My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie When Father told us that war was coming, I didn't really know what he meant. He was so much quieter than usual. Like something was scaring him. He told me bad people were coming, but there were bad people here, too. I didn't understand. I asked him who the bad people were...the ones in white or the ones in black. And he said this. "Bad people do bad things. But they try to make it sound like they're doing good." "What bad things?" Hurting people. Killing people. Bad things. Never right. That was what my father said. And the next morning, he was shot while hunting. By a rifle. Used by a bad guy. This was what war really was. And I don't like either side. The prompt for this week's Storyteller was provided by...no one. 

I have plenty of advice. I just choose not to give it to people. Because one way or another, it's not compatible. I don't know exactly how Susan's boyfriend is treating her, or why Hank just can't make friends. I can try to know, or pretend to know. But a pretender doesn't really have real advice to give. Just vignettes and hope. One of which could be false.