My Cardboard Balcony

One Thousand Lamps by Belinda Roddie One thousand lamps lit up one somber night, the ember faces of one thousand dead young girls who had assisted in the fight for independence on a rocky red shore. Each girl had fought to attend school. Each bore the scars of their fathers' petty spells and rages. They wished to serve, write, and teach the ideologies of wisdom. Bells would not ring for their endurance, their wit, or their perseverance. But no tyrant could snuff the flames emitting from the lit oil cooking in glass spheres. No man could plant a boot into the teeth of those who cheered for the revolutionaries revered.

They said it was my responsibility to look after Alan. My responsibility to ensure that he didn't break into the booze cabinet again. My responsibility to check his breath to see if he had imbibed enough vodka, black rum, and cheap whiskey to make his liver implode in its cavity. It was my responsibility to take care of him, slap him around, keep him safe. He still died.