My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie   Johnny realized that the candy he held in his hand was not actually candy. It was, in fact, Formula 91X - a concoction created by scientists to replicate the symptoms of lycanthropy as told by the folk tales. It was a sick, twisted equation of science and corrupted wisdom that could ultimately be manipulated by those with power bristling from their hair to their heels. And Johnny had let his younger brother, Timmy, eat some. Jamming the brightly colored tablets back into his pocket, the boy tried desperately to seek out an antidote. The laboratory he had snuck into was dark and dank, and he was pretty sure his brother was starting to fret outside. And knowing that once the sun set, the full moon would be out, he had to be fast. His fingers brushed against the shelves feverishly, knocking over bottles and jars. One crashed to the ground and oozed red jelly. No peanut butter for that stuff, he thought with a heated head, before reaching for a syringe and starin

Snapping an icicle from the rooftop, she licked away at it until she giggled as her tongue stuck to the frost. She let the ice dangle from her mouth for a moment. Two moments. Three moments. And then it dropped in a wet, soggy lump to the ground below. “You’re silly,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around her. My face was scratchy against her scarf. “You’re sillier,” she retorted before she kissed me.