My Cardboard Balcony

Dejeration by Belinda Roddie She swore she'd always love me as we buried ourselves in our nests, the five foot lamp abusing us with its hostile lighting. Her kisses left prints on the Bible between us, to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, but in the end, no matter how solemnly one swears, the windshield of the moving car cracks just a little, lets too much warm air in, and stifles vocabulary until it's dried out and crunches under my bare feet, like it did beneath her skidding shoes as she ran with two suitcases under her arms.

There was a sharp rallying cry as the swarm of students all broke the first line of public safety defense and stormed their way up the main hall, where the chancellor's office was hidden. Now the chancellor could be seen bursting his way out of the side door, his suit jacket billowing behind him, as he fled. One girl, red-faced, charged after him, and I could hear her scream, "Yeah, go run, you pansy! That's exactly what the student you raped two weeks ago couldn't do!"