My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie It's physically impossible to ride a unicorn into the sun. Helios tried that before resorting to chariots of gold and fretted flames of bronze and orange tongues licking at horses' hooves. Those poor horses. The sun is no place for unicorns. Unicorns are meant to orbit the sun, their horns painted with the stardust that sparkles like glitter. Because glitter has to go with unicorns, like peanut butter and strawberry jam. Strawberry jam is on my toast this morning. Golden sun serves as my butter. Helios revolves one more time, frowning over his bad luck. Because the unicorns have won once again. They win all the stars. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.

His foot was chained to the floor, and his arm was chained to the wall. His fingers were chained together, and his toes were, too. Chain wrapped around his shoulders, and chain coiled around his head. Metal serpents bit at his chest and ears and even around his neck. He could barely breathe under so much metal, and only his facial features could be seen under all the necessary weight.