My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The dingo licked its chops. Baby back ribs were on the menu. But that was the way it always was on Driftwood Avenue on the Australian deadlands. Dingos ate the children of everyone who lived out there for longer than ten years. Especially the fat ones. This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.

Grandmother always liked to rant about how the bad tap water in our town had stunted my growth. Given that I stood at a meager 4'10" at the age of twenty-nine, I understood why she'd have a conspiracy theory. But the truth was, it was just the way I grew. And it always made it fun when I challenged my thirty-two-year-old husband to a game of hide and seek. I always won. Hiding under the stairwell.