My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Children: Fresh, Ripe, Vegan That was what the sign said outside the small grocery store, where Delta Abrams went to speak with the person in charge. That person, in question, was Farley Dexter Mantel IX, whose father, the VIII, had recently died in a freak fork accident in the kitchen. "I have a complaint regarding your product," Delta declared. Farley looked up from where he was cutting pretty airglossed ladies out of a magazine and wrinkled his nose. "Concerning...?" "False advertising." The woman thrust her finger at the sign. "You say that the children you sell are vegan." "They are." "Bull. They're children." "I understand that," said Farley. Delta tried very hard to control her temper. "They're meat, for God's sake!" The store owner frowned. "I don't follow." "Children! Flesh! Meat!" Delta spat. "Imagi

I got an A for creativity, but not for productivity. I could come up with ideas a-plenty, but I couldn't be arsed to commit to any of them. I had the blueprint, but not the energy. The plan, but not the crew. I was, in every sense of the word, the visionary of the team. So when it came time for us to commit to the government-wide reform project, I was the mastermind. But everyone else who enforced it - they were the ones who got the seats of power, while I hovered in the back, melting in with the shadows.