My Cardboard Balcony

One Day While Playing Pinball by Belinda Roddie One day while playing pinball, having drank an ample dose of butterscotch delight, I came across one of milit'ry rank who was a noble Christian in his right. I wanted to talk of science-y things, like evolution and phenomena, but as the steel clicked against pins, methinks I was afraid such talk would cause stigma. But he was well-informed, intelligent, and loved to speak of both God and physics. We played games side by side, our shoulders bent as we watched little balls do their own tricks. Who thought such a conversation would be by old pinball machines, so rickety?

The monstrosity's pattern was black and white stripes racing down in a spiral toward claws made of iron. His tongue like wick held the flame of his wrath and his teeth the sharp horns that blew fatal desires. I struck at his noise with a stave I had carved from an old willow tree that always seemed to be ever crying.