My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The villagers were shocked to see a little girl and her dragon in a tiny rowboat, floating down along the lava floes. The wood of the bow never burned. The tongues of molten aggression never singed the hair on the girl's head or the whiskers on the dragon's snout. They were merely floating, floating, as the volcano ended its deadly belch and grew quiet. The chief of the village hurried to the edge of the ashen stones to reach the stranded beings, but upon the boat's nose touching the "shore," the dragon allowed the child to climb onto his back and cling to the scales of his neck. He walked seamlessly on the hot rocks, steam billowing from his nostrils, as he reached safe land with the scattered men and women staring in awe. "Where did you come from?" the chief asked the dragon. But the dragon shook his head. "Take her. Raise her. That is all I ask." They took the girl, and the dragon became fire, spinning through th...

Since the accident, I had not wanted to go outside. The bandages felt so hot and suffocating against my legs, and I was still afraid to look at myself in the mirror. I was unsure of what to think about my appearance because every reaction I had seen was different. My father had shut his eyes, but my mother had looked clearly at me and smiled. My brother had cried, and my sister had laughed. I didn't want to look. Not at the scars.