My Cardboard Balcony

The Betting Pool Is Empty by Belinda Roddie The betting pool is empty because we have spent all our money on so many bets. It started with a bet on how long Jake could stand on his head (I won seven dollars for that). Then the stack got bigger when we bet on relationships, like the one Greg and Lily had - they lasted two years, and Jordan got one hundred for that. The green's been slipping out from between our greasy fingers - a fifty for how fast I could chug a gallon of milk. A fat three hundred for a chicken wing eating contest. Then thousands somehow disappeared, maybe because we bet on sports this year.

As the spider maneuvered its way up the tangle of vines, it found itself atop a wall that it had never climbed before. With all eight eyes, it stared down upon the abandoned temple, the moss clumping its windows and the dead foliage snaking its way up its walls like a dying man's fingers grasping his own stone temples. It waited for the rest of its family to catch up with it. It certainly seemed like a better home.