My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The last thing I had expected was for the drawing I had completed to wink at me. I had made her simple, straightforward - black lines, minimal shading. Her body hunched over that single lump of stone I had rubbed into existence on the thick paper of the sketchbook. Her fingers dipped in the inky blackness of what would have been a pond if I had been keen enough to use blue. She was flat, colorless, and oddly shaped. But she had eyes. And she could wink with them. I closed the sketchbook in one simple snap, and for a minute, I thought I heard sniffling. Like someone was crying. But it was simply the snoring of my chubby tabby cat from his cushioned tower in the corner, and I was able to proceed with my day as normal. I'm not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. I sketch, yes. I use pen and pencil. But I've never had that creative touch to me. Doodling has been something I've done for years, mostly to pass the time and steer off boredom. M...

Under the dome of the ancient cathedral, we bathe in the orange glow that comes from the skylight. The skylight turns all gold to fire, all silver to white, all bronze to earth. We wait for the sun to set before we begin our evening prayers. We count the beads one by one, descending from our necks, all different hues and types. We collect the gems of ancestors' tears, and we bathe in the stars that grin from the skylight.

Well. The second-to-last deadline week for Yearbook has come and gone. Now only one deadline and fewer than one hundred pages stand in the way of production being completed. But I don't want to talk about that. Or the other annoying and stressful things that happened at work. Instead, I'm just gonna gush about my wife. Arden turned twenty-seven today. We had a really nice, casual evening: I made dinner, we watched The Great British Bake Off on Netflix, she opened presents, we ate cake. I was happy that she appreciated both gifts I got her, as I was unsure about one of them. I try not to surprise Arden when it comes to birthday or Christmas gifts much - she likes to know what she's getting, though I can get away with a surprise candy bar or pot of flowers on non-holidays. But it worked out, and now she's enjoying her new Instax camera. I have celebrated seven of Arden's birthdays with her, whether it's in person or over the phone or on Skype. We met when sh...

Happy Birthday by Belinda Roddie The cake had eyes. It saw everything. Including gastric acid.

(groan)

The Rain by Belinda Roddie The rain makes waterfalls around the panes of tinted windows, drowning all the grass until it's just a swamp instead of plains. The rain slides down the walls like melting glass and makes everything bright and crystalline, while puddles mix with oil on the street and cast the roads in perfect rainbow sheen. The rain stops traffic, causing angry heat to rise in drivers' faces, and yet some are looking forward to the glowing green of hills by morning, brighter than the thumb of a gardener happy for the spring and happy for the rain. The rain will rinse the shame away like cleaning fingerprints.

(sigh)