My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The first devil was dressed in green and gold. He was like a leprechaun in both stature and mischief. No one asked him if there was a pot full of fortune at the end of the rainbow; he was colorblind, and he didn't see natural beauty like the rest of us do. The second devil wore a pearl necklace and rings. She always appreciated the finer things in life. After six o'clock, she would head to the Lapdog Tavern in Gradyville and drink a gin and tonic to stave off her hay fever symptoms. Not even Satan's minions can stave off seasonal allergies; they affect both good and evil. The third devil was a businessman at a company that sold flash drives and handled storage for camera footage. He was pretty familiar with police departments as a result. He liked to watch what they had recorded on their body cameras, sating himself with instances of brutality and excessive force. His wife always wondered why he seemed so tired when he came home after a shift. The ...

Copper kettle, boil for me. Heat my water for my tea. Serve it ten minutes past three. This fine brew isn't for free. Copper kettle, boil for me. The smell causes ecstasy. Once I find the reverie, I don't want no company.

Well. This was a week of emotional whiplash. I've never been exactly a fan of waiting - whether it's for something to arrive, a response to a message, or simply a decision that needs to be made by someone other than me. I'm a doer, not a viewer (Heh. Clever), so patience isn't exactly in my arsenal of skills. And when I finally learn something or figure out something, only to have it abruptly change on me - well, that just completely messes with my head. In more positive news, the yearbook my staff and I worked so hard on arrived yesterday, and holding that enormous tome in my hands almost made me cry (Then my staff made fun of me for it, so, yeah. Thanks, kids). It is a gorgeous book - not perfect by any means, with a few minor errors at least, but still something I am so incredibly proud of. I know how low the bar was set with the previous yearbook, so now I've raised that bar for myself as an adviser. And next year, I intend to raise it again. Perhaps the t...

Perfect Image by Belinda Roddie I could always see her smiling. Even without my glasses.

The Teppan Table by Belinda Roddie The teppan table hosted eight people, and you and I were two of them. We ate shrimp, sushi, scallops, steak, salmon, and bowls of rice. We talked until it'd gotten late, clapped when the chef did tricks with tools and knives, and enjoyed small talk with the strangers that we sat with, chatting about dogs and wives and traveling to Amsterdam. The laughs were contagious, the food sublime. I liked my time spent with you. You'd never eaten at a teppan table before, and I was happy to oblige you. This was when I realized, "Ah, so this must be heaven - our years together are at lucky seven.

This is what's left of your empire, my liege - this is what's left of your fiefdom. Piles of ash over twenty feet high where your towers once rose like tarantula's legs. Crumbling wastelands of brick and dead stone where you previously held your ceremonies. Your fortress is breaking like cake in my hands as my fingers linger along its walls. Life is impermanent, and so is your reign - accept it, and die like a man.