My Cardboard Balcony

Remember When by Belinda Roddie Remember when the wolf ate your father and made love to your mother with a howl before you level your pistol at the messenger who cowers before your scowl. I know you are a man of many woes and rabid rage that paints your visage stripes of blue and purple, both melting into a pot of torment that no one should drink. I know you killed the witch and evil queen and hung their heads upon your bedroom door. You broke the slipper, poisoned the apple, and burned the heart of the Bard's gentle Moor. But please, remember the wolf and his teeth before you shoot and you become the beast.

The setting is simple. One chair, one coffee table, set up by the fireplace. A brick mantel with black and white photographs. In one of the photographs, there's a fisherman with a long black beard. He doesn't look too old, but he looks tired even though he holds an enormous seabass. His wife is next to him. She smiles. She completes the simple setting, the comfort of a cottage.