath in short bursts from my lips. I wish I could just stop - it stings and burns to inhale and exhale. Even the sips of water I consume, like liquid fire, chars my esophagus in a stampede of heat and discomfort. When I retire to my bed, the pain easily impedes my ability to sleep. I don't know why my body rejects natural things - the wind, the trees, the rivers that still flow beyond my window, the birds that still sing. Their music digs into my ears like teeth, persisting as I live and try to breathe.

The numbers were staggering, and all the investors, and all of the CEOs, and all of the hedge fund managers couldn't believe their eyes. Their mouths hung slightly open as they watched the exchange, and bit by bit, their souls sank deeper into their lower extremities, descending into the depths of their ankles and threatening to escape and find freedom from the crevices of their toes. No one saw this disaster coming. Except for the accountants, of course - they always knew. They smiled over their glasses and reminded themselves that they always knew.