My Cardboard Balcony

Destiny Dazzles by Belinda Roddie Destiny dazzles on October nights, the marimba sending sparks to meet the flash of her sequins, dancing up and down her midriff, where the sash begins like a flower and closes at the hip like a heavy, swollen, satisfied bud. She bends her body backwards, revealing the lumpy but gorgeous flesh beneath her half-opened tunic. Beads dangle across her love handles as her thighs open, displaying the blue lights from behind her, bathing her, like a sauna would, in a hot, misty oceanic glow. The audience crawls for her dance, creeps up their skirts and pant legs for her. Her boyfriend bites his lower lip from where he stands in the corner, trying not to be seen by his boss, who sits in the front row, whistling, and waving an embarrassed Franklin in front of Destiny's bare knees. The weird part about that is that this isn't a strip club, and his disrespect is subdued quickly as mesmerized eyes briefly glower at the lewd

In between the pines, I could trace the fine, peppery ribbon of smoke that caressed the bark and left wisps of crisp, wooden odor along the dirt path. As I kept walking, I remembered the three most important items on my person: My horn, my knife, and my pendant. And the pendant, of course, was most important of all. As I parted a particularly bushy branch from my way, I could see the amber glow of a fire whimpering in front of me.